Page 21 of Edge
EDGE
The clubhouse always smelled like a mix of oil from the garage, whiskey that never seemed to leave the wood grain in the lounge, and home cooking wafting from the kitchen. That was a lot more common these days, since a few of my brothers had claimed old ladies.
They’d also brought along the faint scent of baby powder. Some might have thought it didn’t fit in the headquarters of a badass, lethal biker club. But we were all about family. The Redline Kings were a brotherhood, once forged from loyalty and love, not blood.
And even if I gave my club brothers shit about their ugly mugs, they made real fuckin’ cute kids.
Today, though, we were knee-deep in club business. I leaned back in one of the battered leather chairs in Kane’s office, boots stretched out on his large, custom-built desk despite the dirty looks he was tossing at them.
Kane was behind the desk, half in shadow, a bottle of Redbreast open beside him. Jax sat at the conference table with a laptop balanced across his thighs, his black-rimmed glasses catching the light every time he glanced up.
“Two more fucking times,” I muttered. “The prick doesn’t understand English. I told him no the first night. Made it really fucking clear, too.”
Kane’s green eyes cut toward me, sharp under the weight of his beard and that calm control that made even devils think twice before crossing him. “What’s his name again?”
“Rye,” I answered, voice flat. “Calls himself that like he’s trying too hard to sound tough. Some upstart with a crew he probably pulled outta the gutter and promised them a big payday if they followed him.” I smirked. “He thought dangling cash would get me to sell.”
Kane gave a humorless snort. “Then he’s dumber than he sounds.”
“Agreed,” Jax muttered, tapping keys. Blue light flickered against his face as he pulled up another file. “I’ve been running him. Full name’s Riley Lamond. Outta Atlanta. Served a nickel for possession with intent. Tied to two different crews that both fell apart because someone snitched.” Jax sneered. “Odds are goodhewas the fucking snitch. Now he’s trying to build his own empire, and you”—he flicked his gaze at me—“are apparently the crown jewel he thinks he needs to get there.”
“Figures.” I twirled my favorite knife through my fingers, my muscles twitching with the need to move.
Kane’s lip curled, something between pride and approval. “Can’t blame him.”
I grinned. “Flattery will not get you The Vindicator.”
Across the desk, Kane narrowed his eyes. “Of course, you’d bring that up now.”
Jax didn’t even look up from his computer, asking, “Is that the magic gun that Edge treats like his firstborn?”
“Magic gun?” I scoffed. “You don’t call the Sistine Chapel a ‘fancy doodle.’”
“It’s a rifle,” Kane growled. “A fucking gorgeous one. Integrally suppressed. Smart optics. Kicks like a ghost and hums like a song. He won’t even let me touch it.”
“Because you’d take it home and name it,” I shot back, leaning further into my chair. “I hand you The Vindicator, and suddenly, it’s sleeping next to your bed and getting a matching vest.” I put my hand over my heart dramatically. “I wouldn’t do that to Savannah.”
Kane’s mouth twitched into something between a smirk and a snarl. “I’m your brother. If anyone should get it, it’s me.”
“Yet,” I replied with mock regret, “here you are. Empty-handed and full of longing.”
Jax laughed. “Hasn’t he been trying to get that rifle off you for two years?”
“Three,” Kane corrected darkly. “Since I saw him use it outside Bainbridge. Two headshots. Zero sound. The bastards didn’t evenfallloud.”
I shrugged, unapologetic. “Built it for me. Tuned every inch. If I ever hand it over, it’s ’cause I’m dead or in love. And if it’s the second one…she’s getting it, not you.”
Kane flipped me off without breaking stride, but before he could reply, Jax’s laptop pinged, the sharp alert cutting through the room.
His head snapped down, eyes narrowing.
“Fuck.” His fingers flew. “We have movement. One of the warehouse alarms just went live.”
Kane straightened, all calm gone in an instant. “Which one?”
“Southside,” Jax answered without looking up. “Pulling the feed now.”
We crowded around as the cameras popped up on screen. Grainy black and white, but clear enough to catch the crew creeping around the perimeter. Guns and bolt cutters flashing silver under the motion lights.
