"Ruger—" Tildie starts, concern in her voice.
"Not like that," I assure her. "But I need answers."
The celebration's effectively over, the mood shattered by Striker's appearance.
Brothers begin escorting their women to vehicles, orderly but swift.
I catch Bloodhound's eye across the room, nodding toward Rookie who's trying to slip out unnoticed. "Keep him here."
Bloodhound intercepts the prospect before he reaches the door, one hand on his shoulder guiding him to a back table.
"Take Tildie back to the compound," I tell Ounce. "Full security detail. Maddox, you're with Ellie."
"I'm not leaving you," Tildie protests.
"This isn't optional." My tone is harder than I want it to be, but fear for her safety overrides everything else. "I need to know you're safe while I handle this."
Her eyes narrow. "Don't pull that alpha bullshit on me, Ruger. I'm not some helpless?—"
"I know you're not helpless." I cup her face in my hands, forcing myself to soften my voice. "But right now, I need to focus on interrogating Rookie without worrying about you and Ellie being in the line of fire."
"Striker is an oddball," Bloodhound points out reasonably. "It’s safer for you both at the club with triple the security rather than here."
Tildie looks between us, then sighs. "Fine. But we're not done discussing this."
"Wouldn't expect anything less, Darlin'." I press a quick kiss to her forehead. "Go with Ounce. I'll be there soon."
After they leave, I settle across from Rookie, who can't quite meet my eyes.
"Talk," I demand.
He swallows hard. "Prez, I can explain?—"
"Start with how you know Striker."
Confusion flashes across Rookie's face. "That's the thing, Prez. I don't know him. Never met him."
"Then explain why he singled you out tonight."
He swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing. "It's Kinsey."
"Who the fuck is Kinsey?"
"Girl in my Engineering Design class." His voice drops. "We've been hooking up for a couple months. Grabbing drinks at O'Malley's near campus after study sessions."
I’m starting to put the pieces together. "And you've been running your mouth to her."
"Not intentionally." His eyes drop to the table. "Just, you know, trying to impress her. Mention club stuff when I've had a few. Makes me sound important."
"You stupid fuckin’ kid." My voice is deadly quiet. "What exactly have you told her?"
"Security rotations. Drop points. Which warehouses we use." Shame colors his face as he continues. "I was plastered, Prez. I’m sorry, I fucked up, and I know it. Last week, she said something that didn't sit right. We were at her place, and she got a call. After, she thanked me, said her dad appreciated all the intel I'd been sharing."
Ice forms in my gut. "And you didn't think that was worth mentioning?"
"I confronted her about it yesterday. Asked who her fuckin’ father was." His voice cracks. "She laughed, said I should've figured it out sooner. Said her name's actually Kinsey Callahan. That Striker's her father."
The name throws me for a loop. "Callahan."
