Chapter Five #2
“Then why don’t I feel convinced?” I pressed my palms flat against the table, leaning forward. “If he’s been playing us from the beginning, why risk the big score now? Why not keep skimming indefinitely?”
“Because he’s not working alone.” She said it matter-of-factly, like commenting on the weather.
The statement hung between us, heavy with implication. I straightened slowly, processing what she’d just suggested. “You think a patched member is involved.”
She met my gaze directly. “I think twenty thousand dollars is a lot for information from a Prospect. I think Gopher has access, but not authority. I think he’s working with someone within your inner circle.”
The accusation sliced through the room like a knife. “These are my brothers,” I said, voice low and controlled despite the rage building in my chest. “I’ve ridden with some of them for twenty years.”
“And one of them is using that trust against you.” She didn’t back down, her gaze steady as she pushed a new document across the table. “Look at the authorization signatures for each compromised operation. Three names appear every time.”
I didn’t need to look. I already knew which names she meant. General. Wildcard. Tinker. My closest allies in the club besides Atilla. Men I would have trusted with my life. “Coincidence,” I said, the word hollow even to my own ears.
“Stop.” She stood suddenly, her composed demeanor cracking for the first time.
“Stop hiding behind brotherhood when the evidence is staring you in the face. Someone wearing your colors ordered the operation that killed my sister. Someone with authority. Someone you’re protecting right now because you can’t face the truth. ”
Her words landed like physical blows. I stepped closer, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You don’t know what brotherhood means. What we’ve survived together. What we’ve sacrificed.”
“I know blind loyalty when I see it.” She didn’t back away despite my proximity. “I know what happens when men close ranks to protect their own, regardless of guilt.”
“What aren’t you telling me? You’re clearly more than an accountant.”
She took a deep breath. “Ex-military. I guess you think of me as more of a forensic accountant or cyber specialist.”
The kitchen felt suffocating now, the space between us charged with tension. Papers scattered across the table, coffee rings staining documents, flickering overhead light casting harsh shadows that deepened the lines of frustration on both our faces.
“You’ve been here two days,” I said, struggling to maintain control. “You think you understand how this works? What this club means?”
“I understand patterns.” She tapped the evidence spread between us.
“Financial patterns. Behavioral patterns. Betrayal patterns. And they all point to the same conclusion -- Gopher is your leak, but he’s working with someone higher up.
Someone with the authority to make decisions about routes, shipments, meeting locations. ”
“And you think it’s one of my three closest brothers.”
“I think you need to consider the possibility.” Her voice softened slightly, though her gaze remained hard. “Because if I’m right, and you ignore it, more people die on Thursday.”
I turned away, staring at the wall covered in club photos -- brothers arm in arm at rallies, rides, celebrations. Family. My family.
“You trust blindly,” she said to my back, her voice quiet but unflinching. “That’s dangerous.”
I spun back to face her, closing the distance between us in two strides. “You think I don’t know what’s at stake? What happens if I’m wrong? If I accuse a brother without absolute proof, I destroy this club from the inside.”
“And if you’re too afraid to see the truth, the Horsemen destroy it from the outside.” She held her ground despite my looming presence. “Which is worse, Spade? Being wrong, or being too late?”
The question hung between us, impossible to answer but impossible to ignore.
I moved to the table, gathering the evidence we’d accumulated.
Three stacks -- one for each brother who appeared on every compromised operation.
Men I’d trusted with my life. Men who might have betrayed everything we stood for.
“We need more,” I said finally. “Connecting them to Gopher. Proving communication. Financial links. Something concrete.”
She nodded. “Then let’s find it. We have thirty-six hours.”
The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the silence that followed, counting down to the ambush on Thursday. Brotherhood on one side. Evidence on the other. And somewhere in the middle, the truth I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.
* * *
Something shifted in the air between us, the argument about evidence and betrayal receding like a tide, leaving something else exposed in its wake.
I watched Lila’s face as she organized the final stack of papers, her movements precise but her gaze avoiding mine now.
The anger that had fueled our heated exchange was transforming into a different kind of heat -- one I recognized but hadn’t expected.
One I shouldn’t acknowledge. Not here. Not with her. Not with everything at stake.
She slid the papers into their folders with methodical care, each motion controlled and deliberate.
I recognized the technique -- focus on the physical task when emotions threaten to overwhelm.
I’d done it myself countless times. Watching her do it now felt uncomfortably intimate, like witnessing something private not meant for me.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” she said without looking up, her voice steady despite the tension vibrating between us.
I didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “About what’s worse -- being wrong or being too late?”
“Yes.” She finally raised her eyes to meet mine. No softness there. Just that same unflinching determination I’d seen since she walked into our clubhouse two days ago.
