Chapter 13
HARLAN - SPIKE AND HAMMER
Two men. Two clubs. One parking lot. And a whole lot of testosterone.
By the time I pulled into the lot of the Old Ridge truck stop, the damage had already been done.
Broken glass crunched under my boots as I stepped out of the cruiser.
Oil slicks shimmered like bruises on the pavement.
One Harley was on its side, another propped against the curb, leaking something that didn’t look good for the engine or the ego.
Reid had beaten me to the scene, trying his best to play traffic cone between two groups of men built like war and wearing their cuts like armour.
Most of them were holding back, arms crossed, knuckles flexing.
But two of them, two in particular, looked like they were one wrong word away from setting the whole place ablaze.
I recognized them immediately.
Logan Maddox goes by Spike. Lean muscle and tattooed, blood on his knuckles and a grin that said he was proud of it. He paced like a predator, restless, blue eyes sharp under a curtain of sweat-damp hair.
And across from him?
Cole Dawson, the president of the Iron Serpents. They called him Hammer. Bigger. Broader. Older than Spike by a couple of years, but no less dangerous. If anything, Cole was the threat to watch in this situation. His stance was rooted, arms folded, jaw ticking. He wasn’t pacing. He was waiting.
Watching.
Controlling.
I crossed the lot without a word, stepping between the two before someone threw the next punch. I didn’t need backup for this. Not yet. I just needed to speak their language.
“Hammer. Spike,” I said coolly. “You want to tell me what the hell just happened here?”
Spike spat blood to the side and gave me a smirk. “Just a spirited conversation, Chief.”
“Looked more like a demolition derby,” I replied.
Cole said nothing. Just watched me. Then nodded toward the gas station entrance, where one of his men was holding a cloth to another’s busted nose.
“He came at one of my prospects,” Cole said. “Words were exchanged. Got a little loud.”
“A little?” I swept a hand toward the broken signage and the trail of smeared boot prints. “You two caused enough damage to shut this place down for a week.”
Spike shrugged. “Tell your rookie not to call it in next time. I had it handled.”
“Handled?” I turned to him. “You were three seconds from drawing. I saw your hand on the piece, Maddox.”
“Didn’t pull it.”
I stared at the asshole who was grinning like the Cheshire cat, “Not the win you think it is.”
Cole finally spoke again, voice low but deliberate. “We were both there to talk to a guy who owes money. Things got heated. My crew pulled back. He didn’t.”
Spike scoffed. “You call pushing my guy through a window ‘pulling back’?”
“I call it ending the argument before you started another war.”
They were both lying, at least a little. But the thing about men like this? You didn’t stop the fight with the truth. You stopped it with presence. With control.
And right now, mine was slipping.
I looked between them, hoping to find something to align the two. But something told me it would take some kind of miracle for these two to be on the same team.
“You’re both going to pay for the damage,” I said. “You’re both going to walk away. And if I hear about one more incident between your clubs in my jurisdiction, I swear to God I will bring down every violation I can find and bury you both in paperwork and overnight holds.”
Spike raised his hands. “Relax, Chief. We’re done here.”
Cole didn’t say anything. Just gave me that assessing look again. The kind that said he was still measuring me, still deciding if I was worth respecting.
I didn’t react, but the truth was I wasn't sure anymore if I was.
Eventually, he gave a short nod to one of his guys. They started rounding up their crew. Spike did the same, shooting one last look across the lot like he wasn’t finished yet, just pausing.
As the tension drained, I felt my phone buzz.
A text from Erin.
Erin
Another disturbance call at the Carter Sinclair clinic.
Still thinking they are the good guys, Chief?
I stared at it for a second.
Fuck
I felt like I was running in circles with no end in sight.
Reid stepped up beside me, still wide-eyed. “You uh... want me to write them both up?”
“Write the report,” I said. “Leave the charges out. For now.”
He blinked. “Seriously?”
“For now.”
Because I needed more than the charges. I needed leverage. And if I played this right, I’d figure out how to keep both clubs in check without having to draw blood.
But something told me this wasn’t the last time I’d see Maddox and Dawson squaring off.
And next time?
There might not be time to step in.