Chapter 5 - King
I step into the chapel—what we call our meeting room—and feel the weight of leadership settle on my shoulders like chain mail. Familiar. Heavy. Necessary.
Every member of the Savage Riders is present, seated around the long redwood table that's seen eight years of decisions, arguments, celebrations, and plans. The table where we've plotted everything from charity runs for the local hospital to strategies for dealing with rival clubs.
To my right sits Tank, my VP and oldest friend. We survived Afghanistan together, built this club from nothing when we both came back broken in ways civilians couldn't understand. He's cautious where I'm impulsive, thoughtful where I'm decisive. The perfect counterbalance.
Rage sits next to him, tattooed fingers drumming impatiently on the table. Single father, former bouncer, and the best fighter in the club next to me. He's loyal to a fault and protective of anyone he considers family.
Beast occupies the chair beside Rage, his massive frame making the furniture look like it belongs in a child's playroom. Ex-military like most of us, he earned his name in underground fighting rings before finding a home with the Savage Riders. He's a man of few words but absolute conviction.
Torch is next, our demolitions expert and the club's institutional memory. He remembers every slight, every favor, every alliance made or broken in our territory. Nothing explodes without his permission, literally or figuratively.
Steel completes the full members' section, our resident mechanic whose engineering genius has saved our asses more times than I can count. He can fix anything with an engine and has the patience of a saint, which comes in handy when dealing with the more volatile personalities in the club.
At the far end of the table sit our prospects: Rookie, fresh out of the military and eager to prove himself; Chaos, a young hothead who lives up to his name; and Shadow, the quiet observer who misses nothing and speaks only when it matters.
Nine men. My brothers. My responsibility.
"The Iron Eagles made their move," I begin without preamble. "Seven prospects attacked me at Emma Hartwell's old place. Torch, Beast, and Rage helped clean it up."
"They're testing us," Tank says, "Sending prospects instead of patched members, targeting you specifically but not bringing enough force to be a serious threat."
"Gathering intel," Torch agrees. "Seeing how fast we respond, how we coordinate, what our defensive protocols look like."
Steel leans forward. "What were they doing at Emma's place? It's been empty for years. So… Why today of all days?"
"Convenient timing," Tank adds, his voice neutral but his meaning clear.
"You think she's connected to the Eagles?" Rookie asks, then immediately looks like he regrets speaking when all eyes turn to him.
"No." My tone makes it clear this particular point isn't up for debate. "Luna had no idea what she was walking into. The Eagles have been planning this move for months, maybe years. Her arrival is just bad timing."
"Or good timing for them," Rage points out. "Empty property on the edge of town suddenly gets an owner with no connections to us? Perfect opportunity for the Eagles to establish a foothold."
"We need to secure the property," I say. "Make it clear to Vulture that it's under our protection."
"Why not just buy it from her?" Chaos suggests, earning a sharp look from Tank for speaking out of turn. "What? It's a practical solution. Offer her cash, get her out of town before she becomes collateral damage."
"She won't sell," I say with certainty. "She's stubborn."
"Like her grandmother," Beast says unexpectedly, his deep voice rumbling through the room. "Emma was good people. Patched me up after that fight in Riverside, no questions asked."
"She stitched my kid's head when he fell," Rage adds. "Didn't charge me a dime, said seeing him smile was payment enough."
"Emma's dead," Tank reminds everyone. "And while I respected her, we need to focus on strategy, not sentiment. The house is a liability as long as it's occupied by a civilian who doesn't understand what she's walked into."
"She understands more than you think," I counter. "And she's a nurse, like her grandmother. Could be useful to have someone with medical training in our corner, especially if things get hot with the Eagles."
Why am I advocating so hard for a stranger I met yesterday? It's not like me. Normally, I'd prioritize club safety over everything else, make the hard call that keeps my brothers alive even if it means stepping over civilians who get caught in the crossfire.
But there's something about Luna Hartwell that's gotten under my skin.
The way she stood her ground against those would-be robbers at the bus station.
The way she refused to hide when the Eagles attacked.
The way she walked straight into a room full of dangerous men and proposed an alliance instead of begging for protection.
