Chapter 10 #2
They aren’t completely stupid. They’ve got men guarding the warehouse.
Two guys are standing watch on either side of the roll-up door.
One has a rifle, and the other has his arms folded and a chain looped over one shoulder.
The attitude they’re throwing off makes me want to go over and punch the arrogant fuckers right in the face.
I don’t though, because that’s Slate’s job and he’d get pissed if he didn’t get to do it.
I crouch low and keep recording on my phone, zooming in as tight as possible. The camera shakes a little at full stretch, but I manage to get a clean shot of the gear, then the faces, then one of the bikes with a partial plate.
That’s when I see about a dozen of my club brothers converging on the warehouse from every direction. I can’t help but smile because this has the same excitement level as watching sports live on television—maybe a little more, to be honest.
I tap Slate’s name and hold the phone to my ear.
“Yo,” he answers, tension strung tight in his voice.
“Four more Hyenas arrived at the warehouse since I notified you of their whereabouts. They got at least two guys on lookout by the bay doors. The one on the left has a rifle.”
There’s a pause.
“Don’t worry. I’ll put the fuckers down.”
“How many times do I gotta tell you we need hostages to interrogate, not dead bodies to hide?”
“Yeah bro, whatever you say.”
“One of the guys was wearing that faded red rag. The same one I saw on the shoulder of the prick that ran me off the road. I think he’s their fuckin’ road captain. I want him, if you can manage it.”
Slate’s voice sharpens. “I’ll make that fucker my prime target.”
When he hangs up, I stay crouched, switching back to recording.
They’re not acting like a new crew testing the waters, which leads me to believe this isn’t a quiet expansion. It feels like they are simply setting up shop and think no one’s going to interfere. I have a sinking feeling that someone important gave them the green light.
I quickly hit Slate’s contact again, and as soon as he begins to greet me, I interrupt him. “Call off the ambush. Tell the brothers to pull back and monitor only. I want to gather intel first. Come to me and we’ll talk in person.”
Slate growls, “Are you fuckin’ sure about this? ‘Cause I think this is our moment.”
“It’s not. Trust me on this, brother. I’m your VP, and I’m giving you a direct order.”
“Fuckin’ hell. Give me a minute, and I’ll be there.”
I come to my feet on the roof and watch my club brothers all veer off in different directions. Some seem to disappear, and others take up watchful positions where they can’t be seen.
Ten minutes later, I hear Slate’s bike down the block. He parks out of sight and comes around the alley to join me on the roof. We both crouch low behind the chimney and watch.
“Shit,” he mutters when he spots the commercial-sized mixers. “What the fuck are they doing?”
“I think this is what they’re doing for front money. Either that or they’re using a cement business as a way to launder money.”
“That makes perfect sense. It’s a cheap way to earn cash, stay visible without drawing heat,” Slate states.
“Here’s the thing that caught my eye—they’re strutting around sporting cuts with our territory on the back, and no one is doing a goddamn thing about it.
It took Dad close to a fuckin’ decade to earn enough trust from the good citizens of this town that we weren’t being harassed every damn time our rubber hit the road. Don’t you think that’s strange?”
Slate shrugs. “Maybe our club paved the way, brother, and everyone thinks other clubs are like us.”
“They’re walking around like they own the place, and I think the reason is because someone local had to help make this happen. Zoning like that doesn’t go unnoticed.”
He nods grimly. “I’ll make some calls. See if anyone on the city side’s been cozy with outside investors. We’ll make getting intel on this concrete company a priority.”
I glance back towards the house. Tessa’s probably still inside. Maybe baking again. I haven’t seen her since she went back in, and I don’t blame her. This isn’t her world, but it’s leaking into her yard now.
“We shouldn’t move until we know more,” I say. “Dad would blow a gasket if we fucked up by pissin’ off some local politician and this all blew up in our faces.”
“That’s a good call, brother,” he admits gamely. “I can see that now.”
I put my hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’ll get your chance to tear into them soon enough. But in the meantime, I want someone watchin’ that place. Round the clock.”
Slate nods. “I’ll see to it.” He leaves without another word, already typing out instructions as he goes.
I pick up my hammer and get back to work.
But my eyes keep drifting towards that warehouse.
My gut tells me that something’s coming.
And it’s not just some regular, run-of-the-mill turf war.
It’s something smart, organized, and sophisticated.
Somehow, this new threat sprang to life right under my nose without me realizing it—and that terrifies the fuck outta me.