Page 103 of Ruger's Rage

Kinsey sits alone near the back, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out she’s scared.

Bailey's been brought in, flanked by Maddox and Krypto, her hands bound behind her.

I take my place at the head of the table, Tildie standing behind my right shoulder—right where my ol' lady belongs.

"Church is in session," I announce, bringing the gavel down, immediately silencing the room.

Ounce speaks first. "We've got two matters to handle tonight. First—" he nods toward Bailey, "—the traitor in our midst. Secondly, our response to Striker and Marco's attack."

Maddox drawls, his massive arms crossed over his chest, "We all know they're connected."

Decorum clears his throat. "Before we begin, there's the matter of... outsiders." His eyes flick to Kinsey. "Church is for members only."

I waste no time speaking up. "Kinsey's earned a place at this table tonight, especially since she’s something we’re going to be discussing."

Satyr objects. "She's Striker's daughter."

"She's the reason we knew the attack was coming," Bloodhound interjects, surprising everyone with his defense. "Warned us at great risk to herself."

Wraith shakes his head. "Blood tells. Can't trust a snake's offspring not to bite."

"She had my daughters in her care," Coin says quietly, his voice carrying more weight than any shout. "Could have handed them over to Marco's men. Instead, she helped hide them, protected them."

The room falls silent, each brother weighing this information.

"I say we put it to a vote," I decide. "All in favor of allowing Kinsey to stay for this meeting, raise your hand."

Hands go up—Bloodhound, Coin, Ounce, about half the table.

"Those opposed?"

The other half raises their hands.

A tie. My vote will decide.

I look at Kinsey, seeing something of myself in her stubborn jaw, in the way she holds herself against judgment.

"Kinsey stays," I announce. "By President's decision. But—" I hold up a hand to silence protests, "—she speaks only when spoken to. Understood?"

She nods, relief flashing briefly across her face.

"Now, to the first order of business." I turn my attention to Bailey, who glares back defiantly. "We have proof you've been feeding information to Striker for months. Club schedules, security protocols, even the location of emergency tunnels that have been secret for decades."

"You don't have shit," she spits.

I hold up the phone Bloodhound found. "Text messages, honey. Time-stamped, detailed. Your contact is even saved under 'B.' Not exactly covering your tracks."

Her expression falters.

"Why?" Aunt Ellie asks from where she stands near the wall. "Why betray people who protected you?"

Bailey laughs, the sound ugly and bitter. "Protected me? I've been club property for years. Passed around, used, discarded. Then she shows up—" her eyes burn into Tildie "—and suddenly she's precious? Untouchable? She gets to be an ol' lady while I'm still just a convenient hole?"

The crude words hit their mark. Several brothers shift uncomfortably, unable to deny the truth in her assessment.

"So you sold us out because you were jealous?" Bloodhound asks, disbelief coloring his voice.

"Striker reached out six months ago. Said he needed someone on the inside, someone overlooked but with access. Promised me protection, money, respect." Her chin lifts. "Everything I never got here. It was before that dumb bitch came in, but I’d still do it again."

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