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Chapter1

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Bent at the waist with my arms draped across the railing, I watch closely as every member of the club works tirelessly to help get our current order filled.

A lot of shit has happened lately, and we're all exhausted.From shipments being hijacked out at sea, to money going missing, even so far as someone being stupid enough to target the locals under our protection.

“Ever think about handing over the keys to the kingdom and taking off?”Kane, my treasurer asks, stepping up beside me.

I turn my head and lift a brow.He knows my history and how I've been forced to leave once before.The Army or jail had been my only options, and back then, a cage felt like a death sentence—still did if I was telling the truth.

I shake my head.“Never.I'll never give it up.”

I turn back to survey my men pulling transmissions and disassembling motors.All these parts had been sold and would soon be packed into shipping containers and loaded onto The Lucifer.At sunrise, The Lucifer would head out to sea and reach its final destination in the weeks to come.

Running a chop shop was risky, but it was profitable—at least it had been.

As president of the Devil’s Creed MC, I was used to maneuvering through political minefields, but whatever was happening now, wasn't the norm.The city had always been a melting pot, a playground for various criminal elements to fight for their supremacy and to maintain some semblance of peace; a treaty had been agreed upon.There was enough room for everyone to prosper, but it required respect and motherfuckers staying in their own lane.Someone had forgotten this cardinal rule, and I was going to find out who.

As king of the city that never slept, it was my birthright to keep the peace.

“Yo!”I look over my shoulder and nod at Link.

I hope like fucking hell he's got the information I've been waiting on.

Pushing off the rail, I move back into my office, expecting my VP to follow.

“Tell me you have something.”I take a seat and wait.

“I do.”He drops a file on my desk and motions for me to open it.

I look up with a lifted brow.

Link rolls his eyes.“It ain’t gonna bite ya.”

I pull the file closer, flip the cover, and quickly scan the contents.Rage like I've never felt before surges through my veins.

There are photos of Ivan-fucking-Romanov and a cop with their heads together, looking too fucking cozy, discussing only God knows what.There are rules we all abide by and at the top of that list is Don't Talk to the Cops.

My head cocks to the side as I scrutinize the grainy image of the pig.I've seen him before, but I can't recall where.

Pushing that thought aside for the time being, I flip through the remainder of the file, and there's a lot of shit there—meetings, money, property.

“Where'd you get this?”I ask.

“It was delivered anonymously.”

My eyes fly to his.“Come again?”

Link rubs at the back of his neck and sighs.“It was delivered anonymously.”

I scratch the days’ worth of stubble on my jaw.“Anonymously.”It's not a question, I heard him the first time, but it doesn't make sense.Who would benefit from us having this information?

Link motions for the file and I slide it back to him focusing intently as he reads through all the information.

“How the hell did we miss that Ivan is a mother fucking snitch?”I ask mostly to myself.The fucking Bratva sold us out to the cops.

If Ivan is a snitch and working with the law, that means he's double-crossing the Italians too.

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