Page 22 of Blade's Princess

"She's got bruised ribs from a baseball bat," I finish, struggling to keep my voice level. “You all saw the black eye, split lip, finger marks around her throat. And you know what she was most worried about when I found her? The fucking dog."

"Jesus Christ," Hawk mutters, looking genuinely disturbed. "And this woman runs children's charities? She's at every high-society event in Wraithport. The mayor gave her a fucking humanitarian award last year."

"Perfect cover," Cipher notes clinically, typing rapidly on his laptop. "Who'd suspect someone so publicly philanthropic? Classic psychopath behavior—creating a public persona that's the opposite of their true nature."

Cipher looks up at me. “I found a few more things of interest.” I knew he had information for me, information he didn’t want to divulge in front of Sophie. “I dug deeper than the public records. I hacked into medical files that showed a pattern—broken wrist at thirteen when she, ‘fell down stairs.’ Concussion at fourteen, ‘walked into door.’ Three ER visits in the past two years alone, each one carefully explained away.”

Although none of it surprises me, I’m incensed. “I want everything on Margaret Whitmore," I tell Cipher, leaning toward him. "Bank records, property deeds, anything you can find. I want to know where her money comes from, where it goes—everything.” I tap the table for emphasis.

Cipher nods, fingers already flying across his keyboard. "I'll have preliminary findings by tomorrow."

"You sure about this, brother?" Ghost asks me quietly while the others discuss the situation among themselves. His dark eyes search mine. "Taking on an old lady is serious business. Especially one with her kind of baggage. Once you claim her to the club, there's no easy way to unclaim her."

I meet his gaze steadily. "Never been more sure of anything."

And it's true. Since the moment I saw Sophie in that alley, feeding strays, something locked into place inside me. A missing piece finding its place.

Ghost studies me for a long moment, then nods once. "Then we stand with you."

"Appreciate it," I say, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly. Ghost's backing means everything will be smoother with the brothers.

"Alright," Ghost says louder, addressing the full table again. "Sophie Bennett is under club protection as Blade's old lady. Any questions?"

"Yeah," Saint chimes in, but his tone is serious now. "If her aunt comes looking—and she probably will—what's our play? She's got connections. Money. Influence."

"We handle it," I say simply. "Like we handle everything else."

No one speaks up after that. The implications are clear.

"Good," Ghost says. “Church dismissed. Officers remain.”

The chapel empties until only five of us remain—Ghost as President, me as VP, Saint as Sergeant at Arms, Hawk as Road Captain, and Cipher as Intelligence Officer. Once the door closes, the real shit begins.

"Any progress on finding our rat?" Ghost asks, his voice dropping to a near whisper despite the soundproofed walls.

I shake my head, the frustration of this ongoing problem grating on me. "Nothing concrete."

Saint scratches his head. "Could be a prospect hoping to earn outside cash. Could be one of the hang-arounds. Walls have ears."

"That's why we're speaking quieter than a mouse pissing on cotton," Ghost says dryly. "Found something interesting, though." He nods to Saint.

Saint leans forward. "Remember Krystal? Club whore Ghost kicked out last month for stealing?"

We all nod. Krystal had been around for years, popular with the brothers until she disrespected Angel, pissing Ghost the hell off.

"She's been spotted with Kovalev. And not just as another piece of ass. Word is she's his main squeeze now. Got herself a fancy apartment downtown, new car, designer clothes."

"Convenient timing," I observe, drumming my fingers on the armrest. "Gets kicked out of our club, immediately lands on her feet with that sleaze ball.”

"Too convenient," Ghost agrees. "Question is, was she already working for him when she was here, or did she somehow get her hands on secret club info and go running to him with it?”

“It’s possible she knows too much," Hawk points out. "Club routines, security weaknesses, personal details about brothers. Who likes to drink until they blackout, who can't keep their mouth shut around a pretty face."

The implications hang heavy in the air. If Krystal was feeding information to Kovalev, does that mean we’ve eliminated the rat?

"I'll look into her," Cipher offers. "Check her phone records, social media, see if there was contact before she got booted."

"We need to tighten security," I say, straightening in my chair. "Change access codes, rotate guard shifts unpredictably. New protocols for who can enter which areas of the compound."

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