Chapter 4
The chapel smelled like leather, gun oil, and something sharper—testosterone and aggression, the scent of men who solved problems with their hands. Mandy sat in a wooden chair against the wall, trying to make herself small while a dozen bikers decided her fate.
She'd never been inside a motorcycle club before.
The converted brewery was intimidating enough from the outside—brick and iron, security cameras, a gated lot full of chrome machines that probably cost more than her yearly income.
But the chapel was something else entirely.
Heavy oak table surrounded by men in leather cuts, patches declaring their ranks and loyalties, the Sons of Liberty skull-and-crossbones watching from every angle.
These men could break her with their bare hands. She was fairly certain at least three of them had.
And yet.
Riot stood at the far end of the table, arguing with a intensity that made the air crackle. He hadn't stopped moving since she'd walked in—pacing, gesturing, practically vibrating with the need to make his brothers understand.
"Sixteen men," he said, voice sharp as broken glass.
"Professional operation running for six years.
They target regular people—families, old ladies, anyone unlucky enough to have something worth stealing.
And when witnesses ask questions?" He slammed his palm on the table.
"They disappear. Just gone. Like they never existed. "
The man at the head of the table—Patriot, she'd been told, the President—watched Riot with cold blue eyes that gave nothing away. He was big, scarred, the kind of man who'd clearly seen war and hadn't forgotten what it taught him.
"And this woman," Patriot said, nodding toward Mandy. "She figured out the pattern?"
"Damn right she did. Operation that fooled cops for half a decade, and she connected the dots in three months." Riot's eyes found hers across the room, and something hot passed between them. "She's smart. Too smart for these bastards to let her live."
"She's also sitting right here." The words came out before Mandy could stop them. Every head in the room turned toward her, and she felt her cheeks flush even as she lifted her chin. "Sorry, I just—if you're going to decide whether I'm worth protecting, maybe you could ask me directly?"
Silence. Mandy's heart hammered against her ribs. She'd just talked back to a room full of dangerous men, and the smart thing would have been to stay quiet, stay small, let Riot handle it.
But she'd never been good at small. Not when it mattered.
Then Patriot smiled—a brief flash of teeth that transformed his scarred face into something almost warm. "Fair enough." He leaned back in his chair and gestured for her to approach. "Come on up. Tell us what you know."
Mandy stood on legs that wanted to shake and walked to the table like she belonged there. Riot shifted as she passed him—subtle, protective, positioning himself between her and the door like he expected trouble to walk through it any second.
She noticed. The warmth in her chest told her she more than noticed.
"My name is Amanda Fitzgerald," she said, meeting Patriot's eyes because looking away felt like losing.
"I clean houses for a living. Six years ago I started building my client list from nothing—elderly people, working families, anyone who needed help.
Eight months ago, I started dating a man named Derek who delivered packages in the same neighborhoods. "
"The ex-boyfriend who was feeding information to the crew," Patriot said. Not a question.
"Yes. But I didn't know that until three weeks ago.
" Mandy's voice steadied as she talked, the fear giving way to the anger she'd been carrying since Kyle Renner had shown up at her door.
"I started noticing a pattern in the burglaries.
Every house that got hit was one I cleaned or one Derek delivered to.
The timing was always perfect—funerals, weddings, vacations.
Information that only someone on the inside could have. "
"So you confronted your boyfriend." This came from a man to Patriot's left—broad shoulders, hearing damage scars, the restless energy of someone who preferred action to talking. His cut read VP. "Instead of going to the cops."
"The cops couldn't help. Trevor Boone's been running his operation for six years without getting caught.
He has connections, informants—hell, for all I know he has cops on his payroll.
" Mandy shook her head. "I thought Derek might have an explanation.
I thought I was wrong. Instead, he sold me out, and three days later one of Trevor's men showed up to explain what happens to people who ask questions. "
"Kyle Renner," Riot said. His voice was tight, controlled, and Mandy could see his hands curled into fists at his sides. "Intimidation specialist. He told her exactly what would happen if she talked to anyone."
