Chapter Five
Spade
The dim fluorescent light above me buzzed like an angry insect, flickering every few minutes as if signaling in code.
I really needed to fix the damn thing. It hadn’t bothered me until I started to see my house through someone else’s point of view.
My eyes burned from lack of sleep and too much coffee.
Three neat stacks of color-coded folders covered the table before me -- red for financial access, blue for operational planning, green for security protocols.
Each one represented brothers I’d ridden with.
Trusted. Would have died for without hesitation.
Now their names stared back at me like accusations.
I moved to the next folder. General. Sergeant-at-Arms. Man who’d stood as witness at my patching ceremony. His heavy handwriting filled requisition forms, security schedules, patrol rotations. My pen hovered over the paper, fingers resisting the motion to write his name.
“Don’t hesitate,” a voice said from the doorway. “Hesitation gets you killed.”
I didn’t look up. Didn’t need to. Lila Mercer’s presence filled the kitchen like smoke, impossible to ignore.
I heard her footsteps -- nearly silent on the worn carpet -- as she moved behind me.
Felt her warmth as she leaned over my shoulder, close enough that her breath stirred the hair at the back of my neck.
“You missed something,” she said, her voice low, private. She reached past me, her arm brushing mine as her finger tapped a document I’d already reviewed. The contact sent an electric current up my spine that I refused to acknowledge. “Look at the signature authorization.”
I stared at where she pointed. General’s signature on a parts order from March -- same day as our gun shipment got compromised.
“That doesn’t mean anything by itself,” I said, keeping my voice neutral.
“True.” She didn’t move away, still hovering behind me, her presence like a physical weight against my shoulders. “But combined with these…” She slid three more documents across the table.
She was right. Four documents, four signatures, all on days that aligned with compromised operations. My pen moved, adding General’s name to the list. Another brother. Another potential traitor.
“Your system is good,” she said, finally stepping back, giving me space to breathe again. “But you’re being too careful with the names.”
I turned to face her for the first time. She’d changed from my oversized sweats into jeans and a T-shirt once we’d retrieved her bag from her car. Her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, revealing the sharp angles of her face.
“These aren’t just names,” I said. “They’re brothers.”
“They’re suspects.” She moved to the side of the table, perching on the edge, too close for comfort but not close enough to touch. “And one of them is responsible for my sister’s death.”
I couldn’t argue with that. Couldn’t deny the evidence we’d found during our all-night investigation. Someone had betrayed us. Someone wearing our patch. Someone sitting at our table.
“Who else are you considering?” She nodded toward my list.
I slid it toward her. Six names so far. Wildcard. General. Stinger. Tinker. Ace. Ravager. All patched members with access to sensitive information. All present during compromised meetings. All with financial inconsistencies we’d flagged in their records.
She studied the list, her brow furrowing slightly. “You’re focusing on your inner circle.”
“They have the highest access.”
“That’s what makes them obvious suspects.
” She picked up a green folder from the stack I hadn’t yet reviewed.
Opened it. Scanned the contents with practiced efficiency.
“Sometimes the best place to hide is in plain sight.” She extracted a security rotation schedule, spreading it on the table next to my list. Her finger traced down to a name I hadn’t considered.
“Gopher,” she said, tapping the page. “Not top leadership, but he’s on guard duty for every Church meeting. Posts right outside the door.”
I frowned. “He’s a Prospect. Doesn’t have access.”
“Doesn’t need to be in the room if he’s listening.” She pointed to another document -- maintenance records for the security system. Gopher’s signature on three separate work orders. “He installed new cameras in February. Fixed the alarm system in April. Updated the surveillance monitors in June.”
My mind raced, connecting dots I should have seen hours ago. Gopher. Always in the background. Always available. Always somehow present when sensitive matters were discussed. “Still doesn’t give him financial access,” I countered, but the argument sounded weak even to my ears.
“Doesn’t he?” She pulled another folder from the stack -- inventory records from The Broken Spoke.
Gopher’s signature on delivery receipts.
Supply orders. Cash handling authorizations when the main manager was out.
