Page 56 of Ruger's Rage

"Can you ID them?"

"No, but the camera caught their vehicle—black SUV, no plates. Same one that's been spotted near our south side warehouse before it got hit."

I process this, the puzzle pieces fitting together. "Someone's coordinating strikes against both clubs, making it look like we're hitting each other."

"That's how I read it. He’s playing both sides against each other from the middle."

"Get the footage and head back. I want everyone to see what we're dealing with."

After I hang up, I lean back in my chair, rubbing my temples where a headache threatens to take hold.

The game Striker's playing is dangerous—deadly—and I can't help feeling we're missing something crucial.

Around three, Aunt Ellie calls. "Ryan, honey, mind if I stop by? Need to talk about bar business."

There's something in her tone that tells me this isn't just about the bar. "Sure. You know where to find me."

I spot her car on the security cameras, so I head into the main area and greet her with a covered casserole dish in hand. "Brought lunch. Figured you boys weren't eating properly with all the chaos."

The "boys" in question—Bloodhound, Ounce, and a couple of the prospects—rush over to the food like they haven't eaten in days, which might actually be true.

Ellie has that effect on people—making them remember basic human needs like food in the middle of a crisis.

After setting out the meal, she motions me to follow her to my office.

"So," she begins once the door closes, "I went to visit an old friend by your place last night and didn’t see your Harley out."

It's not a question.

My aunt has always had an uncanny ability to know my movements, even before cell phones made it easy to track people.

Then again, I was an unruly teenager who gave her more than a few gray hairs.

"Had some things to handle." It's not exactly a lie.

"Mmm-hmm." She settles into the chair across from my desk. "Saw your Harley outside Tildie's trailer this morning when I woke up."

Busted.

I wait for the lecture I’m sure to have, the reminder about being careful with Tildie's heart, the warning not to bring club business to her doorstep.

Instead, Ellie says, "She's different today. Calmer, even with that man coming to the bar yesterday."

I blink, caught off guard by her observation. "She told you about that?"

"Of course she did. Girl was terrified." Ellie fixes me with a look that could strip paint. "But you already knew, didn't you? That's why you showed up with pie."

I try for nonchalance and fail miserably. "Had a feeling something was wrong."

"She's important to you." Again, not a question.

"Yeah." I see no point in denying it. "She is."

Ellie nods, studying me like she used to when I was a kid trying to hide a broken window or a failing grade. "I've watched that girl fight her demons for six months, Ryan. Seen how hard she works to stand on her own two feet. She doesn't need another man making decisions for her."

The defensiveness in my tone surprises even me. "I know that."

"Do you?" She leans forward. "Because the way I see it, you've got the world's biggest target on your back right now, and you've painted one on hers by association."

---