Page 73 of Ruger's Rage

"We all are." He glances past me to where Ellie stands frozen by the bar. "Hello, Eleanor. You're looking well."

Ellie approaches slowly, her head high despite the slight tremor in her hands. "Striker. Can't say the same for you."

"Three years in exile ages a man." He studies her with an intensity that makes my protective instincts flare. "But I'm coming back stronger than ever."

"Is that why you're here?" she asks. "To threaten us? On what used to be my property?"

"Neutral ground, isn't it? Place for civilized conversations." He turns back to me. "Like the one we need to have about territory, about loyalty... about consequences for your actions."

"Say what you came to say."

He leans in, voice low. "Someone's playing both sides, nephew. Setting us against each other. When the dust settles, you might find your enemies aren't who you thought."

"And I'm supposed to believe you're not behind it?"

"Believe what you want. But ask yourself who benefits from a war between the clubs. Who's been feeding you information that's just convincing enough?" His eyes drift past me, settling on someone in the crowd. "Youth is easily manipulated when it thinks it's doing the right thing."

I follow his gaze to where Rookie stands by the pool table, his face pale.

Things are starting to click into place.

The insider knowledge, our shit being stolen…

Rookie's nervous behavior since the Amity clubhouse burned down.

"We'll finish this another time," I tell Striker, my voice deadly calm.

"Looking forward to it." He nods to his companions. "Let's go, boys. Party's suddenly lost its appeal."

As they turn to leave, Striker pauses at the door. "Oh, and Ryan? Tell your pretty bartender that her ex sends his regards. Says he's looking forward to their reunion."

The direct threat makes my vision blur with rage, every muscle screaming to follow him, to end this now.

Only Bloodhound's hand on my shoulder keeps me in place, reminding me I can’t do any of this here.

Backroads Bar & Grill is neutral ground, and I can’t do what I fucking want right now.

When they're gone, the bar erupts in tense conversation.

Brothers cluster together, ol’ ladies huddled nearby, everyone processing what just happened.

My eyes find Tildie immediately.

She stands with Ellie, her face pale but composed.

When our eyes meet, she straightens her shoulders, a silent message that she's okay.

I make my way to her, ignoring questions from brothers as I pass.

Right now, nothing matters but her.

"He knows," she says when I reach her. "About me."

"We knew they were connected." I wrap an arm around her waist, needing to feel her. "Now we know for sure."

"Did you see Rookie's face when Striker looked at him?" Ellie asks quietly. "Boy looked like he'd seen a ghost."

"I saw." The pieces fit too perfectly to ignore. "I'll handle it. Tonight."

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