Chapter 1
CHAPTER
ONE
Kendall
Following the president and Sergeant at Arms of the Kings into the bakery, I slip in right behind them.
Thinking I could fly under the radar was pure arrogance on my part, a classic mistake.
Yet, I understand the predictable playbook men like this use to keep their hands clean.
They invariably overlook the woman relegated to the background or ignored in the corner.
That mistake is his first error in judgment.
He expects an amateur, but he is completely wrong.
My gaze stays fixed on him from across the bustling room, every one of my steps remaining deliberate and controlled.
He has no clue about the cold weapon pressed against my thigh or how closely I am tracking his path.
While he actively searches the crowd for threats, he remains oblivious to the true nature of the danger approaching.
Though my ultimate plan is still unformed, I am certain about one thing—I am not walking out of here without confronting him.
I spot the name Riptide emblazoned across his cut, confirming his identity. Stepping directly into his path, I block his way and ask, “You’re Booker’s president, right?”
His cold, calculating eyes narrow as he sizes me up. He folds his thick arms across his beefy chest while the man next to him snickers. “She’s a wildcat, Rip.”
“Shut it, Indiana,” Riptide snaps, his gaze measuring me carefully. “You would be?”
“I’d tell you but then I’d have to kill you,” I threaten.
Indiana’s tone changes as he steps between me and his chapter’s president. “Did you just threaten him, little girl?”
I smirk at the challenge in his eyes, refusing to back down. “I say what I mean,” I reply, my voice steady despite the adrenaline spiking in my veins.
Indiana narrows his eyes, his posture shifting into a defensive stance. “You've got guts, woman,” he growls, his hand hovering near his waist where a blade likely rests. “But you're barking up the wrong tree. We don't take kindly to threats in these parts.”
“What is this, a western? Do you want to meet at high noon and see who the quicker draw is?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest to mirror his stance.
“I don't have patience for this posturing, and I definitely don't care about the intimidation routine you’re trying to sell. Decide right now if you want to dance, because I’m finished playing games.”
He takes a threatening step closer, and the playful man from before morphs into a stone cold killer. His eyes drill into mine. “Don’t think because you have a set of tits I’ll treat you any differently than I would if you had a dick,” he sneers.
I don't back down. I just tilt my chin up, meeting his hateful gaze with my own. “I don't expect you to,” I snap back. “I expect you to know who you’re talking to.”
A low growl builds in his throat. I can feel the tension radiating off him like heat from an engine. It's exhilarating. I don't care that I'm outnumbered or that I’m in their territory. My pulse thrums in my ears. I’m ready to strike if he gives me the slightest opening.
Riptide shifts his weight, his eyes locked on our little standoff. He looks like he’s debating whether to let us tear each other apart or stop the bleeding before it starts.
“Back off, Indiana,” Riptide commands, his voice like grinding gravel. He steps into our space, effectively breaking the tension. “She's not worth the trouble.”
Indiana lingers for a second longer, his hand twitching near his waist, before he grunts and takes a half-step back. “She's lucky you're in a good mood, Rip.”
I offer a tight, humorless smile, holding their stares without blinking. My posture remains loose, but I am ready to move at the first sign of trouble. “I have something you need,” I say, my voice steady despite the tension in the room.
Riptide does not even flinch. He just leans back against the counter, his expression guarded and unimpressed. “We don't want anything from you. Especially not from someone who walks in here acting like she owns the place.”
“I am not asking for your trust,” I tell him, keeping my tone level. “I am offering you a way to end the war you are currently losing. Is that worth a conversation?”
Indiana huffs, his irritation vibrating in the air. “She is full of it, Rip. Let me drag her out so she stops wasting our time.”
Riptide holds up a hand, silencing him without looking away from me. He studies my face as if searching for a lie, his gaze heavy and analytical. “How do you think you could do that, little lady?” he asks, and for the first time, I hear a sliver of genuine interest beneath the skepticism.
“I can give you Jerome,” I state.
Indiana moves faster than I anticipate. In a blur of motion, he disarms me, snatching the blade from its holster before I even have the chance to tense my muscles.
His hand clamps onto my upper arm like a vice, and he shoves me toward the rear exit with enough force to send me stumbling.
I regain my footing, my jaw set tight as I resist his hold, but he just tightens his grip and pushes harder.
Riptide trails us, his footsteps silent on the concrete, his face a mask of stone.
I glare at the back of Indiana’s head, my heart hammering against my ribs, but I refuse to panic.
I’m still in the game. I’m just moving to a more private arena.
Leaning over me, Indiana barks, “Talk.”
“Don’t talk to me like that,” I hiss, twisting my arm to break his hold. “I’m not the beast under your bed. I’m just a woman trying to survive it, so back off before I give you a real reason to act tough.”
