Chapter 23
Nash
The war room is full.
Malachi sits at the head of the scarred oak table.
Knox is to his left with the laptop open.
I take my spot to his right. East sits across from me with his knee bouncing and his phone face-up on the table showing a live feed of the main room where Darla is on the couch with a pillow behind her back.
James sits in his chair with coffee. Rider and Kyle stand at the door.
Arden stands against the back wall, arms crossed, still as stone.
He's not a patched member, but he runs security for Vesper and Malachi stopped pretending Arden isn't part of the operation months ago.
Lawrence sits at the far end in a chair Knox pulled from the kitchen, his folder of photographs open in front of him and his hands flat on the table.
A federal judge sitting at a motorcycle club's war table. The room absorbs it without comment.
"Start from the beginning," Malachi says.
Lawrence talks. The cases and the pipeline.
The threat against Ruby. Webb handling the paperwork.
The sealed files. Three years of silence.
He lays it out the way he'd lay out a case in court, methodical, precise, except his voice catches twice and his hands grip the table edge when he describes the photograph of Ruby at nineteen.
Knox has the laptop running, cross-referencing Lawrence's information against the data he's already decrypted. Every few minutes he types something, his eyes moving between Lawrence and the screen.
"The protection order," Knox says. "You filed it yourself?"
"Through Webb. Non-standard channels."
"The filing bypassed judicial review."
"Yes."
"That's a career-ending violation if it surfaces."
"I know what it is." Lawrence's jaw sets. "I knew what it was when I signed it."
Malachi leans forward. "The loyalists are still operating. How many?"
"I don't know the current number. Three years ago, the network had eight to ten key players connected to the Gulf route. Castiel and Brighton were the heads. With them gone, the structure fractured, but the loyalists are still funded. Still connected."
"And the threat against Ruby is active," I say.
"The photographs prove it. They've been watching her. Watching me." Lawrence looks at me. "The note makes it clear they consider Ruby leverage."
"She's not leverage," I say. "She's protected."
Lawrence nods once.
Knox turns the laptop toward the table. A web of connections fills the screen, names and locations linked by lines he's been building for months. He drags Lawrence's records into the framework, and three new nodes light up on the Gulf route.
"There," Knox says. "And there. Two distribution points we didn't have before."
Malachi studies the screen. "Rider, you and Kyle take the Leighton house. Six-hour rotations. Two prospects on the perimeter, staggered."
"Copy," Rider says.
"Knox, how long to trace the funding? East would normally run it, but…" Malachi glances at East's phone, the live feed of Darla shifting on the couch.
"I've got it," Knox says. "With Lawrence's financial records? Days. Maybe less."
East nods, his jaw tight. The man who should be running the numbers is watching his phone every thirty seconds.
James has been quiet, his hands around his coffee, his eyes moving from face to face. He sets the mug down.
"Don't trace the money," James says. "Trace the threat. Someone took those photographs of Ruby last week. That person is local, active, and close enough to find."
Knox's fingers pause on the keyboard. Malachi leans back in his chair.
"Bring the women in," Malachi says.
East is already at the door. The war room fills with sound as the women file in.
Candace comes in first and crosses over to Malachi's side.
Sloane's next, settling beside Knox. Darla waddles in with one hand on her belly, the other gripping the doorframe.
East is beside her in two steps, his hand on her lower back, guiding her to a chair he pulls from the wall.
"I'm fine," Darla says. "Stop hovering."
"I'm not hovering. I'm providing structural support."
"You're hovering."
Ruby comes in with Maggie. Her eyes find mine across the room and hold, steady, searching. I see the questions in them—are you okay, is this real, are we doing this—and I answer by pulling her into my side, my arm wrapping around her waist. She exhales against my shoulder.
Frankie slips in last, leaning against the far wall. Amelia hovers near the door until Candace waves her in.
Raine follows Maggie to the couch, settling beside Darla.
Lawrence is still at the war table, a federal judge surrounded by leather cuts and gun oil.
His folder of photographs is open in front of men who run fight circuits and ride Harleys.
He glances at his wife on the couch. She glances back.
Neither of them looks out of place, which surprises me more than it should.
Malachi stands. "The threat against Ruby is active.
Surveillance photos taken within the last two weeks confirm the network remnants are watching her and her family.
