Page 69 of Property of Bones

“It means they’re here,” he growls. “Max and El Muerte. The big boss came to us.”

The room goes still.

Dead still.

“Buckey says he’s here to clean up Billy’s mess,” Spike continues. “Apparently the idiot was supposed tostorethe Fentanyl until it was needed. Not move it. Not sell it. Now Muerte wants to make sure no trails lead back to him. Probably thinks we’re just dumb bikers playing outlaw games.”

Spike looks up, eyes burning. “He doesn’t know who the hell he’s dealing with.”

“We take him out,” I say, voice low and sharp.

“Damn right, we do,” Spike nods. “Foster’s already pulling last known GPS pings. We’ve got a narrow window. I want boots on the groundnow.”

“What about the compound?” Tank asks. “If the cartel boss is in town…”

“Patch is on his way,” Spike says. “He and Knuckles will stay behind with the women. I’ve called in the South chapter to cover interior ground patrol. The brothers from the East chapter thatdidn’t go help the Vipers will secure the perimeter. Snipers on every corner. A fly won’t make it past the wall without losing a wing.”

“Still feels thin,” Crusher mutters.

“It is,” Spike says. “But we don’t get another shot at this.”

I glance at Foster. “We sure it’s not bait?”

Foster shrugs, tapping keys. “It’s either bait... or a gift. Guess we’ll find out.”

“We need to stop and think for a second,” Skip says, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “Let’s say this intel’s good. Let’s say Muerte and the not-really-sure-if-hes-a-traitor-or-notisin Palm Springs to clean up Billy’s mess.”

We all turn toward him.

“Do we really want to be the ones to put a bullet in the Mexican cartel’s top dog? Because if even aninklingof that gets back to them…and it will…they won’t just retaliate. They’llburyus. We may be badasses, but Los Fantasmas hasthousandsof members across two countries. We’ve got two hundred. Total.”

No one says a word.

Because Skip’s not wrong.

And that’s what makes this whole damn thing so dangerous.

Skip’s words hang in the air like smoke. Heavy. Unavoidable.

Spike doesn’t argue.

He just nods once, jaw tight.

“Okay. We’ll wait. Watch. Learn. We won’t attack…yet,” he says. “Not until we know exactly what we’re walking into.”

“What’s the play then?” I ask.

“Foster finds us a location,” Spike says. “Once we’ve got it, we send the North chapter thirty minutes ahead. Quiet recon only. No contact. No movement unless I give the word.”

Crusher leans forward. “And if they confirm it’s him?”

Spike’s eyes darken. “Then we move. We won’t take him out, but wewillsend him a message. This isourfucking turf.”

Foster’s tapping like a madman, screens flashing as feeds scramble and load. None of which I understand.

“I’ve been chasing this signal for over an hour,” he mutters. “Thought it was a hardware glitch, but something’s off. The van’s carrying a signal jammer. Basic, but effective. It’s been scrambling pings every time they move into range of our towers.”

“What kind of jammer?” Skip asks, already frowning.

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