Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Monk
The sun was bleeding out by the time the clubhouse compound came into view, the familiar silhouette of the building darkening against the encroaching night. I eased off the throttle and let the bike slow as I rolled toward the gate.
And then I saw it: the unmarked sedan parked out front like he owned the goddamn place. A bitter laugh scraped out of me.
Of course. Roberts couldn’t just let it go. Couldn’t take the hint and fuck off like I’d told him to. No, men like him never stopped at no. They pushed. Escalated. Kept prying until they had blood under their nails.
I pulled through the gate and killed the engine, then swung my leg over the seat.
My boots hit the gravel with a crunch, and I stood there for a second staring at that sedan like it was a bomb waiting on the right pressure to blow.
Then I started toward the clubhouse, jaw tight, hands curling into fists at my sides.
The door was already open, light spilling into the dark. And from inside, I could hear it.
Shouting.
Roberts’ voice cut through the low rumble of the club as I stepped inside, loud and sharp enough to set my teeth on edge.
The gathering room was packed. Brothers lined the walls, arms crossed, faces carved hard.
Whisper and Widow stood near the bar, tense and ready.
Blackjack leaned against the pool table, his eyes locked on the storm in the middle of the room.
And there was James Roberts, dead center in it, face flushed, hands slicing the air while he shouted at Kansas, who stood a few feet away with his arms folded across his chest and his expression blank as a grave marker.
“—I have dates, Stone. Dates and times. March 14th, 2019—weapons shipment from Amarillo. July 2nd, 2020—money laundering through the Lawton Farmers’ Market.
September 18th, 2018—your involvement with the Vasquez Cartel before the massacre.
And let’s not forget Mitchell Travers. Pence.
Your VP. Executed in your clubhouse three weeks ago for statutory rape.
” Roberts’ voice shook with fury, but triumph glinted underneath it.
“I have witness statements. I have financial records. I have enough to bring RICO charges against every single member of this club. Conspiracy. Racketeering. Murder. You’re looking at twenty-five to life, minimum. All of you.”
Kansas said nothing. He just stood there staring, his face a mask of cold, controlled indifference. It was the kind of stillness that scared me more than shouting ever could.
I’d seen Kansas angry before. Seen him erupt. Seen him tear through a room like a man born to wreck things. But this was different. This was Kansas at his most dangerous, because he wasn’t reacting. He was waiting.
Shadow appeared at my side and leaned in, his voice low. “’Bout time you showed up,” he muttered. “This fucker’s been ranting for twenty minutes.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and sighed. “I tried to tell him.”
Shadow snorted. “Yeah, well, he didn’t listen.”
Roberts was still going, his voice rising with every word.
“You think you’re untouchable? You think the Feds won’t come down on you the second I make the call?
I know one of you fuckers killed Steven Keystone, and I can prove it.
I’ve also got financial trails that lead straight back to this clubhouse.
And if that’s not enough—” He paused, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on me.
A cold smile spread across his face. “I’ve got Abigail Smith.
Your VP’s sister. She’s still in WITSEC protection. Still under my jurisdiction.”
My blood went cold.
“If John doesn’t get back in line,” Roberts went on, his voice dropping into something almost conversational, “I’ll have her relocated.
New identity. New city. Somewhere he’ll never find her.
And if he tries to interfere, I’ll have him arrested for obstruction of justice and violation of federal witness protection protocols.
He’ll be in federal prison before the week is out.
” His smile widened. “So unless you want to see your precious Diamondbacks torn apart piece by piece, and your VP’s sister disappear into the system forever, you’ll order John Smith back into WITSEC where he belongs. Immediately.”
The room went silent. Every brother in the clubhouse stared, faces locked somewhere between shock and murder.
Kansas moved.
One second Kansas was still; the next, his hand shot out and closed around Roberts’ throat.
He slammed the federal agent back against the wall hard enough to rattle the framed photos nearby.
Roberts’ eyes flew wide, his hands clawing at Kansas’ grip.
Kansas didn’t let go. He leaned in until his face was inches from Roberts’ and spoke in a voice low enough to make the whole room listen harder.
