Chapter 15 The Near Miss
THE NEAR MISS
KAIDEN
Maddox doesn't waste words.
Server room. Now.
I find him hunched over a terminal, face lit by the glow of multiple screens. The room is cold and humming, blue lights blinking in rhythmic patterns.
“Close the door,” he says without looking up.
I do. “What is it?”
He turns his screen toward me.
Wire transfers. Shell companies. A money trail that ends at Hammond Industries subsidiaries. Maddox knows I need to verify things myself before I believe a string of zeros and ones.
My jaw clenches when one name keeps surfacing. Dylan.
My personal assistant.
“How long?”
“Two months.”
“How did we miss this? We vet everyone.”
“We did. He was clean.” Maddox still doesn't look at me. “I run daily sweeps when we're under threat. Financials, communications, location data. Dylan was a ghost.”
“So how—“
“They never went digital.” He pulls up a photo. A handwritten note, photographed against what looks like the inside of a trash bin. “Old school. Dead drops. Burner phones that never connected to wifi. I only found this because I sent someone to physically search his apartment after Ravenwood.”
My stomach turns. “Someone taught him how to hide from you.”
“Someone who knows exactly how I work.” Maddox's eyes meet mine. “That's a very short list, Kai.”
Whoever is behind this isn't just rich. They're smart. Smart enough to study Maddox's methods and build a system to circumvent them. Smart enough to turn my assistant into a weapon without leaving a digital trace.
“The money leads to Hammond,” I say. “My father.”
Maddox nods. “The note references a payment.
I traced it through a crypto wallet tied to his cousin's boyfriend's LLC, then through three more shells before it landed at a Hammond Industries subsidiary.” He pauses.
“It's almost too clean. Your father's a bastard, but he's not sloppy. This feels like someone wants us to find the connection.”
Doesn't matter right now who's pulling the strings. What matters is that Dylan is compromised.
“Don't fire him,” I say.
Maddox raises an eyebrow.
“He doesn't know we know. I want to feed him wrong information. See where it goes. If my father’s behind this, I want proof I can use. If someone else is playing us both, I want to know who.”
A ghost of approval crosses Maddox's face. “That's cold.”
“That's survival.”
“There's more,” Maddox says. “Ethan and I tracked the club from the school.”
“And?”
“Tide Serpents.” He pulls up surveillance footage. Grainy images of motorcycles, faces half-hidden by helmets. “Low-level thugs. Hired muscle. No code, no loyalty, just whoever pays the most. They've been pushing into Iron Wolves territory for years. Starting shit they can't finish.”
“So someone hired them to hit my project.”
“Someone hired them to hit you. Ravenwood wasn't random. It was one of your flagship initiatives. The optics, the PR damage, the message it sends...” Maddox shakes his head. “This was personal.”
Dylan. The Serpents. My father's fingerprints on everything.
Then another thought surfaces. Colder than the rest.
“Dylan has access to my calendar,” I say slowly. “My contacts. My personal correspondence.”
Maddox meets my eyes. He's already there.
“What has he passed along about my personal life?”
“I'm still piecing it together.” Maddox pulls up another file. “From what I can tell, he's been reporting to someone in the Hammond family. Regular updates. Your movements, your meetings...” He hesitates. “Your relationships.”
Emma. Her name. Her address. Her workplace.
“How much does he know about her?”
“Enough.” Maddox's voice is flat. “Name, employer, the fact that you've been seeing her regularly. I don't know yet if he's passed her home address, but I'd assume the worst.”
The cold in the room feels like it's inside my chest.
“I need to talk to the Wolves,” I say.
Maddox looks up sharply. “You sure that's wise?”
“The Serpents are their problem too. If I'm going to handle this, I need to know where Rex and his club stand. Whether moving on the Serpents will cause complications.”
“And if it does?”
“Then we find another way. I'm not letting this go unanswered.”
Maddox studies me. “I'll keep digging. Find out who's really holding the Serpents' leash.”
The drive to Harbor Garage takes forty minutes through afternoon traffic.
George drops me at the entrance, a sprawling complex of brick and steel that looks like any other auto shop from the outside.
The Iron Wolves logo is subtle, painted on a single sign above the main bay.
You'd miss it if you didn't know what to look for.
