Chapter Twenty-Three
Whiskey
There’s a point in every man’s life when he’s supposed to realize he’s been doing something wrong. Mine comes in an old jail clubhouse while Sheriff Dix’s daughter sits across from me with a split lip, a loaded pistol, and enough attitude to start a second civil war.
I still want to lock her down.
That’s the problem.
By the time we get to the Lockup, Twila has traded the bloodied uniform for jeans and a clean shirt, but her service pistol is still at her hip. Her knee is stiff where Pike kicked it, and a red mark is starting high on her forehead from the headbutt.
Legend has the whole Lockup wound tight.
Rye has prospects covering every entrance while brothers rotate through the yard and parking lot, checking bikes, cages, tree lines, and anything that gets close enough to matter.
Derby has county maps spread across half the big table, already marking routes in and out in case we have to move people fast. Phones keep ringing, and somebody has been printing property records so hard the machine in the old office smells hot.
Pearly Gates’ current property is mostly cleared out. Crowley is long gone. Pike is alive and in custody. Nobody knows how many people were moved before the county reached the place or where the fuck they went.
That’s enough to make every protective instinct I have start screaming.
Wren is here at the Lockup with Mama for now. Mama pulled her out of school the second Daddy found Pike’s pictures and brought her straight here under club escort.
Legend’s sister Amelia has taken over one of the tables with Lottie, because apparently women see an armed clubhouse lockdown and decide children need snacks.
Lottie has produced chicken strips from somewhere, which tracks.
Derby’s boy August sits beside Wren with Blue Rex tucked under one arm while the two of them argue over whether Prickle could beat a dinosaur in a fight.
“Dinosaur,” August says.
“Prickle has spikes,” Wren argues.
“Blue Rex has teeth.”
From the maps, Derby says, “Boy knows his weapons.”
Amelia points at him without looking away from the kids. “Do not encourage them.”
Holler, leaning against the bar beside his ol’ lady, says, “You’re wasting your breath.”
Lottie looks at him. “Did I ask you?”
“Nope.”
“Good.”
He shuts up.
Smart man.
Sophie and Becki have financial records spread across the bar, the same stack I should be helping sort because numbers are literally my fucking job.
Instead, I’ve spent the last five minutes watching Twila’s busted mouth.
Royal hasn’t moved more than ten feet from Cider, and Bullet sits beside Kaylee like somebody nailed his boots to the floor.
Derby gets up from the maps long enough to crouch beside August, listen to something deeply serious about Blue Rex, fix the kid’s untied shoe, then go right back to planning escape routes like none of that was worth noticing.
I notice.
Twila is across from me. Without the badge and duty belt distracting from it, the bruise around her mouth looks darker than it did in the sheriff’s parking lot.
It ain’t like the bruises she gets wrestling. Those she earns.
She finally catches me. “Quit staring.”
“Can’t.”
“Why?”
“Your mouth’s busted.”
“You busted Pike worse.”
“Nobody fucks with the Kings, Deputy.”
She looks at me. “Pretty sure I fucked one last night.”
I go silent.
Royal chokes on his beer.
“Walked into that one,” Holler says.
I point at her. “You’re why club mottos shouldn’t be discussed around women.”
She runs her tongue over the cut. “I’ve had much worse.”
I point at her.
Her eyebrows rise. “You gonna tell me how to use my own tongue now?”
Royal looks up from across the table. “Please don’t answer that.”
“Royal.”
“What?”
Becki smacks his shoulder. “I told you to stop listening.”
“He said tongue.”
“I heard him.”
“That’s why I married up.”
She gives him a look. “You ain’t married me yet.”
Royal smiles. “Technicality.”
Across the room, Sophie glances toward Legend. It’s barely a movement, there and gone, but I catch it anyway.
Whole damn club is walking around with relationship problems these days. Makes me feel almost respectable.
Legend tosses another printout onto the table. “Pearly Gates main property is empty enough I don’t like it.”
Twila shifts closer to the documents. “Empty how?”
“Rooms stripped. Computers gone. Paperwork burned. Fresh tire tracks heading out in multiple directions.”
“Girls?”
“None.”
Kaylee loses what little color she had.
Bullet’s hand closes around hers immediately.
Legend sees it and lowers his voice. “We’re not assuming anything yet.”
Kaylee keeps looking at the table. “They moved them.”
Nobody answers, probably because she might be right and saying it out loud ain’t gonna help her.
Bullet turns his chair toward her. “Hey.”
She looks at him.
“Not your fault.”
Her eyes fill. “I left.”
“You survived.”
“I left them.”
“You survived.”
He says it again, harder this time, like she needs the exact same words until they finally stick somewhere the guilt can’t reach.
I look away.
Not my moment.
Twila doesn’t. She watches Kaylee for another beat, then Bullet, and something thoughtful passes through her expression before she turns back toward Legend.