“He’s been filling in at the bar three nights a week for the past six months. Direct access to your cash flow.”
She leaned closer, her shoulder brushing against mine. Not accidental this time. Deliberate. I stiffened but didn’t pull away.
“Your leadership has oversight,” she continued, her voice dropping lower. “Checks and balances. But who watches the Prospect running errands? Who questions when he stays late to ‘clean up?’ Who monitors what he hears through doors or sees on security feeds he installed himself?”
The truth of her words hit like a physical blow. We’d been looking in the wrong direction. Focused on the obvious while the real threat operated in shadows we’d created ourselves.
“He’s been right under our noses,” I said, anger building in my chest. Not just at Gopher, if he was our traitor, but at myself for missing what should have been obvious.
“The best place to hide,” she repeated, her gaze meeting mine. No triumph in them. No satisfaction at proving me wrong. Just the same cold determination I’d seen when she first walked into our clubhouse with her dangerous information.
I added Gopher’s name to the list, circling it twice. “We need to verify before we move. If we’re wrong --”
“We’re not.” She cut me off, sliding another document across the table. Gopher’s application to the club from two years ago. “Look at his previous employment.”
I scanned the page, my blood running cold when I saw it. Aurora Medical Supply. The shell company at the center of our financial investigation. The connection we’d been searching for all night.
“Son of a bitch,” I muttered, pieces falling into place with sickening clarity.
“He didn’t just infiltrate your club,” Lila said, her voice hard with certainty. “He was a plant.”
The fluorescent light flickered again, casting harsh shadows across her face as she stood beside me. Partner in this hunt now, whether I’d asked for one or not. The enemy of my enemy, bound by shared purpose if not by trust.
I stared at Gopher’s name on my list, my pen pressing so hard it tore through the paper. The betrayal wasn’t just business after all. It was calculated. Planned. Years in the making.
And we had less than forty-eight hours to prove it before the parts ride on Thursday, or it could destroy everything I’d sworn to protect.
The walls seemed to close in with each passing hour.
What had started as a spacious room now felt like a cell, air growing stale with the scent of cold coffee and frustration.
I paced the kitchen like a caged animal, sensing danger but unable to attack.
Across the room, Lila sat in perfect stillness at the table, methodically sorting evidence into new piles, her focus unwavering despite my restless movement.
I ran both hands through my hair, gripping tight enough to hurt.
Four hours of digging deeper into Gopher’s background had only confirmed our suspicions.
The timing matched. His access matched. The financial trail led right to his doorstep.
But something still felt off -- incomplete.
“It’s too neat,” I said, not for the first time. “Too perfect.”
Lila didn’t look up, her fingers moving with mechanical precision as she arranged another set of documents. “Sometimes the answer is simple.”
“Nothing about this club is simple.” I snatched a coffee mug from the table, found it empty, and slammed it down harder than necessary. The ceramic cracked, a spiderweb fracture appearing along one side.
Lila paused her sorting, finally looking up at me. “Your stress isn’t helping us find proof.”
“And your Goddamn calm isn’t natural.” The words came out sharper than I intended. Her expression didn’t change, which somehow made it worse.
She returned to her task. “One of us needs to stay objective.”
I resumed pacing, hands clenching and unclenching at my sides.
The physical movement helped me think, helped keep the rage from boiling over.
Gopher had been with us for two years. Shared meals.
Followed orders. Worked his way toward earning his patch.
All while systematically betraying everything we stood for.
“Here.” Lila held up a document without looking at me. “Another connection. Gopher’s cell phone records. Calls to a number in Oklahoma City on the same days as each Horsemen payment.”
I took the paper, scanning the highlighted numbers. “Could be coincidence.”
“You don’t believe that.” Her voice remained neutral, but her eyes, when they met mine, were sharp with challenge. “You’re looking for reasons to doubt because the alternative is accepting you misjudged the man.”
My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached. “I’m looking for absolute proof before I accuse a man who might be innocent.”
“Admirable. Naive, but admirable.” She pulled another folder toward her, opening it with the same methodical care she applied to everything. “The evidence is conclusive. Gopher is your leak.”