Chapter 17
TYRE
The clubhouse air was charged and heavy with anticipation, the kind of quiet intensity that always settled around us before we rolled out on club business.
I stood near my bike, the growl of multiple engines warming around me.
Kane straddled his Harley, his expression as unreadable and focused as always.
Beside him, Edge cracked his knuckles, his eyes glittering with anticipation and dark amusement.
Nitro sauntered up, flipping a small detonator lazily between his fingers, looking entirely too satisfied with himself. “Got everything rigged and ready to go this morning before they rolled in for set up. Should make a pretty show tonight.”
Edge chuckled, shaking his head. “Just try not to blow us up while you’re at it, Nitro.”
Nitro flashed a wicked grin, tapping his temple with the detonator. “Trust me, I’m a professional.”
Racer snorted, his eyes narrowing. “Sure you are. And Fury here’s a fucking ballerina.”
Fury gave Racer a dry glare, adjusting the grip on his bike handles. “Fuck you, brother. I’ve got moves you’ll never know about. Just saving ’em for the right woman.”
“Focus,” Kane cut in, a hint of amusement flickering in his gaze. “We’re rolling out.”
The club fell into formation instantly—Rev leading as our captain, then Kane, Edge, Nitro, Raze, me, Racer, Fury, and our tail gunner, Drift, at the rear.
We formed a lethal convoy of roaring motorcycles, with a pair of SUVs following close behind, loaded with supplies and equipped to carry back anyone we needed to have a detailed conversation with.
We rode to the outskirts of Crossbend, the night air cool against my face, tension and adrenaline humming steadily beneath my skin.
My thoughts were locked in with absolute clarity on what we were about to do.
Cecily stayed at the edge of my consciousness, something I carried with me even into a situation like this, but she didn’t distract me.
It only made the stakes feel higher, the drive stronger to ensure nothing would ever threaten her.
When we reached the location, it was exactly the kind of shit show we’d anticipated. Makeshift barriers, floodlights haphazardly zip-tied to rusted scaffolding, the rumble of engines, and excited, and drunken chatter echoing around the abandoned property.
People turned when they heard us approaching, eyes wide and wary as we rolled in, our headlights slicing harshly through the darkness and illuminating the chaos.
Our engines cut simultaneously, the abrupt silence deafening. Kane dismounted first, his boots hitting gravel with measured, unhurried steps, his eyes cold and steady as he took in the scene. The rest of us followed, forming a loose semi-circle that felt distinctly predatory.
The crowd had gone completely still, and tension crackled in the air as every gaze locked onto the Redline Kings.
Edge folded his arms across his broad chest, leaning casually against his bike with a dangerously lazy smirk, clearly enjoying the unease rolling off the crowd while flicking his knife open and closed.
“Looks like you fuckers started a party and forgot our invite,” he drawled, his voice pitched just loud enough to carry. “We thought we’d drop by anyway.”
One of the race organizers—a thick-necked asshole with bravado dripping from every step—pushed through the crowd, his expression twisted into something like forced confidence. He stopped just short of Kane, squaring his shoulders in an attempt to hold his ground.
“This isn’t your territory.” He lifted his chin defiantly. “You’ve got no claim here.”
Kane didn’t blink, just stared at him with a calm, deadly intensity that could strip paint off walls. “You’re mistaken. Everything around here is Redline Kings’ territory. You were borrowing it without permission. Time to pay up and get the fuck outta here.”
The man sneered, but it was all show. Sweat already beaded along his forehead, betraying his fear. “We’re not going anywhere.”
Kane tilted his head slightly, his eyes never leaving the man’s face. “I disagree.”
I stepped forward, nodding toward Racer and Fury, signaling them to start rounding up key players. “You boys had a good run skimming off our territory, but that shit ends tonight.”
Racer moved through the crowd, grabbing two men by the collars and shoving them toward the waiting SUVs.
Fury followed suit, dragging another organizer from the group with methodical efficiency.
The crowd shrank back, murmurs of fear rippling sharply among them as they watched, helpless and unwilling to challenge our authority.
“You can’t do this!” the man in front of Kane spat angrily. “We have powerful backing—”
“We know,” I cut in, stepping forward until I stood shoulder to shoulder with Kane, my voice dropping to a darker edge. “Your corporate sponsors aren’t gonna save you this time. They’re about to find out they fucked with the wrong crew.”
His expression shifted from defiance to uncertainty, his eyes flickering briefly toward the men being loaded into the SUVs, their struggles futile against Racer’s deadly hold.
“Clear out,” Kane barked to the rest of the crowd. Chaos erupted as drivers, spectators, and anyone else sane enough to get their asses far from the action, scattered immediately, shouting and fleeing into the darkness.
When the space was clear of innocent bystanders and all that was left belonged to the crew running these shit races, Kane glanced toward Nitro and gave a small nod.
