He’d already been hit with threats. A handful of vendors had warned him they were packing up and leaving if things didn’t change—now. That kind of talk spread fast, and if one bailed, others would follow. Money lost. Reputation trashed.
Teller exhaled slowly, jaw tight. He knew the hired security wasn’t cutting it. They’d been briefed, told exactly what to expect, and still came up short. Too soft. Too slow. Next year, he’d do it differently. Next year, he’d use club brothers—men who understood what it meant to hold the line. Men who didn’t blink when the shit hit the fan.
He glanced toward the door where the Harlots had stormed out minutes before, already enforcing control with the kind of precision his guys should’ve had from the start.
Lesson learned. The hard way.
Chapter Twelve
Diamond stood alongside Nova,eyes scanning the crowd, posture relaxed but alert. The roar of engines cut through the noise of the rally, drawing a smirk to her lips. The Harlots from Northern Ontario had arrived—right on time.
The rally was loud, packed, and chaotic—but that made it perfect. No one questioned who talked to who in a crowd like this. It was just another gathering of bikers, full of smoke, beer, and music. No one would look twice at a few women slipping into a closed-door meeting. What looked like a reunion was really business. And business needed to be handled.
As the Northern girls rolled in, Diamond and Nova pushed through the sea of leather and steel, making their way to the row of bikes just pulling in. Shark was the first off, grinning, followed closely by Sting, who tugged off her helmet and flashed Diamond a sharp smile.
“About damn time,” Diamond said, stepping in for a fist bump that turned into a solid hug.
“Traffic was shit,” Shark replied, clapping Nova on the back.
It was all quick embraces, smirks, and nods. Familiar faces. Shared loyalty. Chapters coming together like pieces of a whole. No drama. No power struggle. Just mutual respect and the unspoken understanding that when the Harlots met like this, something bigger was always brewing.
Some of the other girls from the Quebec City Chapter sauntered up, drawn by the sound of engines and the familiar faces gathering. A few had beers in hand, others passed around a joint, laughter trailing behind them like perfume. Their energy was wild and unbothered. Every single one of them carried the same fire behind their eyes.
There was no need for introductions. These were sisters, bonded not just by leather and patches, but by the miles they’d ridden and the shit they’d survived.
Music thumped in the background, and for a moment, it felt like the chaos of the rally faded around them. They talked, laughed, flicked ash from cigarettes, and swapped stories from the road. It looked casual. Easy. Like any group of women having a good time.
But under it all, there was a current of purpose—because they didn’t come here just to party.
Diamond had asked Teller for the use of a private room. Somewhere quiet, tucked away from the noise and the curious eyes, so the two chapters could hold church and handle their business. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t ask what it was about, though she could see the curiosity flicker behind his eyes.
Still, he didn’t push. Just gave a quick nod and motioned for her to follow.
She respected that about him. Teller might be a nosy bastard, but he knew when to back off and when to respect the sanctity of club affairs. Especially when it came to the Harlots.
He led her through the back hallways of the clubhouse, the sound of the rally fading with every step, until he stopped in front of a heavy door. “It’s all yours,” he said, pulling it open.
Diamond gave him a single nod, her expression unreadable. “Appreciate it.”
He lingered for a second, like he wanted to say more, then thought better of it and walked off.
Inside, the room was closed off, windowless, and quiet. A long table sat at the center with enough chairs in the room to seat both chapters. Diamond stepped in first, holding the door as the Northern girls filed in behind her chapter.
The door clicked shut behind them, muffling the sounds of the rally outside. Inside the room, the air shifted—focused, tight, serious. No one needed to be told to sit up straight or drop the grins. They already knew this wasn’t about club business. This was about something bigger.
Diamond stood at the head of the table, hands braced against the wood, her expression unreadable but charged. Nova sat beside her, flipping open a folder thick with notes and photos.
“Alright,” Diamond began, voice steady. “We’ve got a woman ready to move. The situation’s gotten worse. Last incident, she barely made it out without broken ribs. She’s not waiting for another chance. She’s ready.”
The women around the table listened in silence. No interruptions. No distractions.
“This is a two-chapter job,” Diamond continued. “Shark, you’re doing the pickup. She’s near Barrie. She’ll have what little she can carry. She trusts no one but us.”
Shark nodded from the other end of the table, already taking notes. “When?”
“Next week,” Nova said, tapping the map inside the folder. “You’ll move them straight to Port Dover. We’ll take the hand-off at the rally.”
Diamond pointed at the red-lined route. “From Dover, we’re heading back to Quebec City and will leave from there. It’s a clean shot south into New York. We’ve got a secure overnight lined up near Albany. After that, we move west. No cuts, no detours.”
