Chapter Eight
Dan
Church was packed tighter than a dive bar on payday.
Every chair around the scarred oak table was taken by full members, and the prospects lined the walls like silent sentinels, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
The air smelled of coffee and cigarettes.
Tinder banged the driveshaft once, their version of a gavel.
The sound was sharp, and the room snapped to church quiet.
The metal bar was used to gavel meetings open and closed, and had also been utilized as a commonsense knocker in the past too.
“Three HHMC remnants hit Ink & Iron this week.” Tinder started with no preamble, no bullshit. “They put hands on a civilian female. Dan handled it.”
A low, collective growl rolled around the table. Brothers shifted, knuckles whitening on chair arms. Good. His club was pissed on Riley’s behalf. That mattered more than words.
Denver leaned forward and flicked a remote.
A grainy still from a traffic cam appeared on the wall-mounted screen: a man in a dark hoodie handing something to one of the three pricks from yesterday.
His face was obscured by shadow and a low brim, but the posture, from the way he stood, with shoulders cocked like he owned the space, was too familiar.
“Betrayer?” Rocker asked, voice raw with anger.
“Likely,” Denver confirmed. “Signal pings put a known burner within twenty miles of the shop. Same burner pinged through to a store where the betrayer bought the phones we found in the HHMC assholes’ bags. Two days ago. Cash, no ID. Whoever it is, they’re coordinating.”
Viper, the sergeant-at-arms, cracked his knuckles. “We should’ve buried every last HHMC patch when we had the chance. This ghost is playing with fire.”
“Agreed,” Gunner said from the far end, arms folded. “But absorbing the few we patched over was Tinder’s call, and it was the right one then. Question is, do we keep the door cracked for any more of ‘em or slam it shut?”
Tinder’s gaze swept the table. “That’s why we’re here. Speak.”
Rocker went first. “I say no more. We took the ones who proved themselves with allegiance checks and blood in, blood out. Anyone still wearing Horde colors is either too stupid or too loyal to the wrong people. We don’t need that risk.”
Viper nodded. “Second. Every time we let one in, we roll the dice on another knife in the back. Look what happened last year.”
Gunner snorted. “We’re down to what, a dozen known survivors? If they’re organizing, they’re desperate, not organized. Starving dogs snap at anything. I say we hunt ’em, end ’em, and be done with ’em.”
“Guys yesterday claimed they were the final three,” Dan said. “Not that I believed them, but you should hear their words.”
Denver tapped the table. “Data says they’re scattered all over. We made sure there was no central leadership left. But that ghost? He’s the glue holding their anger together. When we find him, the rest will fall apart.”
Tinder looked at Dan. “You’ve got skin in this now. The woman, Riley Monroe, she’s yours?”
The room went still. Every eye turned to him.
Dan didn’t hesitate. Didn’t blink. He spoke confidently into the quiet. “Hell yeah. She’s mine.”
A beat of silence. Then nods rippled around the table, slow, deliberate, the kind that carried weight. No one questioned his declaration. When a Maniac claimed a woman as his old lady, that was law. Full stop.
Tinder’s mouth twitched, the barest hint of approval.
“Then she gets full protection. Dan’s primary.
I want two more on rotation. I say Viper, you, and Gunner take days.
Denver keeps digging on the ghost. We find this motherfucker, and we end him.
No loose ends.” His eyes swept the room once more. “Clear?”
“Clear,” the table answered as one, voices low and hard.
“Dan, go get Riley.”
He hopped up and swanned through the door opened by Gunner. He found Riley in the kitchen and took her hand. “It’s time.”
He led Riley into church, fingers twined together, her trailing a half step behind that he suspected was intentional.
Dan appreciated the respect for him and the club and gave Riley a squeeze that she returned.
When he sat, she didn’t ask for a chair, simply stood next to him, and that was another gesture of deference.
Dan looked up at her to see Riley grinning, staring down at him. She bent, lifted his bandana to expose his lips, and pressed her full ones against him. “How am I doin’ so far?” she whispered.
“Just about perfect,” he whispered back.
“Motherfucking domesticated expression of bliss on your face there, Dan.”
He angled around to glare at Tinder, seated at the head of the table.
“Yes, President,” he agreed with a nod, trying not to grin. Riley’s fingers trailed along the curve of his shoulder and then he was doing his best not to shiver too. Dan reached up and pressed her hand against his skin, holding it in place, hoping she’d understand the unspoken request.
