The track under Drake’s bike changed everything because suddenly every conversation inside the clubhouse circled back to the same ugly question.
Who was helping the enemy? Again.
I stood beside the main table the next morning while the tiny black tracker sat in the center surrounded by maps and weapons and every patched member in the room looked irritated or suspicious.
“This thing didn’t magically appear.” Casey asked pointed toward it with a pen.
“No shit.” Heath muttered.
Blade rubbed both hands across his face while exhaustion settled heavily into every line of his expression.
“We’re looking leaks again.” Blade said.
Nobody looked happy about that. The first leak hunt nearly tore the club apart months ago and now everyone sat wondering if someone else had been feeding inf
