Chapter One #2
The overhead light flickered, casting shifting shadows across tense faces. I watched my brothers carefully, looking for tells. Tinker’s clenched jaw. Stinger’s defensive stance. General’s too-loud denial. Wildcard’s darting eyes.
“This is horseshit!” Stinger slammed his hand on the table. “We don’t even know if these papers are real!”
“Would I walk into a rival clubhouse alone if I wasn’t certain?” She held his gaze without flinching.
Atilla picked up one of the transaction records. “This account number. It’s familiar.”
I moved closer, examining it over his shoulder. The routing information matched one of our shell companies.
“This could be faked,” General insisted. “She could be setting us up.”
“For what?” she countered. “I’m one woman against a clubhouse full of armed men. What exactly would my end game be?”
Fair point. I cataloged every reaction around the table. Tinker kept shaking his head in denial. Wildcard studied the papers with growing concern. General paced like a caged animal. Stinger kept his hand near his weapon.
“These dates.” I pointed to another column. “They line up with our planning meetings, not just the operations.”
Her eyes lit up. “Then your leak happened early in the process.”
The implications hung heavy. Only patched members attended those meetings.
“You saying one of us is a rat?” Tinker’s voice dropped dangerously low.
“The evidence points that way.” She held steady despite the murderous looks. “These aren’t random leaks. These are calculated betrayals.”
I noticed her pulse jumping at her throat again. The steady voice hiding real fear. She knew exactly what walking in here meant -- knew the danger she was in. But she’d done it anyway.
The light flickered again, longer this time, casting strange shadows on the walls covered in club history. Brothers who’d died for the patch. For loyalty.
“If she’s right,” Wildcard said slowly, “then we’ve got a serious problem.”
“If,” Stinger emphasized. “Big fucking if.”
“Look at this set of dates,” she insisted. “April 3rd -- the gun shipment that never arrived. May 2nd -- your meeting with the Colombians that turned into an ambush. June 12th -- the warehouse raid.”
I remembered each failure. The brothers we’d lost. The money that disappeared. The questions that never got answered.
“How do you know about those operations?” General demanded.
“Because the Horsemen were celebrating them.” Her voice hardened. “Laughing about how the mighty Raptors were losing their edge.”
That struck a nerve. “This payment here.” Atilla tapped the paper. “Twenty thousand. What’s it for?”
Her gaze locked with his. “Something big is coming in three days. I don’t know what, but they’re preparing for it. That’s why I’m here now.”
Through the tension and confusion, I caught her watching me. Gauging my reactions. Testing whether I believed her.
The room had divided. Tinker and Stinger on one side -- angry, defensive, dismissive. Wildcard and General on the other -- concerned, examining the evidence, asking questions. Atilla between them, methodical and unreadable.
And me. Silent. Watching. Always watching. Processing each piece of information and cataloging every reaction.
* * *
Atilla raised his hand. Not a dramatic gesture -- just palm up, fingers relaxed.
The effect was immediate. The arguing stopped.
The pacing ceased. Even breathing seemed to pause as everyone waited for the President’s verdict.
For forty years, that hand had directed the Savage Raptors’ fate. Not one brother would challenge it.
He gathered the papers methodically, arranging them in neat stacks as he examined each one. He traced the transaction numbers, followed the dates, connected the patterns. The clubhouse remained silent except for the occasional creak of floorboards as brothers shifted their weight.
I watched his face, reading the micro-expressions no one else would catch. The slight narrowing of his eyes. The momentary tightening of his jaw. The almost imperceptible nod when a piece fit into place. Atilla had been my mentor for twenty years. I knew his tells.
When he finally looked up, his gaze found mine immediately.
No words needed. The look confirmed what my gut had already been telling me -- something was wrong with our numbers.
Had been for months. The same inconsistencies I’d been tracking in our ledgers were reflected in the spreadsheets this woman had brought with her.
“Spade.” My name in his mouth was an order, not a greeting.
“President,” I acknowledged with a slight nod.
He gestured to Lila. “Vet her. Thoroughly. Every claim, every number, every date.”
