Chapter 12
Nita
I knew something was wrong the moment the email alert popped up on my phone.
I was three hours into paperwork hell in my DC office—cold coffee, fluorescent lights buzzing, my jacket draped over the chair because I hadn’t bothered going home the night before—when the alert hit my inbox.
I told myself I was taking this shit off my phone. I was going to learn to unwind, have balance. No need to read every work email as soon as it came in. Prioritize my personal time. Yet here I was on overtime and checking every ping that came through.
SUBJECT: Hampton Stanley Status Update
Person of interest currently unaccounted for. Local authorities reporting disappearance. Further coordination pending.
I stared at the screen like it might blink first.
Unaccounted for.
That was bureaucratic speak for someone fucked up.
My stomach dropped hard enough that I had to brace my palm on the desk.
Hampton Stanley wasn’t supposed to disappear.
He was supposed to be arraigned. Charged.
Prosecuted. Sentenced. I had spent weeks tracing money, favors, shell accounts, kickbacks tied to disaster relief funds meant for families who had lost everything.
I had followed the paper trail clean and quiet, the way you do when you know the man at the end of it has friends who like shadows.
And I had done it right. In the ways that would stick.
I brought the warrant personally to North Carolina. I’d made damn sure every “i” was dotted, every “t” crossed, every piece of evidence sealed so tight even the dirtiest defense attorney couldn’t wriggle him free.
Stanley was going to prison.
That was the deal.
Now he was gone.
I didn’t bother calling my supervisor. Not yet. I already knew what they would say, You were the last federal agent embedded in that file. You were the one with personal history there. You were the one tied to—the Saint’s Outlaws Motorcycle Club
Yes, I was guilty even if I didn’t want to be.
In my research on Hampton Stanley, I had learned a lot about the tiny town of Dreadnought, North Carolina.
It was a town, not a city. Cities have life, and Dreadnought had Saint’s Outlaws, some mountains, a lot of trees, period.
Every bit of the place was controlled by them. And because of him, I was tied to them.
Dante Verdone.
Once a cop, now an outlaw.
And he was the only way I could get the answers to save my job. I shut my laptop, grabbed my coat, and walked out without another word.
In a few hours, I was packed with a short term rental books on my way south. Dreadnought, NC was one of those places that never changed.
Same cracked highways cutting through pine and rust. Same low-slung buildings with peeling paint and stubborn pride. Same air that smelled like woods, crisp and clean, not a bit of smog or city scents around. Fresh.
Thirteen years had hardened me in ways this town couldn’t touch, that Dante couldn’t touch. I wasn’t the same Juanita Banks he left trying to sort where it all went wrong. I was a woman who refused to simply survive, I was determined to thrive.
DC had taught me how to smile while dismantling men twice my size. How to stay calm while careers burned down around me. How to hold my temper until the right moment—and then use it like a scalpel. The moment I crossed into town, my phone buzzed.
I ignored it.
I already knew where I was going.
The clubhouse was a unique place perfect for outlaws. An old bank. Heavy doors. A vault perfect to contain firearms. A parking lot with fresh pavement. Flags snapping in the wind. Bikes lined up like a dealership but not one of them was for sale.
The Saint’s Outlaws Motorcycle Club.
Dante Verdone’s family now. His whole world.
Yes, I did my research on him. I was curious and no smart woman needed to be dancing with a ghost without having all the fact before getting tangled up in someone dangerous even if once upon a time, he was safe.
I parked, cut the engine, and sat there for a long breath. I wasn’t scared. I was furious.
Composing myself, I climbed out of my car and made my way to the front of the building. The door opened before I reached it.
Burn leaned against the frame, arms crossed, eyes sharp. “Well I’ll be damned,” he stated, “The fed herself has returned. Loco is gonna eat this shit up.”
“Move,” I snapped.
He studied me a second longer, then stepped aside.
The common room smelled like leather and coffee that had been sitting too long. Men looked up as I walked in—some curious, some wary, some openly hostile. Cuts. Ink. Scars. Men who’d buried bodies and called it loyalty.
And there—at the table near the back—was Dante Verdone. Time had aged him well. The dark hair he once had was now salt and pepper with mostly gray. The sharp lines of his jaw only enhance his face while his tone body was not hidden by the shirt that fit him like a second skin under his cut.
He didn’t stand.
Didn’t smile.
Just lifted his eyes to mine, dark and steady, like he’d been expecting this. That alone nearly sent me over the edge.
“You got some nerve,” I stated, my voice echoing harder than I intended. “Sitting here like nothing happened.”
The room went quiet.
Burn muttered something under his breath and backed away. Smart man.
Dante pushed back his chair and stood slowly. “We need to talk.”
“No,” I shot back. “You need to explain.”
His jaw tightened. “Not here.”
“Try me,” I challenged. “Because I flew three hundred miles, then got in a damn rental car to drive through the mountains to ask why the man I personally delivered a US Marshall under a federal warrant for has vanished off the face of the earth.”
Murmurs rippled through the room. Dante didn’t flinch.
“Office,” he ordered and I looked around wondering why he thought he could boss me like some child. “Now.”
Nobody argued. They went back to whatever they were doing without a single pause to take in what I had going on. Deciding it was better to get flies with honey over vinegar, I made my way to the back office he was referring to.
