Page 42 of Emmy's Ride

“Crow.,” Bear answered.

My blood ran cold. Crow had been with the Kings for years. A loyal brother. There was no way in hell he’d be stupid enough—or reckless enough—to kill a man like Jeffries.

“This is The Ghost,” I muttered, gripping the phone tight.

Jax nodded. “He’s setting us up.”

Diesel leaned on the table. “We gotta do something before the cops start knockin’ on doors. Crow’s already holed up in his place, but if the feds come lookin’, he’s screwed.”

I was already working through the angles. If The Ghost was behind this, it wasn’t just about pinning a murder on one of our own—this was about control. Manipulation. Mind games.

And I was fucking tired of being played.

“We need proof,” I said, tossing the paper onto the table. “We find out how The Ghost pulled this off and clear Crow’s name before this turns into something bigger.”

Tank cracked his knuckles. “And if we find the bastard who’s actually responsible?”

“Then we send our own goddamn message.”

The air rumbled with agreement. The Kings weren’t the kind of men to take this kind of hit lying down.

But even as I planned my next move, another thought crept in—one I didn’t like.

Luke—Grit—was mixed up in something bigger than either Emmy or I had realized. And if The Ghost was moving pieces on the board this aggressively, then she was closer to danger than she even knew.

I had to keep her safe even if she hated me for it. Even if it meant keeping secrets.

I strode toward the door. “We’re gonna find out who did this. And when we do?” My gaze darkened. “We burn The Ghost to the fucking ground.”

I pulled into the back lot of a run-down diner just outside town. The neon sign flickered weakly, casting a dim glow over the cracked pavement. It was late, the kind of late when only truckers and insomniacs wandered in for coffee that tasted like burnt tar.

I scanned the lot. A nondescript sedan was parked near the dumpsters, the engine idling. Smart. The last thing a cop needed was to be seen meeting with a KOC.

I swung off my bike, my boots crunching against gravel as I approached the car. I knocked once on the driver’s side window.

The glass rolled down just enough for me to see Detective Ryan Cole’s face. My old friend looked tired, lines of fatigue carved into his features. Cole had been a friend before he’d ever worn the badge. We’d grown up together, running the same streets, causing the same kind of trouble. But while I ended up an outlaw, Cole chose a different path. Still, some bonds ran too deep to break.

“Get in,” Cole muttered, glancing around as if making sure we weren’t being watched.

I didn’t hesitate, sliding into the passenger seat. The car smelled like stale coffee and cheap air freshener, but I barely noticed. My focus was on Cole.

He blew out an irritated breath, shaking his head. “You’re lucky I still answer when you call.”

I snorted. “You’re lucky I call first. Tell me what you got.”

He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, glancing out the windshield before speaking. “It’s bad, man. Paul Jeffries was shot once, execution-style. Clean, professional.” He paused. “But the evidence? It’s messy. Too messy.”

I frowned. “Messy how?”

Cole shifted in his seat. “There’s security footage of a guy leaving the scene. Face hidden, but he’s wearing a Kings’ cut. Here’s the thing, though. Whoever set this up wanted the cops to see it. They didn’t even try to destroy the security camera footage.”

“And they’re pinning it on Crow.”

Cole nodded. “A witness, Jeffries' own guy, claims he saw Crow arguing with Jeffries the day before. Said it got heated.”

He sighed. “Look, man, I don’t believe it. I know Crow. He ain’t the type to pull something like this, but the department is under pressure. Jeffries had friends. If they push for an arrest, Crow’s gonna be the first in cuffs.”

I ran a hand down my face, frustration building. “This is a fucking setup.”

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