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CHAPTER
ONE
DENVER, FIVE YEARS AGO
The thundering rumbleof Harleys echoed off the warehouse walls as the Iron Brotherhood rolled in for the night’s meeting.
Logan Gibson—known to the Brotherhood as “Wolf”—sat astride his matte-black Softail, the leather jacket he wore bearing the gang’s insignia heavy across his shoulders.
Eight months undercover had transformed him. His beard had grown thick, his hair past his shoulders, and his hands calloused from work that would never appear in any official report.
Across the warehouse, Bobby Riley pushed off his bike, removing his helmet to reveal a shock of dark hair. At twenty-two, he was the youngest full member of the Brotherhood. His boyish features seemed at odds with the violent reputation of his chosen family.
Everyone else called him Buzzy. But it helped Logan to think of him as Bobby. Not as a nickname. But as a person.
“Wolf!” Bobby called out, grinning as he approached. “You missed one heck of a run yesterday.”
Logan forced a smile, guilt churning in his stomach. He’d “missed” the run deliberately after getting word it involvedmoving a shipment of fentanyl across state lines. His handler had told him to stay away, to use that time to find other evidence they needed to bring these guys down.
But staying away had meant leaving Bobby unprotected. Thankfully, nothing had gone awry.
“Had some business to handle.” Logan dismounted and clasped Bobby’s forearm in greeting. “Heard it went smooth.”
“Smooth as silk.” Bobby lowered his voice, his pride evident. “Viper says I handled the deal better than guys twice my age.”
Viper—whose real name was Damon Kessler—was the Brotherhood’s leader.
And the primary target of Logan’s investigation. The man had ordered at least three murders that the police knew about.
“Listen.” Logan guided Bobby toward the makeshift bar in the corner. “You got plans tonight after this wraps?”
“Depends what you’re offering,” Bobby joked before grabbing a beer from the fridge and taking a seat on a stiff metal chair.
“I was thinking we could hit that diner you like, the one you and your sister always visit when she’s in town.”
Bobby’s expression brightened at the mention of Morgan. “She just had another exhibition, you know. In Seattle this time. Said she sold everything opening night.”
“No joke? That’s amazing.” Logan’s admiration was genuine.
He’d heard so much about Morgan Riley over the past several months that he sometimes felt he knew the woman. Bobby carried her photograph in his wallet—a beautiful, serious-looking woman with intelligent eyes that seemed to see right through the camera.
“Yeah, she’s something else.” Bobby stared into his beer bottle. “Keeps telling me I should move back to Alaska.”
The opening Logan had been waiting for had finally arrived.
After tonight’s meeting, he was going to tell Bobby everything—that he was an undercover officer, that the net was closing around the Brotherhood, and that Bobby needed to get out now before the indictments came down.
Logan had secured approval from his handler and had arranged for Bobby’s extraction and protection—in exchange for his testimony. All Logan needed was a few more hours.
“Maybe you should listen to her,” Logan said carefully. “Your sister sounds like a smart woman.”
Bobby snorted. “Smart enough to get a real job. I got this.” He gestured to the long scar up his neck from an initiation ritual he’d gone through before joining the Brotherhood. His voice contained a complex mix of pride and something darker. “Not everyone’s built for normal, Wolf.”
“Normal is overrated,” Logan agreed. “But alive is better than the alternative.”
Bobby might have responded, but Viper’s arrival silenced the warehouse.
The Brotherhood’s fearless leader strode inside flanked by his sergeant-at-arms, Knox, and his lieutenant, Razor. The trio ran the Brotherhood with calculated brutality.