The door shut behind us with a heavy click that made my pulse spike.
I rounded on him the second we were alone. “What did you do?” I demanded. “What the hell did you do, Dante?”
His eyes flickered—just once. That was answer enough.
“You son of a bitch,” I breathed. “You killed him.”
“I didn’t pull the trigger,” he stated evenly like that made some kind of difference.
I laughed—a sharp, humorless sound. “That’s your defense?”
“He was removed,” Dante said. “Permanently.”
I slammed my palm against the desk. “Do you have any idea what you just did to my case?”
He stepped closer. “You don’t have a case anymore.”
“Oh, I absolutely did,” I snapped. “I had him dead to rights. He was going to prison for decades. Decades, Dante. You didn’t need to touch him.”
“You didn’t see what he did,” Dante said quietly.
I froze.
“I know everything that man did,” I said. “I followed the money. I saw the damage. Families ruined. Bodies buried. You think you’re the only one who cared?”
“He framed Gonzo’s son,” Dante shot back.
“He had Pop Squally killed. The man who was a father to Lamonte and mattered to all of us when we served under him was dead because of Hampton Stanley and he put GJ on the hook for a murder he didn’t commit.
Lamonte would have avenged Pop Squally if he was alive too. ”
The words landed like a punch.
My chest tightened.
“He murdered Pop Squally,” he continued, voice low, lethal. “Blamed GJ. Put him in a cage and smiled while doing it.”
I swallowed. “And now you’ve turned him into a martyr,” I stated. “You’ve given every dirty politician in this county an excuse to scream conspiracy.”
“He disappeared,” Dante said. “That’s all anyone knows.”
“Exactly,” I snapped. “Which means now it looks like the federal investigator with personal ties to this town loses her suspect under mysterious circumstances. Do you know what that does to my credibility?”
He didn’t answer.
“Do you?” I pressed.
His silence burned worse than shouting.
“I stuck my neck out,” I shared, my voice cracking despite my effort to hold it steady. “I called in favors. I burned bridges. I put my name on that warrant. And now there’s no body. No defendant. No prosecution.”
“You’re clean,” he said.
“No,” I shot back. “I’m compromised.”
He frowned. “Juanita—”
“Don’t,” I warned. “Don’t use my name like that. Not when you just torched my career.”
His eyes darkened. “I didn’t do this to hurt you.”
“That’s almost worse,” I said bitterly. “Because it means you didn’t even consider me.”
The truth hung between us, heavy and sharp.
Dante exhaled slowly. “I would’ve protected you.”
“You don’t get to decide that for me,” I snapped. “I’m not some woman you shield from the ugly parts of the world.”
“I know exactly who you are,” he said. “That’s why I kept you out of it.”
I shook my head. “You didn’t keep me out. You dragged me in and then pulled the rug out from under me.”
He stepped closer, voice lowering. “He was never going to see a cell.”
I scoffed. “That’s bullshit.”
“He had contingency plans,” Dante explained. “Judges. Friends. Leverage. He would’ve delayed, appealed, stalled until something broke.”
“Like my case?” I challenged.
“Like you,” he stated firmly.
That stopped me cold. “They would’ve come for you,” Dante whispered gently. “And I wasn’t going to let that happen.”
Anger flared hot and bright. “So instead make him a missing man and a pissed-off federal agency?”
“I ended the threat,” he stated simply.
I stared at him, chest heaving. “You crossed a line,” I said.
He didn’t deny it.
“You think justice is whatever hurts less for you,” I continued. “But justice is about accountability. About letting the system work.”
“The system fails,” Dante calmly shared the obvious.
Silence swallowed the room. I rubbed a hand over my face, suddenly exhausted. “You don’t get to rewrite the rules because you’re angry.”
“I wasn’t angry,” he stated nonchalantly.
I looked up sharply. “I was done,” he corrected. “It was simple. He had to pay for Pop Squally’s blood on his hands and he had to do it so I knew without a shadow of a doubt that none of this touched you.”
The weight of that settled in my bones.
“You’ve put me in an impossible position,” I explained quietly.
“I’ll take whatever heat comes,” Dante replied.
I laughed softly. “You always think you can carry it all.”
“It’s my job.”
“No,” I challenged. “It’s your habit. And it costs everyone around you. Because they lose you every single time.”
His gaze softened just a fraction. “I never meant to cost you anything, Nita.”
“Intent doesn’t erase impact,” I said. “You should know that by now.”
We stood there—years of history pressing in. Love. Loss. Choices neither of us could undo.
“I came back here because I had to see you and see for myself if you would tell me the truth,” I said. “But this? This is the end of the road for us. No more. I don’t owe you a damn thing.”
“I figured,” Dante explained gently.
I turned for the door.
“Nita,” he called out softly.
I paused, my hand on the handle.
“You deserved better than this. I should have told you.” he added.
I looked back at him, anger still burning—but underneath it, something old and painful twisted. “You deserved a better everything, Dante.” I gave him the honest truth. Because the man would do everything to keep me safe, I knew that to my very bones.
Then I walked out.
Behind me, the clubhouse door closed.
And nothing about Dreadnought felt like a place I should be. Mentally I began planning my return trip home.