His grin widened as he flipped the detonator once more between his fingers, his eyes bright with anticipation. “Say goodbye to your toys, boys.”
An explosion ripped through the night air seconds later, barrels of fuel and stacks of tires igniting in rapid succession. Flames erupted skyward, heat rolling fiercely across the gravel, illuminating the stunned, terrified faces of everyone still present.
As Nitro stepped back, a satisfied smirk curved his mouth. Anyone remaining went running while the equipment and makeshift structures went up in smoke. Then it was only Redline Kings, unmoving, watching the destruction unfold as the firelight flickered sharply across our faces.
Edge chuckled dryly, glancing around the blazing scene with satisfaction. “Seems their little racing venture just went up in flames.”
Kane exhaled and tossed his brother a droll frown. “Callie get off on your lame humor? Or you reserve that shit just for us?”
“I’m fucking hilarious,” Edge retorted.
“Fucking psycho is more like it,” Rev muttered.
Edge just shrugged and flashed him that movie-star smile that fooled people into thinking he was relatively harmless. Until he was carving out little pieces of you with his favorite blade.
Drift was already sitting astride his bike and gunned the engine. “We fucking done here?”
“You got someone waiting up on your pussy-whipped ass?” Rev smirked.
Drift cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. “Bet your ass I do. Jealous?”
Rev didn’t respond, just cranked up his engine and put on his helmet.
“Roll out,” Kane ordered.
As we turned our bikes back toward Crossbend, the SUVs following close behind with our unwilling guests, my mind was already locked on the next step. It was time to finish this.
We hauled the bastards back to The Pit. The second we rolled in, I saw Gauge, Century, and Blitz already waiting for us by the entrance, their faces stony and unreadable in the harsh security lighting.
They didn’t speak as we unloaded the men, who stumbled and swore as Racer and Nitro roughly shoved them toward the back entrance.
We moved quietly through the dim, concrete stairwell that led down into the hidden underbelly of The Pit.
The air grew colder the deeper we went, each echoing footstep punctuating the heavy silence.
Two levels down, where even the faintest sounds from the outside world vanished entirely, was our destination.
The containment cells—rooms built from reinforced concrete and industrial-grade steel, each designed to keep secrets and screams buried beneath layers of impenetrable isolation.
These cells weren’t places to stash prisoners; they were carefully constructed cages where information was forcibly extracted. Where enemies sometimes went to vanish, and Redline justice was delivered without witnesses.
Once down there, Nitro shoved the captured men into separate cells, the reinforced steel doors slamming shut with a sound that echoed off cold concrete walls.
They looked nervous, their eyes darting anxiously around as the realization of their new surroundings sank in.
No signals or communication, and no fucking way out.
Kane stood nearby, his presence filling the room with absolute authority. Edge stood beside him with an expression of calm menace, twirling his knife slowly between his fingers as if deciding exactly which joint to remove first.
We took our time with them—not because we were sadists, but because information had to be extracted precisely, fully, and thoroughly. If it wasn’t done right, they would spew anything they thought we wanted to hear, whether it was truth or fiction.
Rev and Blitz stood ready nearby, carefully managing the containment, while Century watched quietly from the shadows, his expression unreadable.
The interrogation moved with ruthless efficiency, pinpointing exactly which strings to pull and when, until the bastards finally cracked, spilling names, dates, locations, and operations with the desperation of men who knew no salvation was coming.
Once we had what we needed, I left Edge and the others to deal with their fate.
Then I relayed all the information we’d gathered to Jax so he could handle the next phase—the systematic destruction of every digital record that gave our enemies even the barest illusion of stability.
He was methodical and merciless, dismantling lives by carefully corrupting credit reports, deleting work histories, draining bank accounts, and strategically planting damning evidence that implicated them in criminal activity that he’d anonymously feed to the feds.
He didn’t just destroy their lives—he fucking obliterated them.
When I returned to the clubhouse, Kane was already waiting for me outside in the parking lot. The night air was heavy but clean after the hours spent underground. Kane’s expression was steady, eyes reflecting quiet approval and a certain gravity that came with what we’d just dealt with.
He held out a neatly folded leather vest—a Redline Kings’ old lady cut. My chest tightened as he handed it to me, the smooth, sturdy leather cool and solid beneath my fingers.
I tucked the vest securely into my saddlebag, the weight of it heavier than I’d expected, but not at all unwelcome. It was filled with significance and permanence. Kane clapped a firm hand on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze before stepping back, nodding toward the road.
“Go home, Tyre.” There was a knowing glint in his eyes. “Your woman’s waiting.”
I didn’t bother responding, just swung a leg over my Harley and fired the engine, the familiar roar rolling through me as I pulled out onto the quiet road, racing toward home and Cecily.