Page 23 of Sacrifice
I down the rest of my whiskey and follow Magnus toward the room where we holdkirkja, but not before catching sight of Elfe again.
She's watching me with an expression I can't quite read—part amusement, part calculation.
When our eyes meet, she raises her beer in a mock toast and mouths something that looks suspiciously like "good luck."
Great. If Saga's best friend is wishing me luck, I'm probably more fucked than I thought.
Twenty minutes later, I'm inkirkja, breaking down the Los Coyotes situation for the officers.
Runes listens with his usual intensity, processing what all of this means.
The man's been president for longer than I can remember, and it shows in how quickly he grasps the full picture.
"Three weeks is a long time to be exposed," he says when I finish. "We need to figure out how we’re going to handle the situation tomorrow, security, making sure the women and kids are protected."
"Already thinking about rotations," Magnus confirms. "No one travels alone, women and kids especially."
"What about the ones who won't listen?" Oskar asks. "Saga's not the only stubborn female we've got."
"Then we get creative," Runes decides. "Whatever it takes to keep our people safe. Emil, you'll handle the product side. Magnus, security. Fenrir, reach out to our contacts, see if anyone else has heard about Los Coyotes moving east."
My father nods, and I catch the worry in his eyes.
He's thinking about Mom, about all our women who could become targets.
Mom might act tough, but she's got a soft heart underneath.
The kind Los Coyotes would see as weakness.
"What about the prospects?" Tor asks. "They're still green, but extra bodies might help."
"Use them for visibility patrols," Runes agrees. "Make sure Los Coyotes know we're aware and ready. Might buy us some time."
We hash out more details—safe houses if we need them, what to do in emergency situations.
Oskar suggests reaching out to allied clubs, creating a network of eyes looking for Los Coyotes scouts.
Ivar wants to increase weapon inventory, make sure everyone's carrying.
By the time we break, it's nearly midnight, and my head's spinning with all the shit that needs doing.
Product counts are tomorrow morning, then coordinating with the Irish for packaging and transport.
Security schedules to review, patrol routes to establish. And somewhere in all that, keeping an eye on Saga without her realizing what I’m doing.
I head back into Bubba’s, needing another drink before I call it a night.
The crowd's thinned some, but there's still music playing, still brothers scattered around drinking and bullshitting.
A few of the girls are dancing near the jukebox, their laughter bright against the darker mood.
That's when I see him.
Not Saga—though fuck knows she's all I'm thinking about.
It's one of the Los Coyotes scouts, sitting in the corner booth like he belongs.
Mexican, mid-thirties, neck tattoo partially visible above his collar.