She's either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish. Maybe both.
"She's offered an alliance," I continue. "Her property, her medical skills, in exchange for our help rebuilding the house and keeping the Eagles away."
"We don't need her permission to keep the Eagles off that property," Tank points out. "We'd do that anyway, for strategic reasons."
"But we do need her cooperation," Steel says thoughtfully. "Having a legitimate reason to be there, to modify the house, to maintain a presence… That's valuable. Especially with Sheriff Tom watching us closer lately."
He's right. Tom's been looking for an excuse to cause problems for the club, but he won't risk moving against us without solid evidence of illegal activity.
Having a legitimate business relationship with Luna, helping renovate her property, gives us the perfect cover for maintaining a presence there.
"I like her," Beast says simply. "She's got balls."
"She patched King up without flinching," Rage adds. "Didn't even blink when Tank tried to intimidate her. That counts for something in my book."
One by one, they weigh in. Steel and Torch support the alliance idea. Rookie and Shadow seem cautiously optimistic. Chaos thinks we should just buy her out and be done with it. But it's Tank's opinion I'm waiting for, and he doesn't offer it until everyone else has spoken.
"I don't like involving civilians," he says finally. "Especially not in what's coming. Vulture's not playing around. This is going to get ugly, fast."
"Agreed," I say. "So what's your vote?"
We've been friends long enough that he can read the subtle signs others miss. The tension in my jaw, the way my right hand keeps curling into a fist under the table, the fact that I'm advocating for this woman at all.
"I think you've already made up your mind," he says finally. "And I think you know I'm going to back your play, even if I don't agree with it. But be careful, brother. She's a complication we don't need right now."
"Noted." I look around the table. "Anyone else have concerns they want on record?"
Silence. Even Chaos, who's usually quick with an objection, keeps his mouth shut.
"Then it's settled. The Hartwell property is under Savage Riders protection.
Luna is an ally, not a charity case. We help her rebuild, she provides medical assistance when needed.
" I stand, signaling the end of this portion of the meeting.
"Now, let's talk about how we respond to the Eagle's move.
We can't let this stand without a message of our own. "
For the next hour, we plan our countermove. Nothing too dramatic. We're not ready for all-out war yet, and neither are they. But something to make it clear that attacks in our territory will be answered swiftly and decisively.
We settle on a targeted approach: identify the Iron Eagles' supply line, disrupt it enough to send a message but not enough to force an immediate escalation. Surgical, controlled, effective.
"Steel, I want you and Shadow to identify their main suppliers," I delegate. "Torch, Beast, prepare options for disruption. Rage, you and Rookie handle surveillance. I want eyes on every Eagle prospect who entered our territory today."
"What about the girl?" Tank asks. "Someone needs to bring her up to speed."
"I'll handle Luna," I say, ignoring the look Tank gives me. "She deserves to know exactly what she's getting into."
The meeting breaks up shortly after that, with each member heading off to tackle their assigned tasks. Tank hangs back, waiting until we're alone before speaking.
"You want to tell me what's really going on with you and Emma's granddaughter?" he asks, his tone neutral but his eyes sharp.
"Nothing's going on," I shoot back. "She's a potential asset who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"Bullshit." Tank crosses his arms. "I've known you too long, brother. You're never this invested in a civilian unless there's something you're not saying."
He's right, of course. Tank's been my right hand since before the club existed, since we were just two broken soldiers trying to find our place in a world that didn't want or understand us. He knows all my tells, all my weaknesses, all the ways I lie to myself about what I want and why I want it.
"There's something about her," I admit finally. "Something familiar. Like I've known her before, in another life."
"You believe in that shit now? Reincarnation?" Tank's skepticism is expected, but there's no mockery in it.
"I believe in recognizing something worth fighting for when I see it." I run a hand through my hair, frustrated by my inability to articulate something I don't fully understand myself. "Luna's got steel in her spine. Reminds me of Emma, but fiercer."
"You barely know her."
"I know enough," I counter.
"Just be careful," he says finally. "We can't afford distractions right now, and women like that, the ones who get under your skin, they're the biggest distraction of all."