Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 56395 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56395 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Hawkeye leaned in, read the last page over Brogan’s shoulder, and let out a dry chuckle. “Looks like Otis was more worried about what you’d do once he called than he was about the thieves.”
Brogan’s mouth twitched despite the irritation still in his eyes. He read the line again about my grandpa not wanting to give Brogan a reason to do something illegal, then muttered, “Stubborn old man knew me too well.”
Ghost snorted. Cipher just shook his head, already scanning the earlier pages with interest.
I took a breath. “I want to help finish what he started. Gather the rest of the proof.”
Brogan’s gaze snapped up to mine. “No. You’re not investigating Wade’s crew. The club will handle this.”
I held his stare for a moment, then nodded. I wasn’t foolish enough to pretend I had the resources or manpower they did. “Okay, but I have one condition.”
His brow lifted slightly.
“You keep me informed. No hiding developments from me just because you think it’s safer that way.”
Brogan dipped his chin. “I’ll keep you in the loop.”
Our agreement was struck. He would keep me safe. And I would trust him to do it without shutting me out.
14
STRYKER
Otis’s ranch log sat in the middle of the conference table when church started Friday morning, its worn leather cover looking out of place among coffee mugs, phones, and the weapons every man in the room carried without thinking about them. The pages held years of ordinary ranch details before the entries changed making it obvious that Otis had begun recognizing a pattern even if he hadn’t known what it meant yet.
His final note about not calling me so he wasn’t the reason I did something else illegal and risked my freedom had already earned enough comments from my brothers to annoy the fuck out of me, so when Ghost opened his mouth while studying the page, I cut him off with a look.
A couple of low chuckles moved around the table before the discussion shifted back to the reason I’d called them in. Cipher had already entered the dates and partial plates into his system, Bishop was checking the properties Otis mentioned against Rook Holdings records and county parcels, and Judge had marked every entry that might support a warrant if we could connect the observations to something stronger. None of it proved Wade Kessler ordered a theft, moved a stolen machine, or knew his crew had used Otis’s barn, but the notebook gave us places to look and people to question without announcing exactly what we knew.
I kept the rest of church brief. No one needed me to reiterate their duties like they’d forgotten how to do their jobs overnight. We reviewed what had come in, eliminated a few dead ends, and agreed that Wade’s legitimate business gave his trucks an excuse to be nearly everywhere stolen equipment had disappeared. The pattern was there, but patterns didn’t put a man in prison, and they sure as fuck didn’t justify the kind of justice I intended if he threatened Jacqueline again.
When the discussion wound down, Hawkeye closed the file in front of him and rested both forearms on the table. His pale gaze moved around the room before settling on me, and the other brothers quieted because they knew he wasn’t speaking as vice president so much as the man who had stood at my shoulder for half my life. “You know we’ve got your back. But this isn’t only about the compound or Wade running stolen iron through our territory.”
Ghost reached for the notebook and tapped one blunt finger against Otis’s name on the first page. “Jacqueline’s one of ours now. We’d handle this if the ranch sat on the other side of the fucking state.”
The answer came from around the table in short nods and hard expressions, nothing dramatic because none of us needed a speech to understand what had just been said. To these men, Jacqueline belonged to the club because she belonged with me. And because Otis had spent years earning their respect long before any of us knew his granddaughter would come home.
I looked at every brother in the room, letting the weight of their loyalty settle where it belonged before I closed the notebook and stood. “Let’s get this shit done.”
We met the sheriff at Black Castle an hour later, using a secure conference room inside the executive wing instead of asking him to drive through the gates of the compound in a marked county vehicle. Raines had worked beside us often enough that the arrangement didn’t need explaining. If anyone saw him enter Black Castle, he was a sheriff consulting one of the most respected private-security firms in the country, not a lawman sitting down with a motorcycle club.
He arrived in plain clothes anyway, gray button-down rolled at the forearms, badge clipped at his belt. When he finished reading, irritation carved around his mouth before he dropped Otis’s notebook on the center of the table.