Page 32 of Midnight Rebel

I lean forward, feeling the weight of every eye in the room. The usual rowdy atmosphere of our meetings has been replaced by a tense silence.

Even Phoenix, who’s never at a loss for a smart-ass comment, is uncharacteristically quiet.

He’s been distracted lately, ever since he helped an old friend settle into the club’s apartment above the repair shop. There’s history there, written in the way his expression softens whenever her name comes up, but none of us are stupid enough to ask about it.

The bandana and patch I found in the tunnels lie in the center of the table, a silent accusation. I can’t tear my eyes away from them, my mind racing with possibilities, each one more troubling than the last.

“We need to do something about these rumors,” Hawk continues, his dark eyes flashing with anger.

I nod, feeling the weight of their expectant gazes. They’re looking to me for answers. But the truth is, I’m as lost as they are.

“We’ll figure it out,” I say, my voice steady despite the doubt gnawing at my gut. “We always do.”

I catch a flash of golden hair from the corner of my eye. Autumn. She’s been quiet throughout the meeting, taking everything in with those sharp reporter’s eyes.

Her brow is furrowed in concentration as she scribbles something in her notebook. I can almost see the gears turning in her head, piecing together information none of us have considered.

“Before we wrap up,” Phoenix interjects, “we need to discuss our current safehouse residents-the DV survivor and her son.” The mood in the room shifts, a collective concern settling over the brothers.

I nod, grateful for the change of subject. “How are they doing?”

“She’s healing, but that bastard ex of hers is still sniffing around. We need to move them from the safe house and get them out of town, fast,” Phoenix says.

“I’ve got a cousin in Riley’s Ridge,” Hawk offers. “She knows someone who runs a women’s shelter. She can set them up with new IDs, jobs, the works.”

“Good,” I say. “Make it happen. And make sure they have enough cash to get started. We’ve got funds set aside for this kind of thing.”

Hawk nods. “I’ll add it to the ledger. This ain’t a one-time deal. We’re in it for the long haul.”

There’s a rumble of agreement around the table. This is what we do—fly under the radar, doing good deeds without fanfare. It keeps people out of our business and helps those who need it most.

I turn to Autumn. “And Firefly? Let’s keep this particular charity work out of your exposé, yeah? We’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

The guys chuckle, and even Autumn cracks a smile. She’s learning the score—the Midnight Riders may be rough around the edges, but we take care of our own. And in Midnight Falls, that means everyone.

As the laughter dies down, Autumn leans forward, clearing her throat. The room falls silent, all eyes turning to her. Some gazes are curious, others wary. But I can see the respect in their eyes.

“I might have some information that could help,” she says, her voice clear and confident. “My sources tell me that the rumors might have been fed by an anonymous tip to the local media. Someone’s deliberately trying to frame the Midnight Riders.”

A low murmur ripples through the room. Pride surges through me, but it’s tinged with concern. Autumn’s good at what she does—too good, sometimes.

It makes me wonder what else she might uncover if she keeps digging.

“Any idea who this ‘anonymous source’ might be?” I ask, keeping my voice neutral.

Autumn shakes her head, her eyes narrowing with determination.

“Not yet. But I’m working on it. There’s something off about the timing of these rumors and the accidents at The Manor. It’s too coordinated to be a coincidence.”

I nod, my mind already racing. An image of Frank, the estate manager, flashes through my mind. His heated reaction to my decision about the contractor for the tunnels was just the tip of the iceberg.

I’ve caught him making late-night phone calls in hushed tones, quickly hanging up whenever someone walks by.

Yesterday, I spotted him near the old groundskeeper’s cottage—a place that’s been off-limits for years due to its unstable foundation.

What business could he have there?

These pieces don’t fit, but I’m missing the bigger picture. I need to tread carefully; one wrong move could blow this whole thing wide open before we’re ready.

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