Chapter Seven
Spade
The room where we held Church filled slowly, brothers arriving in ones and twos.
Every entrance, every posture, every casual greeting went into my mental log.
Twenty years of reading men had taught me the value of observation.
The subtle tells. The forced smiles. The averted gazes.
Someone in this room had betrayed us all.
And today, they’d take the bait I was about to lay.
I stood at the head of the table, deliberately arranging maps and route plans with methodical precision. Each corner aligned perfectly, each document placed with purpose. Control the small things, control everything. It had been my mantra since taking the VP patch.
Knowing this ride would be ambushed meant we needed to be twice as prepared as we usually would. So much for a regular parts ride.
Wildcard entered last, sliding into his usual seat with a nod in my direction.
I returned it with practiced neutrality.
His name remained on our list of suspects -- along with General, Tinker, and most recently, Gopher.
Until we knew for certain, everyone was under scrutiny.
Even brothers I’d ridden with for decades.
“All here?” Atilla’s voice cut through the low murmur of conversation. Our President remained by the door, watching rather than participating. His call, not mine. Distance gave perspective.
“All present,” I confirmed, scanning the faces around the table. Twelve patched members and three Prospects, including Gopher, who’d positioned himself along the wall behind General. Always in the background. Always listening. Just as Lila had pointed out.
My eyes found her in the corner, separate from the table where only brothers sat.
She worked on her laptop, her fingers moving with efficient precision across the screen.
The bruise on her jaw was faded slightly, yellow-green at the edges now.
She didn’t look up, but I knew she missed nothing.
Her presence raised eyebrows among the brothers who still viewed her with suspicion, but Atilla had insisted.
Her financial expertise was needed for this operation.
The transport briefing was routine on the surface -- medium-risk cargo run carrying motorcycle parts that weren’t really motorcycle parts.
Standard club business. Perfect cover for what we were actually doing -- setting a trap.
“Let’s get started.” I tapped the largest map spread before me.
“Thursday’s run is straightforward. Pickup here in Bryson Corners, delivery in Tulsa.
Three-hour drive if we take the main highway. ”
General leaned forward, arms crossed on the table. “Security concerns?”
“Minimal on paper,” I answered, maintaining eye contact a beat longer than necessary. “But given recent issues, we’re taking extra precautions.”
The smell of gun oil filled the room as brothers checked and rechecked their weapons.
The metallic click of slides and magazines created a familiar rhythm -- the sound of men preparing for trouble.
I continued, moving to the critical part of our plan.
The bait. “Route change.” I traced a blue line across the map with my finger.
“Instead of the highway, we’re taking this county road through Carter’s Ridge. ”
The change wasn’t unusual enough to raise immediate suspicion, but significant enough that if leaked, it would create a perfect ambush point. The real route had already been decided -- far from Carter’s Ridge. But only Atilla, Lila, and I knew that.
“That adds extra time,” Stinger noted from his seat near the middle of the table.
“Safety over speed.” I kept my tone neutral. “Longer, but less exposed.”
I watched faces carefully as I revealed the false route. Twenty years of reading men had taught me to spot the subtle tells. The twitch at the corner of the mouth. The momentary stillness. The too-casual acceptance.
Gopher’s expression remained carefully blank, but his gaze darted briefly to General, so quickly most would miss it. But I didn’t. Neither did Lila, whose head tilted slightly in acknowledgment.
“Transport team will be Wildcard, Ravager, Stray, and me.” I pointed to each brother in turn. “Security lead is Tinker with Knuckles and Ace as support. General, you’ll coordinate from base with the Prospects.”
Keeping General at the clubhouse was deliberate. If he was involved, we needed him separated from the action. The same logic applied to Gopher, who was normally eager for road assignments.
“Cargo details?” Tinker asked, leaning back in his chair.
I opened a folder, extracting a manifest. “Custom parts for the client in Tulsa. Value approximately eighty thousand. Payment on delivery, cash only.”
Another piece of misinformation. The real value was half that, and payment was already secured. But the higher value made the shipment a tempting target.