He continues. “Tech’s working the SIM card from Mercy House. Pike’s phones are being cloned. Sheriff’s people have his electronics too.”
Twila nods. “Daddy said Pike’s lawyer showed up fast.”
Royal leans back. “Whose lawyer?”
“Firm out of Lexington.”
Sophie’s head comes up. “Name?”
Twila tells her.
Sophie reaches for the stack of notes beside her and starts flipping pages.
“I’ve seen it.”
Royal mutters, “Course you have.”
She ignores him until she finds what she wants, then turns one page around.
“There.”
Same firm.
Not her father’s name directly. It appears beside a legal filing tied to one of the Montgomery-linked charitable transfers Sophie already traced.
Always a step removed. Sometimes two.
I pull the filing closer. Money, lawyers, charities, property. Different columns, same fucking trick. Put enough clean names between the cash and the rot and everybody gets to swear they never touched it.
Sophie looks down at the page. “My father’s money keeps landing near the same people.”
Legend starts, “Soph…”
She looks up. “No.”
He stops.
Whatever passes between them ain’t mine, but I recognize the shape of it. His urge to protect. Her refusal to be protected from information she has a right to see.
After a moment, Legend nods. “Okay.”
Cider sits beside Becki with Amos’s old fundraiser photograph in front of her. Somebody circled the scarred woman’s hand, and Cider keeps tracing around the mark without touching the actual picture.
Legend looks toward Kaylee. “We already know Crowley moved girls through other safe houses. Kaylee, we need anything you remember about where girls from your group were being taken.”
Bullet turns his head immediately.
Kaylee’s shoulders tighten.
Legend catches it. “Not now if you can’t.”
She looks at Bullet instead of Legend.
Not Twila.
Not any of us.
Bullet.
“There is another place.”
The room quiets.
Royal leans forward before he can stop himself. “Where?”
Bullet looks at him.
That’s all it takes.
Royal sits back.
Kaylee’s fingers tighten around Bullet’s hand. “I don’t know.”
“You said another place,” Twila says gently.
“I know.”
“How do you know?”
“They talked about it.”
“What did they call it?”
Kaylee shakes her head. “I can’t.”
Bullet is on his feet before anybody else says a word.
“Enough.”
Legend nods immediately. “Enough.”
No argument. No pushing because we need answers more than she needs air.
Kaylee looks up at Bullet. “I’ll tell you.”
Something shifts across his face, barely there.
“Okay.”
That’s all he says, but everybody hears the rest anyway.
She’ll tell Bullet when she can.
Not us.
Interesting.
Future problem.
Right now, I got my own.
Legend starts assigning security. “Royal, Becki stays inside until we know how far Pike’s surveillance went.”
Becki turns toward him. “Becki can speak for Becki.”
Royal closes his eyes. “Here we go.”
Legend pinches the bridge of his nose, then corrects course. “Fine. Becki, I’d prefer you inside.”
“Better.”
He looks toward Sophie. “I’d prefer Sophie here too while we sort the financials.”
Sophie studies him.
Apparently he learns fast when properly motivated.
“Fine.”
Twila’s mouth threatens to smile.
Legend breathes out. “Christ.” He points toward the county map. “Nobody rides alone until Crowley’s found. Nobody’s woman, nobody’s kid, nobody connected to this table.”
Twila lifts an eyebrow. “I ain’t anybody’s woman.”
“Fine,” Legend says. “Nobody’s pain-in-the-ass deputy either.”
Royal snorts.
Legend doesn’t smile. “Pike put his hands on one of ours. Crowley threatened one of our kids. They fucked with the Kings. Now they get the Kings. As far as I’m concerned, they’re dead and buried.”
Twila opens her mouth.
I beat her to it. “Don’t.”
She looks at me. “I was gonna say I’m okay with that one.”
Well, fuck me.
Then Legend looks at me.
“Wren and Glamaw need moving somewhere tighter until we know exactly what Pike’s surveillance means. I got a place outside Hell. Rye can lock it down with a couple brothers without drawing county attention.”
I look toward Mama.
She’s sitting with Wren at one of the old tables, helping her color like there ain’t a room full of armed bikers discussing surveillance of a seven-year-old twenty feet away.
My daughter is safe.
Right now.
I’m getting real fucking tired of those two words.
I nod. “Mama takes Wren.”
Then I look at Twila.
Old Whiskey takes over before New Whiskey can catch the bastard.
“Twila goes with ‘em.”
Silence.
Fuck.
Twila slowly turns her head toward me. That look used to make me dig my heels in harder. Now it mostly tells me I’ve got about three seconds to fix whatever stupid shit just came outta my mouth.
I close my eyes. “Fuck.”
Royal smiles.
Becki whispers, “Shh.”
Twila folds her arms. “I’m listening.”
I look at her. “I want you somewhere safe.”