Page 22 of Ruger's Rage
I should be afraid. These men deal in violence, in retribution. Getting involved with them—with him—is dangerous.
But as I return to the bar, watching Ruger's broad shoulders and protective glances, I realize something terrifying:
I'm more afraid of Marco finding me than I am of falling for an outlaw biker who looks at me like I'm worth fighting for.
And that might be the most dangerous realization of all.
CHAPTERTHREE
Ruger
The fluorescent lights in church cast harsh shadows across the redwood table as I lean forward, studying the territory maps spread before me.
Everyone's here—all twelve patched members of my charter.
"The Grim Vultures hit three of our storage locations last month," Ounce reports, marking red X's on the map. "They're not taking product, just fucking with inventory. Testing us."
I run my thumb along my glass of Jack, letting the familiar burn ground me.
After leading this club for three years, you learn to smell danger before it fully arises.
The Vultures have been circling since I took over from Striker—waiting for weakness, looking for cracks.
"They want to see how we respond," Bloodhound adds from my right side.
He's been my Sergeant at Arms since day one, the only man besides Aunt Ellie who knows all my demons.
"Intel says Striker's been spotted in Pittsburgh," Maddox growls. Our enforcer isn't known for holding anything back. "Timing's suspicious."
My hand tightens around the glass.
Three years since I exiled my uncle, and the bastard still won't let go.
Pittsburgh. Why? Why the fuck can’t he move on with his life?
"We need eyes on him," I decide. "Bloodhound, reach out to our contacts. I want to know who else he's meeting with, what he's planning."
Before anyone can respond, my phone buzzes against my cut—Aunt Ellie.
She knows better than to interrupt church unless it's life or death, and I always shoot her a text to let her know when I’m going in church.
I let it ring until it stops.
Five seconds later, it buzzes again.
Then again.
"Take five," I announce, standing abruptly.
I exit the room, heading outside into the hallway and answer on the fourth ring. "What's wrong?"
"Ryan, honey, I need you to come to the bar." Her voice shakes in a way that makes my stomach drop. She still calls me by my real name when she's upset. "It's important."
"Are you hurt? Is someone botherin’ you?"
"No, nothing like that. Just... please come. I need to talk to you about the bar."
Something in her tone—something like fear—gets my boots moving. "I'll be there in twenty."