" He looks around the room. "Kyle and Rider rotate on the Leighton house starting tonight.
Two prospects on the perimeter. Nobody in this room goes anywhere alone until further notice. "
Candace doesn't flinch. Her hand finds Malachi's arm and stays there.
Sloane reaches under the table, and Knox's fingers lace through hers without looking down.
Maggie shifts closer to James, her shoulder pressing against his.
Frankie's jaw tightens, her arms crossing over her chest. Amelia's eyes are wide, but she straightens on the couch and lifts her chin.
Darla shifts in her chair, pressing her hand against the side of her belly. Her face tightens for a three-count, then relaxes. East's head swivels toward her.
"What was that?"
"Nothing. Braxton Hicks. I've been having them all week."
"That didn't look like nothing."
"East. I'm fine. Focus."
He turns back to the table. His knee starts bouncing again.
When Malachi finishes, Maggie moves to the kitchen. Coffee appears. Plates of food materialize. Ruby squeezes my hand and crosses the room to help, already reaching for the stack of plates on the counter.
I follow her. My hand closes around her wrist before she picks up the first plate.
"Sit down," I say. Low. Just for her.
"I'm just helping Maggie—"
"Maggie has it. Sit down."
"Nash, I can carry a plate."
"I know you can." I take the plate from her hand and set it back on the counter. "But you just sat through your father telling you that people threatened to kill you when you were nineteen. You're not serving anyone right now."
Her mouth opens. The argument forms behind her eyes, the instinct to move, to carry, to make sure everyone else is comfortable before she lets herself feel anything. I watch her fight it.
"Please," I say. Quieter. My thumb traces the inside of her wrist where I'm still holding it. "Let me."
Her jaw works. She looks at the plates on the counter, at Maggie already moving, at the room full of people she wants to take care of. Then she looks at me.
"Fine," she says. "But I want the good plate. The one without the chip."
My hand finds the small of her back, and I walk her to the couch. She sits. Walking to the kitchen and back takes me thirty seconds. A plate, coffee with two sugars and a splash of cream. She takes both from my hands when I sit beside her.
She stares at the plate. At the coffee. At me. Her eyes are bright.
"Stop looking at me like that," she says. "I'm going to cry again, and my mascara can't take another hit today."
I press my lips to her temple. She exhales.
Raine watches from the kitchen doorway. James brings her a cup of coffee without being asked, and she takes it with both hands, her eyes moving around the room.
Candace pulls Malachi's head down to whisper something.
Knox and Sloane argue quietly over the laptop.
East hovers over Darla while she swats at him.
Kyle tells Amelia something that makes her cover her mouth with her hand. Rider tunes his guitar in the corner.
Lawrence stands beside his wife. He watches the same thing she's watching. His hand finds hers.
"This is who protects our daughter," Raine murmurs to Lawrence.
He squeezes her hand.
Maggie sets a plate on the arm of the couch beside me. She doesn't say a word. Just sets it there and walks back to the kitchen. Ruby looks at the plate. Looks at me. Nudges it closer with her elbow.
"Eat."
"I'm good."
"You just made me sit down and brought me a plate and coffee. Your jaw is doing the thing that means you're clenching your teeth. Eat, Nash."
I pick up the plate. She watches me take the first bite with the satisfaction of a woman who has won a negotiation and intends to win every future one.
"So," she says. "I have an idea."
"No," I say.
"You don't even know what it is."
"Your ideas involve chaos."
"My ideas involve community building and interpersonal bonding through structured recreational activities."
"Chaos."
"I want to play a couples game." She turns to the room. Full volume. "Attention. ATTENTION. I am calling an emergency session of post-crisis emotional regulation, which I just invented, and the prescribed treatment is a couples game."
"What kind of couples game?" Candace asks.
"The kind where couples answer questions about each other, and we find out who actually knows their partner. I saw it on TikTok. It's called 'Most Likely To' and it's going to be devastating."
"I'm in," Darla says from her chair, shifting again, her hand pressing against her side.
"Sloane?"
"As long as Knox doesn't try to turn it into a data analysis exercise."
"I would never," Knox says, already pulling up a spreadsheet.
"Maggie? James?"
James lifts his coffee. Maggie nods.
"Frankie?"
"No."
"Frankie, you can pair with Arden if he—"
"No."
"Noted. Frankie and Rider are observers. Amelia?"