"He told me about Mrs. Hartley." Mandy forced herself to keep going, even though the words wanted to stick in her throat.
"She was one of my clients. Seventy-one years old, robbed while she was at her granddaughter's wedding.
She started asking questions afterward, noticed things that didn't add up.
Two weeks later, she was gone. Supposedly moved to Florida. "
The room went quiet. A different kind of quiet than before—not skeptical, not calculating. This was the silence of men who understood exactly what "moved to Florida" meant when it came from a crew that eliminated witnesses.
"How many?" The question came from a man with knife scars on his hands and eyes like chips of ice. Gallows, the Sergeant at Arms, according to his patch. "How many people have they made disappear?"
"I don't know for certain. Mrs. Hartley is the only one I can connect directly.
But Kyle wanted me to know the crew was professional.
Experienced. That they'd been handling problems like me for years.
" Mandy's hands were shaking, so she pressed them flat against the table.
"He said I'd disappear too if I talked. That no one would ever find me. "
"And yet here you are." Patriot's voice was thoughtful. "Talking."
"Because I'm done hiding." The words came out fierce, surprising even Mandy with their intensity.
"I spent three weeks jumping at shadows, watching everything I built fall apart, waiting for Trevor's men to decide I wasn't worth the risk of leaving alive.
I can't live like that. I won't." She looked around the table, meeting each man's eyes in turn.
"If you can't help me, I understand. But I'm not going to curl up and die just because some professional thief thinks he can make me disappear. "
More silence. Then a rough laugh from the VP. "She's got a mouth on her, Riot. You sure you want this assignment?"
"More sure every second." Riot's voice was low, almost a growl, and the look he gave her made Mandy's breath catch. Possession. Approval. Something hungrier underneath.
Patriot exchanged glances with his officers—silent communication that Mandy couldn't read. Then he turned back to her with a decision already made in his cold blue eyes.
"A crew that makes witnesses disappear is a crew that needs to be eliminated," he said. "This Trevor Boone—he thinks he can operate in Sons of Liberty territory, threatening regular folks, killing anyone who asks questions?" Patriot's smile was a blade. "He's about to learn different."
Relief crashed through Mandy so hard her knees nearly buckled. "You'll help?"
"You're under our protection now. That means anyone who threatens you threatens the club." Patriot stood, and the movement rippled through the room as other men rose with him. "Riot brought this to us. He'll see it through. From now until Trevor Boone is in the ground, you're his responsibility."
Mandy turned to find Riot already watching her, that hungry intensity in his eyes making her pulse race. His responsibility. Like she was something to be guarded. Something to be claimed.
She should have bristled at that. Should have reminded everyone in the room that she wasn't property, wasn't a prize to be won or protected.
Instead, she felt the tension in her shoulders ease for the first time in three weeks. Because whatever else Riot was—chaotic, intense, barely controlled—he looked at her like she mattered. Like he'd tear through anyone who tried to touch her.
"Thank you," she said to the room, but her eyes stayed on Riot. "I won't make you regret this."
"Wasn't planning on giving you the chance." Riot moved toward her, and the other men parted to let him through. He stopped close—too close, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his body, see the pulse jumping in his throat. "You ready to go?"
"Go where?"
"Somewhere safe. Somewhere Trevor's crew doesn't know to look." His hand came up to rest on the small of her back—light, guiding, possessive in a way that made her stomach flip. "You're with me now."
Mandy looked up at him, this dangerous man who'd argued for her like she was worth something, and felt the last of her resistance crumble.
"Then let's go," she said.
Riot guided her toward the door, his hand a warm pressure against her spine. Behind them, she could hear the brothers already talking—logistics, plans, the business of eliminating a crew that had operated with impunity for six years.
But all she could focus on was the man beside her. The barely leashed energy in every line of his body. The way his eyes kept cutting toward her like he couldn't help himself.
She was under Sons protection now. Riot's responsibility.
Somehow, that felt less like a burden and more like a promise.