Chapter 8 #2
“She needs boundaries,” Tiny says behind me, but he’s smiling when he says it, and Peanut betrays him by switching teams the moment Tiny sits down, climbing his thigh and curling up on his lap as if she’s always belonged there.
“She’s your cat,” Trigger says dryly. “Steals like you. Eats like Torch. Sleeps like Bones.”
Bones grins, unfazed. “We can’t all be beautiful and joyless, Treas.”
“Careful,” Red murmurs, still typing. “He’s got the ledger and the bullets.”
Capone steps out of his office holding a cup of black coffee that looks like it could solve wars.
He takes a long look around the room, and I see the micro-tension release when he counts heads, observes all of us breathing, and notices the light in the room that wasn’t there yesterday.
His gaze lands on me, then Tiny. He doesn’t comment, just nods once, approval and warning in the same small nod.
He crosses to where Danyella is sitting with Nina at the table and kisses her like he’s a starving man.
Blayze leans against the bar next to me, lowering his voice. “You okay?”
“I will be.”
“Good answer.” He tips his chin at Tiny. “He looks ten pounds lighter.”
“From the guilt?” I quip.
“From the smiling.”
Daisy slides a plate my way, her brows knitting with quiet care.
“Eat,” she says in that tone that brooks zero argument.
Monica appears at Blayze’s elbow, kissing his cheek before taking a stool, and Jezebelle breezes through with a pitcher of orange juice she has no intention of drinking.
Nadia’s got Matt on her hip, dancing him past Trigger’s chair just to make him soften for a split second.
He does. He always does. Aerianna’s bright smile lights up the room.
The noise rises and falls like a tide. Safe noise, the kind that says we’re still here.
Peanut chooses this moment to commit theft again. This time, a whole slice of toast. She snatches it from Tiny’s plate and races across the table like a tuxedo blur, claws skittering, tail held high.
“Every damn morning,” Tiny mutters, but he’s laughing. It changes his entire face. Softens the brutal lines, brightens the eyes. I didn’t realize until just now how much I needed to see that.
“Training her for smash-and-grab?” Bones asks, admiring. “Put a cut on her, Prez. She’s earned it.”
“Patch a cat and I’m retiring,” Capone says deadpan, which makes everyone crack up because they know he’d seriously consider it if Peanut could run guns.
“Speaking of training,” Dagger says, setting down his mug with a clack, “community day at the high school’s locked. Ms. Emerson asked for at least two responsible adults.” He eyes Tiny and Torch theatrically. “So I’ll be taking Blayze and Red.”
Blayze smirks. “She asked for responsible, not boring.”
“She asked for not terrifying,” Red corrects, pushing his glasses up. “Which excludes ninety percent of the room.”
“Eyes like lightning,” Dagger adds to no one, then catches me noticing and pretends he didn’t say it. The brothers howl anyway. He shrugs and takes it like a man used to his own mouth getting him in trouble.
Capone lifts a hand, and the room eases down without him raising his voice. “Good. Keep that. Quiet public presence buys us time.” His attention slides to Red. “Intel.”
Red clicks to a different screen, a digital map spreading lines and tags. “Hits at the south docks were flash ops. Meant to send a message, not steal. But the missing third truck? I’ve got a possible ping moving east, cutting toward the old farm roads.”
“Lattimer?” Tiny asks, flat.
“And a Hellhound cell,” Red answers. “Colors are half-stitched, but I scraped video at a stoplight near San Ysidro. Same low-profile pickup we saw by the burn site. Distinct dent on the front quarter.”
Trigger whistles, humor dead now. “Delivery route to a warehouse or out of state?”
“Or across,” Blayze says, tapping a finger south on the map. “Border run.”
Capone nods once, as if he already made the decision in his mind before we walked down the stairs. “We’re not hitting anything stupid. Recon only. Tiny, you lead. You pick your shadow team. Eyes, ears, no heroics. We confirm movement, mark it, then ghost.”
Tiny’s voice is steady. “South line. Two bikes ahead staggered, two behind. Red runs eyes from base.”
“Take Dagger,” Capone adds. “He knows those roads better than anyone.”
Dagger’s grin is feral and immediate. “Si, jefe.”
“Stop calling me that,” Capone says, not bothering to hide the grin he doesn’t mean to have. “Aftermath, stage the cage with gear on standby. Derange, pull the longer toys. We don’t use ‘em unless we have to, but I want them close. Trigger…”
“Already on cash and comms,” Trigger replies, spinning a roll of tape on his finger. “Also, if anyone touches my gun oil again, I’m switching to decaf just to watch the world burn slower.”
“Decaf’s a war crime,” Torch says, appalled.
“Man drinks decaf, he’s not one of us,” Bones declares solemnly. “We vote him out.”
“Focus,” Capone says, but he’s almost smiling. “We ride in two hours. We ride light.”
The meeting dissolves into the usual controlled chaos of prep. Boots thud. Chairs scrape. The rhythm of a club getting itself sharp.
Tiny lingers, letting the others grab first because he’s the one who’ll double-check every bolt before he mounts up. When his gaze meets mine across the table, there’s a question in it. I nod, answering what he didn’t ask out loud.
I’m not breaking today.
He comes to stand beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat off him, but not touching. The restraint between us feels like its own kind of intimacy.
“You eat?” he asks.
I lift my fork. “Under threat of Daisy, yes.”
“Smart woman.”
“The smartest.” I angle my head. “You okay?”
He opens his mouth, then closes it. “Getting there.”
“Good.” I take a breath I don’t quite have and tell the truth. “I’m staying clean for me.”