Page 53 of Emmy's Ride

“I saw Noah’s face. Saw what you did.” I gripped the guy’s jaw, forcing him to look up. “And I know you owe big money. You’ve got two problems now—The bookie and me.”

The man swallowed hard, eyes darting around like a rat looking for an escape.

I leaned in. “Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna keep your hands off Noah. And every day after school, he’s coming to the Kings’ compound. He’s got a new family now. You so much as breathe wrong in his direction, and I’ll be the last thing you ever see. Got it?”

He nodded frantically, choking on his own breath.

I let go, stepping back. The bastard crumpled to the floor, coughing.

I turned to leave, then stopped. “If he needs anything—anything—you buy it. With your money. If I find out you’re gambling it away instead…”

I let the threat hang.

The man scrambled back against the wall, eyes wide with fear.

Good.

I strode out of the house, already dialing Jax. “Make sure Noah’s on our radar. He’s one of us now.”

Noah was safe. For now.

And what about the others? It was time to talk to my brothers. I wouldn’t move forward until I had a majority buy-in. I wasn’t my father, ruling with an iron fist.

I took the ride home to gather my thoughts and come up with a plan on how to present my idea. This would be the first step to keeping Emmy.

I stood at the head of the long, scarred wooden table, arms braced against it as I surveyed my men. Some of them had no clue what was coming, others looked like they were preparing for an attack on The Ghost.

The war room was lit by only a single overhead light casting shadows across the faces of the men I called brothers. Jax sat to my right, Tank to my left, and beyond them, a mix of old-school Kings and the younger generation that had patched in over the years. Some were eager, others skeptical, and a few downright anxious.

This wasn’t just about Noah anymore. It was bigger than that.

I took a breath. “We’ve been running this club the same way for decades. We’ve built a reputation, controlled our streets, handled our business. But look around…” I gestured toward the men seated at the table. “How many of our brothers are either dead or locked up because of the way we’ve done things?”

A few of the older members shifted uncomfortably. Everyone had lost someone.

I continued, “We say we’re a family. We claim we protect our own. But the way we operate—gun deals, muscle jobs, intimidation—it ain’t just hurting the people we’re up against. It’s put targets on our backs. It’s put targets on our families’ backs.”

Tank leaned forward in his chair. “So what’s your solution, Prez?”

I met his gaze. “We go legit.”

Silence.

A low murmur spread through the room. A couple of guys cursed under their breath. Someone let out a bitter chuckle.

“Legit?” One of the older members, Roach, questioned, eyes narrowing. “You mean like… what? We start selling fucking cupcakes?”

A few laughs rippled through the room, but I didn’t crack. I let the room settle before speaking. “I mean we put our resources into something that won’t get us locked up or killed. Look around this town. It’s full of kids getting chewed up bythe system, by their own goddamn families. We’ve spent years tearing this place apart. Maybe it’s time we build something instead.”

I went on, a little louder, still calm but commanding. “I’m not talking about turning into saints. I’m talking about survival. The old way of doing things? It’s dying. We either adapt, or we get buried with it.”

Rebel scoffed from across the table, shaking his head. “That’s some weak-ass shit.” His eyes met mine, defiant. “You really think a bunch of broken kids are gonna save this club? That playing babysitter is gonna keep us from going under?”

My jaw ticked. “I think having the town behind us instead of against us will keep us from going under.” I looked around the room, resolve unwavering. “The cops? The feds? They’ve had us in their sights for years. They’re just waiting for the right excuse to put us all away. If we start moving toward legit business—if we give this town a reason to want us here instead of fearing us—it changes the game.”

Tank exhaled sharply. “What kind of ‘legit business’ are we talking about?”

I nodded, glad someone was finally asking the right questions. “First step, we start small. The garage. We expand it, make it more than just a cover. We offer real training. Get kids like Noah in there learning a trade. We build a reputation for honest work.”

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