“You just threatened the sister of a brother, you sick fuck,” Kansas seethed, his words dripping with venom. “In my house. In front of the entire club.”
Roberts’ mouth opened, but no sound came out as Kansas’ grip tightened.
“You think you can walk into my motherfucking clubhouse and make threats?” Kansas continued, his voice trembling with the kind of rage that only got more dangerous the quieter it became.
“You think you can use an innocent as leverage and walk out of here alive? You just declared war on the Diamondback MC. And there is no walking that back.”
Roberts’ face was turning red, his breath coming in short, panicked pulls. For the first time since he’d walked into the clubhouse, I saw real fear in his eyes.
Kansas leaned in even closer, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “You’ve made yourself an enemy of every man in this room. You understand that? Every. Single. One.”
He released Roberts without warning and shoved him back against the wall.
Roberts stumbled, gasping, one hand flying to his throat.
His eyes darted around the room, taking in the cold faces lined along the walls, the predatory stillness in Whisper and Widow, the violence simmering in every corner of the gathering room.
He’d finally understood what he’d done, and it scared him.
“Get the fuck out of my clubhouse,” Kansas said, his voice calm but final. “And never contact my brother again.”
For a moment, Roberts just stared at him, his chest heaving, his face pale. Then his eyes narrowed, and some of that federal arrogance crept back into his expression. “This isn’t over,” he said, his voice hoarse but defiant. “You just made the biggest mistake of your life, Stone.”
Kansas didn’t answer. He just stood there staring, and his silence was more threatening than anything he could’ve said. Roberts straightened his shirt and turned toward the door. And that was when he saw me—arms crossed near the entrance, watching him with a cold, satisfied smile.
Roberts stopped. His eyes locked on mine, and for a second, I saw it—the rage, the humiliation, the realization that he had lost control of the situation.
I grinned. “I told you I was done,” I said, my voice low and dangerous. “Do you believe me now?”
Roberts’ jaw clenched. Then he shoved past me, his shoulder slamming into mine as he stormed out.
I didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. I just stood there and watched him climb into the sedan, slam the door, and peel out of the compound with gravel spraying behind him.
The sound of his engine faded into the distance.
Then silence settled over the room like dust after a collapse. I turned back toward the gathering room. Kansas stood in the center, hands on his hips, chest still rising and falling with the leftover force of his anger. My brothers watched him and waited.
Kansas walked over to me, stopping at my side. He let out a long, heavy sigh, but there was no relief in it. Only grim acknowledgment.
“He’s not bluffing,” Kansas said quietly. “You know that, right?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I know.”
“He’s got the authority to make good on those threats. RICO charges. Witness flipping. Abigail.” Kansas’ voice was flat, stripped down to bare fact. “We just kicked out the Federation. We’re on our own. And now we’ve got a federal agent with a vendetta and the resources to bury us.”
I turned my head, scanning the room until I found Trigger standing near the back, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. “Trigger,” I said, my voice cutting through the silence.
He straightened, his eyes locking on mine.
“Watch him,” I said, my voice flat and final. “If he goes near my sister, kill him.”
Trigger didn’t hesitate. He gave one sharp nod, then turned and slipped out of the clubhouse without a word. Kansas looked at me, his expression hard and grim. “You understand what you just did?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I just ordered a hit on a federal agent.”
“We’re at war now,” Kansas said quietly. “With the federal government. There’s no walking this back.”
I met his gaze. “I know.”
Kansas nodded once, slowly, then clapped a hand on my shoulder. There was no reassurance in it. No promise that any of this would be all right, because it wouldn’t.
We both knew it.
“Whatever comes next,” Kansas said, his voice low and heavy, “it’s going to be worse than anything we’ve faced before.”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him we’d find a way through it, same as we always did. But I couldn’t. Standing there in the gathering room, surrounded by my brothers, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d just stepped over a line I couldn’t ever step back across.
Roberts wasn’t going to disappear. Men like him never did. And whatever came next was going to cost more than I could afford to pay.