Page 78 of Wings
Time to talk to the club about putting those protective instincts into action.
Lucky for all of us, Alex didn’t show his hand at the hospital that day. It was uneventful, which felt like a blessing.
Later, I stood in Duke’s office, hands clasped behind my back, watching him flip through supply run reports with the kind of focused attention that had built this club from nothing.
"Sixty percent increase in medical supply efficiency," he read, not looking up from the papers. "Zero incidents during transport despite Serpent surveillance. Three new legitimate clinic connections established through the network Kiara built. Inventory tracking system that would make military quartermasters weep with envy."
He set down one folder, picked up another. The medical pipeline reports, all bearing my signature and Kiara's detailed notes. Evidence of what we'd built together, how her inside knowledge had revolutionized our operation.
My chest expanded with pride I fought not to show.
"The Serpent surveillance situation." He moved to the next report, this one with photos attached. Connor's bike at various locations, tracking patterns Kiara and I had spotted and reported. "You handled that with complete professionalism. No cowboy bullshit, no emotional reactions. Just tactical assessment and appropriate response."
"Just doing the job," I said when he paused expectantly.
"No." Duke set the folders aside, leaning back in his chair with that calculating look that meant real talk was coming. "You did more than the job. You took a situation that could have been a liability—dating someone the Serpents had already marked, someone with complicated history—and turned it into an asset."
He stood, moving to the window that overlooked the compound. Security lights illuminated bikes lined up like soldiers, prospects on gate duty visible at their posts. The kingdom he'd built, that he protected with ruthless efficiency.
"Your personal situation with Kiara," he continued, back still to me, "has actually strengthened our operations rather than complicated them. She's more committed to the club because of you. More willing to take risks, push boundaries, innovate. And you—you've shown judgment beyond your years. Protecting herwhile letting her contribute. Building something that makes you both stronger."
The praise sat heavy on my shoulders. Coming from Duke, who parceled out approval like ammunition in a siege, this was significant.
He turned back, and I caught something in his expression I'd rarely seen—genuine satisfaction. Maybe even pride. "The vote was unanimous."
My breathing stopped. Just stopped, chest frozen mid-inhale as the words penetrated.
"Your patch ceremony is set for next Saturday." He delivered it casual as weather reports, but his eyes tracked my reaction with laser focus. "Thor's agreed to sponsor you, Tyson will handle the ceremonial aspects. Full colors, full membership, full brother."
The room spun slightly. I locked my knees, maintained position through sheer will. Full patch. After months of prospecting, of proving myself, of rebuilding, I'd made it. Earned my place. Would wear the Heavy Kings colors with the right to call these men brothers in every sense.
"Thank you," I managed, voice steadier than my pulse. "I won't let the club down."
"I know you won't." Duke returned to his desk, but didn't sit. "Which brings us to the condition."
There it was. The catch, because there was always a catch in this life.
"This situation with your brother needs to be resolved." His voice carried the weight of presidential decree. "We can't patch you in with that kind of heat following you. Bad for security, bad for morale, bad for the statement we're making about who belongs in this brotherhood."
My jaw tightened. "I understand."
"Do you?" Duke's eyes bored into mine. "I'm not asking you to kill your twin, Wings. But I am telling you that whatever actionyou decide, it needs to be decisive. No half measures, no hoping he'll lose interest. The club will back whatever play you make, but it needs to end this threat permanently."
Seven days. Seven days to neutralize a problem I'd been avoiding for months. Seven days to choose between the brother who'd shared my blood and the brothers who'd earned my loyalty.
Except that wasn't really the choice, was it? Alex had made the choice when he'd started threatening Kiara. When he'd violated our territory to photograph her sleeping. When he'd chosen obsession over moving on.
"It'll be handled," I said, meaning it down to my bones. "Before Saturday."
"Good." Duke finally sat, pulling out a bottle of bourbon from his desk drawer. Two glasses appeared, amber liquid poured with careful precision. "Now, let's talk about what happens after you're patched. Got plans for you, brother. Big plans."
Brother. Not prospect, not soldier, not asset. Brother.
I accepted the glass, let the burn of good bourbon chase down my throat. Listened as Duke outlined expanded responsibilities, new operations, the future he saw for me in the club hierarchy. But part of my mind was already working the Alex problem, running scenarios like mission planning.
Seven days was generous. Alex would force the issue long before that.
"You still with me?" Duke's voice cut through my planning.