I moved away from the wall I’d been leaning against, deliberately closing the distance between us. Not threatening. Not intimidating. Something else entirely. Something dangerous in a different way. She tracked my approach but didn’t retreat, chin lifting slightly as I drew nearer.
“Both,” I answered, stopping directly before her. “Being wrong destroys the club from within. Being too late destroys it from without. There’s no winning move.”
“There’s survival,” she countered. “There’s justice.”
I stepped closer. Another boundary crossed.
Close enough now that she had to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact.
Close enough to catch her subtle scent. Close enough to see the slight acceleration of her pulse at her throat.
“Justice for your sister?” I asked, voice dropping lower. “Or revenge?”
She didn’t answer immediately. Didn’t back away either, despite our proximity making the small kitchen feel even smaller. Instead, she held my gaze with that same steady determination.
“Does it matter?” she finally asked. “The outcome is the same.”
I placed my hands on the table behind her, one on either side of her body. Not touching her but effectively caging her between my arms. A test. A challenge. Waiting to see if she’d show fear now that I’d claimed her space so completely.
She didn’t. Not even a flinch.
“It matters,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Intent always matters.”
We stood frozen in this dangerous new configuration. Too close for professional distance. Not close enough for what the electricity between us suggested. Her eyes never left mine, even as her breathing quickened slightly.
“You think I don’t know what’s at stake?” I asked, leaning incrementally closer.
Her lips parted slightly before she answered. “I think you know exactly what’s at stake. I just don’t know if you’re willing to pay the price.”
The air between us felt charged, oxygen replaced by something heavier, harder to breathe. I could count her eyelashes from this distance. Could see the faint scar at the corner of her right eyebrow. Could feel the heat radiating from her body -- so close to mine but not touching. Not yet.
“My brothers. My family,” I said. “That’s the price you’re asking me to pay.”
“Only the guilty ones.” Her voice had dropped to match mine, creating an intimate bubble around us in the otherwise silent room. “The rest remain your family. Stronger for cutting out the cancer.”
I leaned closer, drawn by something I couldn’t name. Something I shouldn’t acknowledge. Her gaze darkened as the distance between us narrowed further. I couldn’t tell which of us was breathing faster now -- her or me. Maybe both.
“And after?” I asked, the question carrying more weight than the simple words suggested. “When this is over? When we find who’s responsible?”
The question hung between us, loaded with implications neither of us was ready to address. What happened after the hunt ended? After the danger passed? After this unlikely partnership reached its conclusion?
Her gaze dropped briefly to my mouth before returning to my eyes. A tell she couldn’t hide. “After is a luxury we don’t have yet.”
I leaned imperceptibly closer, drawn by something more powerful than caution. The world narrowed to this moment. Her eyes, steady despite her quickened breathing. The scant inches separating us. The decision hanging in the balance -- to cross this line or step back from it.
The sudden crash of raised voices from next door shattered the moment like glass. Male voices, angry and aggressive. Something about missing supplies. Accusations flying.
The transformation in Lila was immediate and visceral.
Her entire body tensed, shoulders hunching defensively, eyes widening with an instinctive fear that had nothing to do with our confrontation.
She flinched -- hard -- pressing herself against the table as if trying to disappear into it.
She gripped the edge, knuckles going white with pressure.
It lasted only seconds before she regained control, straightening her shoulders and forcing her expression back to neutral. But I’d seen it. The momentary flash of raw fear. The instinctive physical response to raised male voices that spoke volumes about her past.
Not just the recent attack from the Horsemen. Something older. Deeper. More ingrained.
I stepped back immediately, removing my arms from around her, giving her space without commenting on what I’d witnessed. The professional distance restored between us, though the tension remained, transformed yet again.
“Just brothers arguing about inventory,” I said, keeping my voice deliberately calm. Non-threatening. “Happens all the time.”
She nodded, composure fully restored now, though her hands still gripped the table edge. “Of course.” Her voice was steady again, but something had changed. A vulnerability exposed that she couldn’t take back.
I moved to the other side of the table, putting the furniture between us. A barrier. Protection -- though I wasn’t sure if it was for her or for me.
“We should get back to work,” she said, all business again. “Thirty-six hours remaining.”
But her eyes told a different story when they finally met mine. She knew what I’d seen. Knew what I’d understood about her in that unguarded moment. The silent acknowledgment passed between us -- I wouldn’t mention it. Wouldn’t use it against her. Wouldn’t make her explain.
Instead, I nodded once. “Thirty-six hours,” I agreed. “Let’s focus on Gopher’s connections.”
We returned to our respective positions -- hunter and hunter, temporarily aligned against a common enemy. But something fundamental had shifted between us. Something neither of us could take back or ignore.
The question of “after” still hung in the air. Unanswered but not forgotten. Like everything else between us, it would have to wait until the more immediate danger had passed.
If we survived that long.