Indiana glares, his knuckles white as he balls his fists at his sides. He clearly hates being defied. “You’re walking on thin ice,” he snarls, closing the distance until I catch the scent of stale coffee and worn leather clinging to his cut.
I hold his gaze, refusing to flinch. “Maybe so, but I’m the only one with the map to Jerome. You want him? Then stop acting like a bully and start listening.”
“I am not being a bully, woman. I am being logical right now since you threatened my president and dangled information over our heads that you should not know or have access to,” Indiana denies, his voice tight.
I enter his space, refusing to yield. “Access is just a matter of knowing who to ask. You are thinking small while Jerome is already two steps ahead of you. Do you want to save your club or do you want to keep playing this game of egos?”
Riptide steps forward and his presence fills the room as he interrupts. “Tell us how you know about Jerome,” he demands, his eyes locked on mine.
“Because he is the monster I deal with on a daily basis,” I say, giving them a little piece of the puzzle.
Riptide doesn't blink. He just crosses his arms over his chest, his leather cut straining against his bulk. “That isn't an answer. That's a teaser. We don't play games with our lives, and we don't gamble on riddles from strangers.”
I hold my ground. The air in the room feels thick, charged with the kind of volatile energy that precedes a storm.
“It's all you get for now,” I reply, my voice steady.
“Jerome plans a move against your club. A real one.
Not just some shadow play. He thinks he's got you cornered, but he's making a massive error.”
Indiana sneers, his hand still resting near the weapon he took from me. “He's making a mistake? Maybe the mistake is you thinking you can waltz in here and tell us how to run our business.”
“I'm not telling you how to run anything,” I counter, looking past him to meet Riptide's intense gaze. “I'm telling you that your enemy is closer than you think, and he's faster than you're prepared for. You can drag me out, or you can listen to what I know. The choice is yours, Prez.”
Riptide studies me for a long, heavy moment. The silence stretches between us, taut and fraying. Finally, he nods, just a fraction of an inch. “Talk.”
“He’s got friends in high places, thanks to his dad being the former sheriff,” I say, aware they already know that fact but needing to establish the baseline. “The badge is still his insurance policy. That’s why he moves like he’s untouchable.”
Riptide doesn’t blink, but his jaw tightens. “We know who his old man was. We know the reach he had. Give me something I don’t know.”
I lock eyes with him, letting my gaze drift to the weapon Indiana still grips.
“He’s planning to leverage that badge to sweep your patch right out from under you.
He’s got the DA’s office lined up for a raid that isn’t by the book.
It’s a setup to take the club down while the law looks the other way. ”
“How the hell does he maintain that grip on the town?” Indiana asks, pacing a tight circle around me like a wolf scenting prey. “Everyone knows his old man was crooked as a snake. Jerome isn't exactly the golden boy people adore.”
“He deals in leverage, not popularity. He digs up dirt on the local administration just to keep them quiet. He holds a digital ledger of every bribe and backroom deal these officials make. He uses his dad's old connections and keeps them under his thumb. He flashes that dead sheriff's badge whenever someone steps out of line. It’s basically a digital leash. He feeds them just enough info to keep them compliant while he hollows out the county from the inside. He’s even got backdoors into the county server to track their emails, their texts, and their private messages. If you’re in power here, you’re either on his payroll or you’re on his hit list. It’s simple math for him.
He doesn't need to be liked when he can just be feared.”
Indiana stops pacing, his face darkening. “And he's using that to bring the heat on us?”
“He's using it to frame you for crimes you haven't committed yet,” I clarify.
“Like what?” Rip asks, his face blank.
I don't hold back. “He plants evidence inside your clubhouse and in the homes of your brothers. Stashed weapons, drugs, whatever makes for a messy headline. He has a team ready to raid the place while you’re out on a run. By the time you get back, your patch is burned and your brothers are in cuffs. He’s manufacturing a reason for the state to tear your chapter apart and call it justice. ”
Indiana scoffs, but his eyes flicker with genuine concern. “He thinks he can pin that on us? We’ve got security. We’ve got protocols. Nobody can infiltrate our clubhouse or property without being discovered.”
“He doesn’t care about your protocols,” I tell them, meeting Riptide’s gaze head on.
“He’s got a specialist who’s just as good as yours.
He’s already inside your network, mapping your routes and finding your vulnerabilities.
He’s not playing a game of chance. He’s running a simulation until he gets the result he wants. ”
“Who? Who is he using against us?” Riptide asks, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous rumble.
“Me,” I confess. The word tastes like poison on my tongue. “He has me under his thumb. He thinks I’m the best weapon in his arsenal. The only problem with that for him is that I don’t want him to win. I want you to win.”
Riptide stares at me, his gaze sharp enough to cut. “Why?” he demands, stepping into my personal space. “Why risk your neck to betray him for a club you don’t even know?”
“Because I see exactly what he does to people,” I reply. “ I’m done being the tool he uses to build his empire.”