Motor oil and burnt rubber hit me as I step inside. Engines rumble in the service bays. Men in overalls and grease-stained shirts move between motorcycles with the easy confidence of people who own their space. No cuts, no colors. This is their legitimate business, and they run it like one.
Rex spots me first, wiping his hands on a rag, sleeves rolled past his elbows.
“Rhodes.” He grins, pushing off the bench. “Here for the R7?”
“Among other things.” I keep my voice low. “Got a minute?”
His grin fades. Eyes flick to the mechanics, then back to me. He jerks his chin toward a quieter corner.
“What's going on?”
“The fire at Ravenwood. The school.”
“Heard about that. Nasty business.”
“It was the Tide Serpents. Hired job.”
Rex's expression hardens. “You sure?”
“I have footage.”
He exhales slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “What exactly are you asking me, Rhodes?”
“I want to know if there’d be complications if I handled this myself. And I need to know where to find them.”
Rex holds up a hand. “That's not my call. You're talking club business now.” He glances toward the back of the garage. “Give me a few minutes.”
He disappears through a door marked Employees Only. I wait, leaning against a tool cabinet, watching the mechanics work. Nobody pays me any attention. That's intentional.
Fifteen minutes pass.
The door opens. Rex walks out first, face carefully neutral.
Behind him comes a man in his fifties. Salt-and-pepper beard, weathered face, body still hard with muscle.
He's wearing the cut of the Iron Wolves, leather dark with age, the President patch barely visible.
The two mechanics nearest the door find urgent business elsewhere.
“Rhodes,” Rex says. “This is Hawk. Our President.”
Hawk's eyes are slate gray and twice as cold. I've negotiated with billionaires and politicians, men who thought their money or their office made them untouchable. None of them carried the kind of weight that settles into this room when Hawk stops walking.
I stand straight, extend my hand. “Kaiden Rhodes. Thank you for meeting me.”
Hawk looks at my hand for a beat before shaking it. Grip firm. Testing.
“Rex tells me you want to start a war with the Serpents.”
“Not a war. A message. I need to know if the Wolves have ties with them. I don't want to create problems between us.”
Hawk's eyes narrow. Then he laughs. It's not a warm sound. “The Serpents are bottom-feeders. No code, no honor. We've got no love for them.”
“Good. Then I need to know where to find them.”
“Direct.” Hawk tilts his head. “What's in it for us?”
“ELK has a fleet of vehicles. Maintenance contracts worth seven figures a year. I could send that business your way.”
“We specialize in bikes.”
“So you expand. Triple your revenue. Hire more guys.” I hold his gaze. “Or don't.”
The silence stretches. Hawk studies me. I let him.
Finally, he nods once. “I'll think about it.” He turns to Rex. “Help him. Consider it a gesture of goodwill.” He looks back at me. “Don't make me regret it, Rhodes.”
He walks away without waiting for a response.
Rex lets out a breath. “That went better than I expected.”
“You thought he'd say no?”
“I thought he might throw you out.” His grin returns, relief underneath it. “I like you, Rhodes. I love my club more. Glad I didn't have to choose.”
“Noted.”
He walks me toward the service bay where my R7 waits. Fresh service, as promised. I run my hand along the tank, checking the lines.
“The Serpents have a clubhouse in the industrial district,” Rex says, voice low. “Abandoned factory near the train yards, not far from Ravenwood. That's where you'll find their leadership.”
“Appreciate it.”
“One more thing.” Rex crouches beside the bike, pointing to the front brake assembly. “When we serviced her, we found a loosened connection on the brake line.”
I go still.
“Could be wear and tear,” he says. “Could be it wasn't.”
“You're saying someone tampered with my brakes.”
“I'm saying you should ask yourself who wants to see you on the pavement.” He stands. “We fixed it. She's solid now.”
Someone tried to kill me. The thought lands with strange, distant clarity. The twitchy throttle on the coast road. The brakes that grabbed and released wrong. If I'd pushed her harder that night, taken the curves at my usual speed...
“You need muscle?” Rex asks. “I can spare a few guys.”
“I'm fine. If anything changes, I'll take you up on that.”
Rex nods. “Watch your back. The Serpents are sloppy. Whoever's paying them isn't.”
I swing onto the R7, pull out my phone. Maddox picks up on the first ring.
“The Serpents have a clubhouse near the train yards,” I tell him. “Industrial district. We're paying them a visit.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
I can hear him smile through the phone. “I'll warm up.”