Page 60 of Property of Bones

Spike steps forward slowly, both hands braced on the table. His expression hasn’t changed, but his voice…

His voice is ice.

“Skip. Bones.”

We both sit up straighter.

“You’re going after him.”

“Copy that,” I say without hesitation.

Spike’s jaw tightens. “Don’t capture him. No torture. No questions. No fuckinglast words.”

The entire room freezes.

“Don’t even give him time to fucking speak,” Spike snarls. “You find him andshoot him between the fucking eyes.”

No one argues.

No one questions it.

Because this isn’t club business anymore.

This is personal.

This is blood for blood.

I stand, nodding once. “We’ll handle it.”

Skip cracks his knuckles. “Been waiting to see Bones and his sniper in action for months now. He’s always going for his blades these days.”

Spike looks at me one last time.

“Don’t miss.”

I meet his gaze, steady and cold. “I never do.”

“Wait, brother,” Tank says, holding up a hand. “We need to know why he did it. Who he’s working for. We need answers. We need to confirm who the hell Muerte is.”

“I already know those answers,” Spike growls. “He’s pissed. Pissed I wouldn’t let him set up his little drug shop in Palm Springs. He thought being blood gave him a free pass.”

His lip curls, jaw locked with rage. “And clearly, he and Max were working together a few months back. The timing’s too damn clean.”

“Max is tied to Los Fantasmas,” I remind them, voice like gravel. “That cartel’s fingerprints are all over this.”

Spike drags a hand down his face, weariness fighting with fury. “I’ll reach out to Buckey. See if his man’s got anything new from the inside. We’ll piece the rest together soon enough.”

He looks around the table, eyes burning.

“But I’m telling you now. I don’t want my cousin breathing air for another fucking day.”

No one argues.

Not even Tank.

The room goes still with the weight of what’s just been said. And what’s about to happen.

“Let’s ride,” I say, already halfway to the door.

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