“Questions?” I looked around the table, gauging reactions.
General shifted in his seat. “Weather report?”
“Clear skies forecasted.” Another lie. We expected rain, had planned for it.
“Timeline?” This from Wildcard, who’d been unusually quiet throughout.
“We move at 0900. Should hit Carter’s Ridge by noon. Delivery in Tulsa around 1400 if all goes smoothly.” I closed the folder with finality. “Full gear. Extra ammo. Comms checked and rechecked.”
The brothers nodded, the weight of the operation settling on each man’s shoulders differently. Some straightened, embracing the responsibility. Others slouched, already mentally preparing. All part of the symphony of tells I’d learned to read like sheet music.
“Any other questions?” I surveyed the room one final time.
Silence. Just the subtle sounds of men preparing for danger -- the scrape of a knife being sharpened, the click of a lighter, the soft brush of leather as someone adjusted their cut.
“Dismissed.” I nodded toward the door. “Final check at 0800 tomorrow.”
They filed out one by one, some slapping shoulders, others silent and focused. Gopher lingered near General, saying something too low for me to hear. Their proximity felt significant. Another data point to log.
Soon only Lila and I remained, Atilla having departed with a meaningful look in my direction. Trust your gut. That’s what his eyes had said. I always did.
She approached the table, her laptop still in hand. “Think they took the bait?”
“Someone did.” I kept my voice low despite the empty room. Walls had ears in a clubhouse.
“Your suspect…” She glanced toward the door where General and Gopher had exited.
“Both of them.” I traced Carter’s Ridge on the map, the false route we’d never take. “Notice how Gopher checked with General after I announced the route change?”
“I did.” She set her laptop down, revealing a spreadsheet tracking communications between club members. “And General’s been making calls from the burner account we located yesterday.”
I folded the maps with deliberate precision. “Tomorrow we’ll know for sure.”
“If they take the bait.” She didn’t phrase it as a question.
“They will.” I met her gaze directly. “Greed always wins.”
“Then we’ll be ready.” Her voice carried the same cold certainty I felt.
I gathered the last of the documents, sensing her watching my movements with that analytical focus I’d come to expect. To respect. The false trail was laid. The trap was set. Now we waited to see which brother would betray us.
And what we’d have to do about it when they did.
* * *
Lila
Four screens. Three keyboards. Two encrypted comms units.
One mission that could get people killed.
I’d built monitoring stations like this before -- for the Horsemen, and for the CISA -- but I didn’t usually get to sit in on this side of the operation.
The side that didn’t know if their brothers would make it home.
Spade’s secure room hummed with technology, the blue glow of monitors painting everything in cold light.
I’d been here five hours already, fingers dancing across keyboards, checking and rechecking the transport team’s progress. Waiting for someone to take our bait.
The transport had left the compound at 0900 sharp.
Not headed toward Carter’s Ridge -- the false route Spade had announced -- but taking the alternative path we’d planned in secret.
If our traitor had passed information to the Horsemen, they’d be waiting at the wrong location.
Unless they somehow knew about the changes we’d made.
I took a sip of cold coffee, grimacing at the bitter taste.
Four cups in, and the caffeine had settled into a persistent buzz behind my eyes.
The largest monitor displayed a map with three blinking dots -- the lead vehicle, the transport truck, and the tail car.
Moving in perfect formation down Highway 16, well away from the trap we’d announced.
“Transport team, check in,” Spade’s voice crackled through the comm system.
“Lead clear,” came Wildcard’s response.
“Transport secure,” Ravager confirmed.
“Tail with no tails,” Stray added.
I logged each response, timestamp, and tone. Anything unusual, anything that might suggest foreknowledge or deception. So far, the operation was running smoothly. Too smoothly.
The second screen showed live feeds from cameras mounted on the vehicles. The third displayed communications chatter -- encrypted messages passing between team members. The fourth ran continuous scans of police bands and known Horsemen frequencies.
My fingers moved across the keyboard, checking satellite imagery of the route ahead. Five miles to the junction. Ten to the state highway. If something was going to happen, statistically it would be at one of those transition points.