Dad slowly stands up from the barstool, rolling his broad shoulders back, the weary posture vanishing. He looks at Mayhem, then at Locke, his jaw set like granite.
“Knox thinks he’s hidden well and deep enough that nobody can touch him,” Dad says. “He thinks he can use synthetics to fund a war against my family and my club. He’s dead wrong.”
“What’s the move, Cobra?” Locke asks, his voice dropping into that chilling, silent-killer tone that used to terrify me before I learned to see the man behind it.
Dad looks over at me, his eyes softening for a fleeting second as he takes in the sight of Locke’s hand resting securely on my waist, keeping me grounded, keeping me safe.
“We get a few hours of rest,” Dad says to Mayhem and Locke. “At noon, we have an emergency officers' meeting here. Th