“This is bullshit!” Stinger exploded. “We’re trusting some Horsemen accountant now?”
“You questioning my decision?” Atilla didn’t raise his voice, didn’t need to.
Stinger backed down immediately. “No, sir.”
“She could be setting us up,” Tinker argued, more measured but still defiant.
“And if she is,” Atilla replied, “Spade will find out. But if she’s not --” He let the implication hang heavy.
General paced the perimeter. “We can’t have a civilian in our business like this.”
“Civilian?” Lila’s eyebrow arched. “I’ve been handling outlaw MC finances for five years. I know how your world works.”
“You know shit,” Wildcard spat.
“I know you lost three shipments in the past four months,” she countered. “I know you lost two members in the warehouse raid. I know your supply line from the south is compromised.”
The room went deadly quiet.
She met his gaze directly. “The leak has to be coming from someone with access to your meeting minutes and financial information. That limits the pool of suspects. When I realized it was the Savage Raptors being targeted, I tracked your territory borders until I found your compound.”
“And decided to walk in alone?” The skepticism in General’s voice was thick.
“Sometimes the most dangerous move is the safest,” she answered. “They wouldn’t expect it.”
Atilla nodded slowly, then turned to the brothers. “Everyone out. Spade stays.”
Protests erupted immediately. Atilla silenced them with one word. “Out.”
They filed out grudgingly, throwing dark glances at Lila as they passed. When the door closed behind the last one, Atilla fixed me with a hard stare. “Take her to Church. Find out everything.” He gathered the documents and handed them to me. “If she’s lying, handle it. If she’s not…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t need to. If she was telling the truth, we had a traitor in our ranks. A brother who’d betrayed his oath.
“Understood.” I tucked the papers under my arm.
Atilla turned to Lila. “You understand what you’ve walked into?”
She didn’t flinch. “Yes.”
“Good.” He headed toward the back room, pausing at the door. “The Iron Horsemen know you’re gone?”
“By now, yes.” Her voice remained steady. “They’ve probably figured out what I took too.”
He nodded once, then disappeared through the doorway.
For the first time, we were alone -- just me and this woman who’d brought chaos to our door. I approached her slowly, deliberately. Standing at my full height, I towered over her by a foot. Most people backed off when I did this. She didn’t move.
“Follow me.” I turned toward the hallway that led to the room where we held Church -- the sacred space where club business happened.
She fell into step beside me, not behind me.
Interesting. “If you’re lying,” I said, keeping my voice low enough that only she could hear, “you won’t leave this town. ”
Her step faltered, just slightly, but she recovered quickly. “I’m not.”
“For your sake, I hope not.” I pushed open the heavy wooden door. “Because if you’re setting us up, what the Horsemen tried to do to you will seem merciful compared to what happens next.”
She met my gaze, the small throb of her pulse jumping again. “The Horsemen killed my sister six months ago. Collateral damage in one of their disputes with your club. They don’t know I made the connection.”
I hadn’t expected that. “You’re after revenge?”
“I’m after justice.” She entered the room ahead of me. “The Horsemen pulled the trigger, but your leak gave them the location. My sister would be alive if your club hadn’t been compromised.”
I closed the door behind us, considering her words. Personal motivation made more sense than random altruism. It also made her more dangerous -- people with vendettas rarely told the whole truth.
I spread her documents across the table with methodical precision, careful not to let my fingers brush against hers when she reached to arrange them.
The room was smaller than the main area, dominated by a large wooden table surrounded by a dozen chairs.
Full meetings were standing room only. The reaper symbol of our club hung on the wall, watching over us.
“Start from the beginning,” I instructed. “Every detail. Leave nothing out.”
She took a seat without being invited -- another bold move -- and began organizing her evidence. If she was right? We’d have to find the traitor in our midst. The thought left a bitter taste in my mouth. Brotherhood was sacred. Betrayal was unforgivable.
I studied her as she arranged her papers -- the determined set of her jaw, the careful precision of her movements, the intelligence in her eyes. She’d walked into the lion’s den armed with nothing but information and courage. Either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish. Time would tell which.