Page 25 of Arch
Tank’s in a corner, cleaning a pistol, his bulk making the chair look like a toy.
Meanwhile Arch is at the head of the table, his gray eyes scanning a map, his silver-streaked hair catching the light. He looks up as I walk in, and for a second, the world narrows to just us, his stare cutting through me like it did last night, full of heat and something deeper.
“Keegan,” Arch says, voice low, no trace of the softness that was there after we got down and dirty. “Didn’t expect you back so soon.”
I shrug, forcing a grin to hide the nerves twisting my gut.
“Figured I’d stop running my mouth and start proving I can handle this.” I nod toward the map. “The traitor. He’s scum, whoever he is. I want in on whatever you’re planning.”
The room goes quiet, every eye on me.
Clay raises an eyebrow, Jace smirks, and Tank lets out a low whistle. Arch leans back, crossing his arms, his expression unreadable.
“You’re not a Rider, kid,” Arch says, but there’s a flicker in his eyes, like he’s testing me. “This is deep shit. You sure you’re ready?”
“I saved your shipment last night, didn’t I,” I say, stepping closer, my voice steady despite the adrenaline. “I’m not here to polish bikes. Let me prove I can do more.”
Arch studies me, his jaw tight, and I feel the weight of his doubt, his fear that I’ll fuck this up.
But I also see the want, the same fire from last night, and it gives me the guts to keep pushing.
“I’m ex-military,” I add. “I’ve done recon, handled worse than a few Vipers. You can believe me on that. Just give me a shot.”
Clay clears his throat, breaking the tension.
“Kid’s got guts, Arch,” Clay comments, his eyes moving between me and Arch. “We need someone who can move fast, stay quiet.Tank and Jinx are good, but they’re not exactly stealthy. No offence, Tank.”
“Hey, none taken!” Tank chuckles, still busy cleaning his gun.
Arch’s eyes don’t leave mine, and I can tell he’s weighing the risk—me, a loose cannon, versus the chance I might actually pull this off.
Finally, Arch nods, slow and deliberate.
“Alright, Keegan. Recon only,” Arch says, his voice serious and controlled. “You scout the Vipers’ warehouse on Route 17, look for signs of who’s feeding them intel. No heroics, no fights. You get in, you get out, you report back. Fuck this up, and you’redone.”
I nod, my chest tight with a mix of fear and excitement.
“I won’t let you down, Daddy,” I say. The D-word slips out, half-tease, half-promise, and I see the way his eyes darken, the way his breath catches. The room chuckles, but Arch’s stare is all fire, and I know I’ve got his attention.
The plan is simple… slip into the Vipers’ warehouse under cover of night, check their records, eavesdrop if I can, and get out without being seen.
Jinx briefs me on the layout, Tank hands me a burner phone, and Arch watches me the whole time, his expression a mix of pride and worry.
Before I know it, I’m geared up—black hoodie, knife in my boot, flashlight—and I head out as dusk falls, the weight of Arch’s trust heavier than the blade against my ankle…
The warehouse is a rusted hulk, same as last night, but now it’s crawling with Vipers. I park my bike a half-mile out, hidden in the trees, and creep closer, sticking to the shadows.
My Army training kicks in, keeping my steps silent, my breathing steady.
Stay calm.
Assess the surroundings.
Be decisive.
I find a side door, jimmy it open with a trick I learned in basic training, and slip inside.
The place smells of oil and weed, crates stacked high, voices echoing from a back room.
