Page 39 of Ruger's Rage
Kid.
I've been running this charter for three years, but to Reed, I'll always be that hot-headed prospect he met many years ago.
We move inside, the mood darkening as we settle around the meeting table.
Bloodhound passes out beers while Ounce lays out maps marking Vulture movements across multiple states.
"They've hit four of our storage locations," I begin. "Nothing major taken, just enough damage to send a message."
Reed nods grimly. "Same in our territory. Coordinated strikes, professional hits."
"Professional?" Bloodhound asks.
"Military timing," Butch explains, his voice quiet but carrying. "Minimal exposure, maximum impact. Someone's running them like a tactical unit now."
"Striker," Seamus growls, the name hanging heavy in the air.
"What makes you think my uncle's involved?" I ask, though I already suspect the answer.
Reed leans forward. "Because he showed up in Tennessee last month. Saw him on a run with Viper—Vultures' President."
The confirmation lands like a gut punch. "You’re certain?"
Reed slides a manila envelope across the table. "Got photos."
The pictures show Striker looking older but no less dangerous, shaking hands with a man in the Vultures' colors.
The timestamp shows this was just weeks ago.
"There's more," Reed says quietly. "Your uncle wasn't alone."
He passes another photo.
This one shows Striker with a well-dressed man I don't recognize—dark features, expensive suit, cold eyes.
"Marco Santini," Reed identifies him. "Pittsburgh connection. Handles high-end distribution for the Vultures."
My blood runs cold.
Santini.
Tildie's fucking ex.
Reed catches my reaction. "You know him?"
"Know of him," I say carefully, not ready to reveal Tildie's connection. "What else?"
For the next hour, we trade intel—shipping routes, distribution networks, names of corrupt officials.
The picture emerging is clear: Striker's building an alliance to take back what he considers his.
"He wants Morgantown back," Reed concludes. "With Santini's connections and Viper's muscle, he might have the resources."
"Let him try," I snarl, the protective instinct for my territory—for Tildie—rising like a volcano about to erupt.
Reed studies me with those knowing eyes. "This is personal for him, Ruger. Exiling family creates debts that never clear."
"He crossed the line."
