Page 46 of Dagger

I nod, the weight of his words sinking in. “Got it.”

Tank claps me on the shoulder, his grip firm. “Good. And don’t forget what I said about Chloe.”

I grunt, my tone softer this time. “I heard you.”

He holds my gaze for a moment longer, then turns and walks out, his heavy boots echoing in the garage.

I pick up the wrench again, gripping it tightly, grateful to have something—anything—to focus on besides the mess I’ve made of my life. Work, I can do. I’m damn good at it. Bikes, deals, the club—that’s where I shine. And if nothing else, I can remind everyone, including myself, why I earned that VP patch in the first place.

I put the wrench down, my head buzzing with thoughts I can’t shake. The bike isn’t going anywhere right now—not until I get some answers. Wiping my hands on a rag, I head toward Mason’s office.

The door is cracked open, and I see him sitting behind his desk, his elbows on the surface, his hands clasped in front of his face. He looks like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Mason always has that air of control, but today it’s slipping, just a little.

I knock lightly on the doorframe. “Got a minute?”

He looks up, his eyes sharp but tired. “Yeah, come in.”

I step inside, closing the door behind me, and lean against the wall. “Tank just filled me in,” I say. “How can I help?”

Mason exhales, leaning back in his chair. “It’s a shitshow, Dagger. Russians are squeezing us. They want more for less, and if we don’t give it to them, they’re threatening to walk.”

I nod, crossing my arms. “We could find new buyers,” I suggest, “branch out. Maybe make a deal with the Italians.”

Mason’s eyebrows shoot up, and he lets out a short, humorless laugh. “You really want to do that? Bring the Italians into this? You know what that could mean.”

I shrug, keeping my tone even. “Yeah. I know. It might mean starting a war. But if the Russians are pushing us this hard now, what’s to stop them from pulling this same shit six months from now? We can’t let them think they’ve got us by the balls.”

Mason rubs a hand over his face, considering. “You’re not wrong. But you know as well as I do, dealing with the Italians isn’t just a business decision. It’s politics, history, old grudges. One wrong move, and we’ve got a hell of a lot more than a supply problem.”

I push off the wall, stepping closer to his desk. “Isn’t that what we’re trained for?” I say, smirking.

Mason chuckles, but there’s no real humor in it. “Yeah, maybe. But that doesn’t mean I’m looking to dive headfirst into a damn bloodbath. We’ve had too much of that the last few years.”

I nod, appreciating the weight of his position. “Fair enough. But we can’t sit on this. If the Russians walk and we don’t have a backup plan, we’re screwed. They’re our biggest buyer for a reason. We lose them, and the whole operation takes a hit.”

Mason leans forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “You got any other ideas?”

I scratch my chin, thinking. “We could leverage their competition. The Russians hate losing face. If they think someone else is sniffing around for what we’ve got, they might reconsider walking away.”

Mason’s eyes narrow, his mind clearly working through the idea. “Risky,” he says. “But not a bad angle. They hate looking weak.”

“Exactly,” I say. “We don’t even have to make a real deal with anyone else—just make it look like we might. Put some pressure back on them.”

Mason sits back, nodding slowly. “Alright. I’ll think on it. We’ve got that meeting later this week. If it comes to it, we might run with your plan.”

“Let me know what you need,” I say, turning toward the door.

“Dagger,” Mason calls after me.

I stop and glance back.

“Good thinking,” he says in a gruff tone.

I nod once, then leave, my mind already turning over the possibilities. It’s a risky move, but sometimes risk is the only way to get ahead. The club’s future is riding on this, and I’ll be damned if I let it fall apart.

I’m elbow-deep in grease, working on a stubborn bolt when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I wipe my hands on a rag and pull it out, Mason’s name lighting up the screen. I answer immediately.

“Yeah?”

---