Page 23 of Salvation

“You said a kid delivered this?” I asked, forcing the words past the tightness in my throat.

Decker nodded. “Yeah, couldn’t have been more than ten. Skinny little thing with glasses. Said he didn’t know what was in it, just that he got five bucks to bring it here.”

I nodded once, digesting this. Amateurs, then. Professionals wouldn’t have used a local kid as a messenger. Wouldn’t have left a paper trail. That was both good and bad news. Amateurs were unpredictable, prone to panic, but they also made mistakes. Mistakes I could exploit.

“Did anyone follow the kid? See where he went?”

“Brick tried but lost him in the neighborhoods past Main. Kid knew the alleys better.”

A muscle twitched in my cheek as I tamped down a surge of frustration. “Tell Beast I’m coming. And find Shield. I need him working on this now.”

“Already on it.” Decker jerked his head toward the clubhouse. “He’s set up in the new tech room. Been monitoring traffic cams since you called from the fair.”

I headed into the clubhouse, each step measured, controlled. The Prospect trailed a few steps behind me, giving me space. Smart kid. He’d noticed what the others would soon see -- that something fundamental had changed in me since leaving the fairgrounds. The desperate fear had crystallized into something harder, colder. More lethal.

They wanted money. Two hundred thousand by six in the morning. Not a lot of time to get it together. But money wasn’t what they’d get from me. No, they’d made their final mistake the moment they put their hands on Yulia and Clover.

I reached the clubhouse steps, pausing to look back at the compound. At the life we’d built here. The home we’d made. My family wasn’t defined by blood or legal documents, but by the bonds we’d forged through years of trust and loyalty. By the love that had grown between us, spoken or not.

I would find them. I would bring them home. And then I would make those responsible wish they’d never been born.

That wasn’t a promise. It was a fact, as inevitable as the setting sun.

* * *

Church felt smaller than usual, the air heavy with cigarette smoke and tension. Maps of the city covered the table, streets marked in red where brothers had already searched, yellow highlighting possible areas still to cover. Empty coffee cups and crushed beer cans littered every empty surface, evidence of the hours that had passed since the fair. Since my family had vanished. I closed the door behind me.

Beast stood at the head of the table, arms crossed over his chest, his face carved from stone. The President’s patch on his cut seemed to gleam under the harsh fluorescent lighting, a reminder of the power he wielded, the resources at his command. Hawk leaned against the wall to my right, his usual easy posture replaced by coiled tension, like a spring wound too tight.

“Let me see it,” Beast said, extending his hand.

I pulled the crumpled note from my cut and passed it to him, holding onto the photo. Some things were too personal to share, even with my brothers. Beast read the note quickly, his jaw tightening with each word.

“Two hundred grand by 6AM,” he muttered, looking up at me. “Seven hours from now.”

“Six hours and forty-three minutes,” Hawk corrected, checking his watch. He pushed away from the wall and moved to look over Beast’s shoulder at the note. “Amateurs?”

“Looks that way,” I said, my voice flat. “Used a local kid as messenger. Couldn’t even be bothered to type it up.”

Beast nodded, eyes sharp as he assessed me. “The club has the money. We can have it ready in an hour.”

I knew what he was doing -- laying out options, letting me know the full support of the Reckless Kings was behind me, whatever I decided. We’d never agreed to a ransom in the past, and I didn’t want to start now. The leather of the worn couch creaked as I sank onto it, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees. My hands dangled between them, fingers laced together to hide their trembling.

“You’ve got eyes out?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

Hawk nodded. “Every brother not here is on the streets. Shield’s got the Prospects taking turns monitoring cameras. We’ve got calls in to the Dixie Reapers and Devil’s Boneyard for backup if we need it.”

The mention of the allied clubs sent a surge of gratitude through me, momentarily cutting through the haze of rage and fear. This was what it meant to wear the patch -- to have brothers across the country ready to ride to your aid without question.

Beast tossed the note onto the table and moved to the small makeshift bar in the corner, something that hadn’t been there just yesterday. The bottle clinked against glass as he poured three fingers of whiskey into each of three tumblers. He handed one to Hawk, another to me, keeping the third for himself.

“This is your call, brother,” Beast said, his voice gruff but gentle. “Your family, your decision.”

Hawk nodded, raising his glass slightly. “Whatever you need, we’re behind you.”

I stared into the amber liquid, seeing Yulia’s eyes reflected there. The defiance in them when she’d looked at the camera. The subtle message I’d read in her expression, in the tilt of her chin. Do not pay. Do not follow their instructions. Come for us your way.

The whiskey burned a trail down my throat as I downed it in one swallow, welcoming the heat that bloomed in my chest. I began to pace, boots heavy on the worn floor that had seen decades of similar deliberations. Life and death decisions. Business and blood.

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