Page 56 of Chief's Addiction

She shook her head, her expression dead serious. “Wish I was, brother. But it explains why they’re taking this so personally. It’s not just about money anymore, it’s about respect and settling scores.”

“That meth head piece of shit is related to Sidorov?” I couldn’t quite wrap my head around it. Spike was a low-level scumbag, not someone I’d have pegged as having connections to the upper echelons of organized crime. The room suddenly felt too small, the air too thin.

“Distant relation, but in their world, blood is blood.” Foxy sighed, taking a deep drag from her cigarette. “Sidorov’s been in Jacksonville for three days. Viktor thinks he’s gathering intel.”

My hands curled into fists on the desk. “Target assessment.” It was the first step when gearing up for battle. Know your enemies’ weak spots.

“Exactly.”

I didn’t need to ask what the targets might be. Businesses first—our legitimate operations like Saints Ink, Heaven’s Door. Then personal shit like homes, families, our women...

Cora.

A cold knot formed in my gut. This wasn’t just about club business anymore. This was about the people I cared about, the people who depended on me to keep them safe. I saw Beckett’s face in my mind, and remembered the way he’d looked at me when I’d taught him how to change the oil in my truck. I thought of Cora and how she curled against me in her sleep, trusting me to keep her safe.

Pulling out my phone, I fired off a quick text in the officers’ group chat.

Church tonight. 8PM. Mandatory.

“Call Shade,” I told Foxy as I dialed Killer’s number. “Fill him in, get his take. If anyone has insight into winning a war against the fucking Russians, it’s him.”

She nodded, already pulling out her phone.

Killer answered on the second ring. “Prez.”

“Need to talk to you about security,” I said without preamble.

“Everywhere?”

“Everywhere.”

He grunted.

“How’s the girl?” I asked, remembering we still needed to talk about the woman he was keeping in his room.

There was a pause. “Memphis is fine. What’s going on?”

“Got confirmation the Russians are in play. Need to lock everything down, especially the clubhouse and the warehouse.” I hesitated, then added, “And my house.”

He grunted again.

“Maximum security, brother. The Bratva sent Sidorov to handle the situation. Name ring any bells?”

“Fuck,” Killer cursed, his voice dropping to a growl. “Dangerous.”

He wasn’t wrong. But all we could do at this point was roll with the punches. Prepare for the worst and hope for the best. That’s all any outlaw could really hope for.

“Gonna need to call in reinforcements from everywhere. Miami, New York, St. Louis. Fuck, call the Kings and see if Tacoma can send any of his boys down here. Can’t have holes in our security.” My mind raced through scenarios of how shit could go fucking south.

“What about your house? Want a brother there now?”

I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearly three. Beckett would be out of school soon and Cora was at work until four. “Yeah. Send Reign and whoever else isn’t busy. Have them do a sweep of the perimeter and set up a rotation. I don’t want Cora or the kid left alone for a second.”

There was a beat of silence, then a low rumble. “Sparrow’s sister.”

“He doesn’t know yet,” I admitted, a hand coming up to rub at the back of my neck. “Been putting that conversation off.”

Killer hummed, the sound heavy with meaning.

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