One of the younger Crimson Vultures members stared at the floor.
His hands trembled and Damien noticed.
“You better not say anything.”
The biker looked up and Ethan smiled faintly. He stood again and pointed at the men lined against the wall, one by one, the way a president points out patches that no longer mean anything.
“Every one of you is an accomplice to his dirty work. DEA. FBI. I have prints, comms, vehicle logs, money trails, and enough recovered hardware to make this clubhouse look like a gift basket. You keep standing behind him and you ride that case all the way down with him. You do what I tell you right now and he takes the fall while you still have a chance to talk to an attorney like a man who remembered how to tell the truth.”
Damien roared and slammed his palm on the
