Page 63 of Property of Mako
But that would have to wait.
When we got up and moving, she went to find Lily and try to return the sketchbook to what had become Lily’s room.
I had a few tasks to handle for the club that kept me busy for the day. Things with Lyra and Lily had been keeping me busy, but I still had a job to do for the club.
By the time the sun dipped low, I was back at the clubhouse with the rest of the Kings, the air thick with smoke and tension. Bugsy leaned against the bar with his cane next to him, though he didn’t use it as much anymore. Spook perched like a damn gargoyle on a stool, and Crypt sat at my side, his wolf simmering close to the surface.
And then there was Niner.
He looked casual, leaning back with a beer in his hand, eyes darting over the room like he was calculating odds. Too fucking smooth. Too careful. I’d never liked him, but now… now my gut screamed louder than ever.
“Church! Now!” Boomslang shouted from the back hall before he stormed off toward the chapel. One by one, everyone filed down after Boom and settled into their seats.
Dexter slammed a folder on the table. “We’ve got a problem. Last night’s recon got burned before it even started. Everything is gone. It has the Covenant written all over it. It’s like they are fucking with us. The mark we got paid to take out got away. It’s making us look incompetent and that’s bad for business.”
Every gaze in the room cut sharp. Silence. The only sound was the tick of the clock on the far wall.
Quiet grumbling started. The Kings were restless—having a potential rat would do that to a family. Tension ran high enough to snap, but I kept my face unreadable. If I tipped my hand too early, the bastard feeding the Covenant would vanish before we could gut him.
With Boomslang and Killswitch’s blessing, only Crypt and I knew about the rat hunt. Dexter, Spook, and Bugsy had limited info. That was how it had to be. Dexter, Bugsy, and Spook understood.
We couldn’t just set a false plan in front of the entire table—whoever was leaking intel would smell the bait. So instead, we worked it quietly. Kept it calculated and locked down.
I leaned on the bar, arms crossed, as Dexter went over the newest plans. “We’ll split into two groups. One will scout the riverfront warehouses, the other will check the Quarter. That enchanted steel arrives in two days. We can’t afford to lose it. We have too much tied up in this. Bugsy and I will run security at the clubhouse.”
It was a simple division of labor. On the surface anyway. But underneath? Every assignment had been designed to track movement and conversation. Crypt and I had already bugged the garage phones. Spook, slippery bastard that he was, had agreed to shadow whoever we suspected. Bugsy might’ve been banged up, but his eyes missed nothing—he’d been watching the books Niner kept like a hawk.
No one but Crypt and I knew it was truly a game of bait and blood.
I caught Niner’s eye as he discussed our current financial situation, casual as ever. Too casual. He thought he was in the clear.
Good. Let him think it.
Because when the time came, I wasn’t just going to expose him. I was going to make an example out of him.
Crypt’s low growl brushed the edge of my mind through the bond we shared that no one knew about. He’ll slip. And when he does, he’s yours.
My jaw flexed. Yeah. He was mine.
Trust was the backbone of the Kings of Anarchy. Brotherhood, blood, loyalty—those weren’t just words we slapped on cuts. They were supposed to mean something.
But somewhere along the line, one of us forgot that.
And though I had my suspicions, I was going to prove them.
The table was restless tonight, the hum of voices a constant undercurrent. Recon reports, supply runs, updates on our allies—it all sounded like business as usual. That was exactly what I wanted. The rat couldn’t know we were closing in.
I leaned back in my chair, letting the others argue over the details. My gaze drifted to Niner, where he sat at the far end of the table, casually flipping through one of the ledgers he guarded like his fucking momma’s bible. He always looked too composed, too in control. Never broke a sweat. That was a red flag in a room full of men used to bleeding for each other—at least that’s how I saw it.
Crypt shot me a look across the table, his eyes cold. He didn’t need to say a word—we’d already agreed only he and I knew what was in motion. If the rest of the club caught wind, the rat would burrow deeper, careful not to slip. No, the key to this was staying calm. Quiet.
After church, I caught Crypt outside under the overhang where we parked our bikes. The night was damp, the air thick with the scent of oil and cigarette smoke.
“You plant it?” I asked, keeping my volume as low as possible.
He nodded once. “Bug’s live on the landline. Phones in the office too. Spook’s tailing our mark when he’s not looking. Bugsy’s watching the books. Everything else, we keep close.”
“Good,” I muttered, pulling a cigarette from my cut. I didn’t light it, just let it dangle from my fingers as I stared into the dark. “We can’t afford another setup. Not with all the irons we have in the fire right now. Not with Lyra and Lily here.”