“Okay, motherfuckers, Dan aside, does anyone have anything else to report on the fucking HHMC?”
Riley’s fingers twitched underneath his hand, and he gave her another squeeze.
“Three sightings near the state line, one group of four or five going back and forth. Makes me think they’ve still got a base of operations here in town or at least nearby.” Mad Dawg shook his head. “It’s like they don’t learn.”
“Then it’s our job to keep teaching the same lesson.” Dan spoke strongly. He’d never had a problem talking to the club before, but he found himself wanting to come across clearly. “But we’ve got to have a direction to aim our arrow. Who’s got any intel?”
Tinder leaned back in his chair. “How many do they have left, anyway? We need a firm number, Denver. After we rolled them last year, the count has gotta be less than a dozen.”
“And mark off three from that count, after what happened at Riley’s shop.” Dan looked around. “They got religion and went on a sabbatical.”
“And good riddance,” Mad Dawg said fervently. “But as for their current base, I got nothing. I can run a couple of questions up the flagpole. Since I’ve got more of their old members under my wing, maybe they can shake some info loose.”
Rocker lifted a hand.
“What?” Tinder asked crossly. “Fuckin’ what?”
“What do we know about the traitor who sold info to them before? Last I knew he was in the wind. But now we’re sayin’ we’re seein’ his burner tied in with this hit on Ink & Iron.
Which is it?” Rocker put his hand down when he finished speaking, pulling chuckles from some of the men.
“What?” Rocker’s voice held the exact same irritated tone as Tinder’s had.
“Fuckin’ what?” More chuckles, which was probably Rocker’s intention after bringing up the sorest of topics.
“The betrayer was last seen in southern Florida, and that was confirmed about four months ago. But we’ve kept lines of inquiry open with clubs all up and down the coast.” Denver spoke up for the first time.
“He’s the object of significant investigation, my brother.
If he moves to where he’s vulnerable, we’ll be the first to know. ”
The meeting went on like that for a half hour or more.
Long enough Dan’s ass was starting to hurt, and he was proud of Riley that she hadn’t started shifting or fidgeting.
That stillness would earn her more respect from all the members.
Dan hoped at some point he got to learn all her secrets, because she knew a lot about club life to not be wearing someone’s PO vest. That was a topic for another day.
Finally, he rapped his knuckles on the table. Every face swiveled to look at him, and he waited until he got a nod from Tinder to ask, “What questions do we have for Riley?”
“Good bringing us back on track. For those who don’t yet know, all new club tats will be run through Riley.
And if a member isn’t sure if their existing club tattoo meets muster, they need to book time with Riley out at Ink & Iron.
Denver’s going to get her a copy of the different approved versions of the club colors, and she’ll have those to refer to when scoping out an old or new tattoo.
” Tinder looked up and down the table. No one had a question.
“Riley, did those assholes have an appointment the other day?”
Riley’s fingers twitched underneath Dan’s hand, and he gave her a reassuring squeeze. “Direct questions can be answered, Riley.”
She pulled in a slow, even breath. “No, they did not have appointments. Not even a consult. I had a client in the chair when they came in.”
“Had you ever done work on any of their members?”
“Not to my knowledge. Certainly not a club logo or colors. I would have turned that work down, same as I turn down racist graphics.”
“But you’re willing to do our colors?” Rocker leaned closer. “What’s the difference? Why’s that?”
Dan gave her fingers another squeeze when she hesitated. If Tinder didn’t want Rocker’s questions answered, he would have waved off the inquiry already.
“I heard through the grapevine that they were less than aboveboard in their dealings with others in my industry. Lots of flash done for promised cash that never materialized. I’m not going to put myself in the position to be owed money by a club.
Or flash for favors, which would end up being worse.
” Her lips twitched sideways. “Raggedy Dan here is proof you guys are different. He’s already paid for half his tattoo up front, and we don’t even have an appointment set yet.
” She winked at him. “And that was before I blew his mind.”
Every man laughed loud and long, and the tips of Dan’s ears burned. That was only exacerbated by Riley bending over to drop a kiss on the top of his ear. “My new favorite color,” she whispered before standing again.
Tinder rapped the driveshaft against the table with enough force to make everything on top rattle and shake. The laughter slowed, quieting.
“Riley, what do you know of our takeover of HHMC?” That was Tinder again.