Page 9 of King's Reckoning
"Good. Because you're coming with us to the graveyard. Time to see what else Elena taught you about club business."
The ride to the graveyard was tense, brothers flanking them in formation. Rowan stayed close to Reed's bike, watching his signals. The morning sun was just cresting the horizon, painting the sky in shades of blood and gold.
The graveyard looked different in daylight—less mysterious, more sacred. But the fresh disturbances were jarring against the peaceful scene. Earth churned up, headstones askew, decades of respect violated in a single night.
Barbara was already there, her archaeological equipment spread out around the graves. Ace had stayed behind to coordinate security at the clubhouse after the attack, leaving his partner to handle the field investigation alone. The archaeology professor looked up as they approached, her expression grim.
"They knew what they were looking for," she said without preamble. "These weren't random disturbances. They targeted specific graves. All brothers who died in '95."
"Year of the first Devils war," Reed supplied for Rowan's benefit. "When the territories were originally divided."
Rowan studied the disturbed graves. The pattern was obvious once you knew what to look for—all high-ranking members, all involved in the original territory negotiations. All carrying secrets to their graves.
"There's something else," Dr. Beasley said, gesturing them closer. "Look at these marks in the soil. They used ground-penetrating radar before digging. This wasn't a smash and grab. It was a professional job."
"Devils don't have that kind of equipment," King said, his voice hard. "Or that kind of expertise."
"No," Beasley agreed. "They don't. But I know who does." She pulled out her tablet, showing them a familiar logo. "Blackwood Archaeological Services. They've been buying up land all through the territory, claiming historical preservation. Including—"
"The warehouse property," Reed finished. "The one Devils warned us off of yesterday."
Rowan's mind raced. Archaeological company. Historical preservation. Territory disputes. It allconnected to something bigger, something both clubs were willing to kill over.
"Your mother ever mention anything about buried club business?" King asked quietly.
Rowan met his eyes. "She told me a lot of things. Most of them warnings."
"Maybe you should start sharing those warnings," Reed suggested. "Before more graves get dug up."
Movement at the graveyard gate caught Rowan's attention. A black SUV was pulling up, its windows tinted dark. As she watched, a familiar figure stepped out—the same man who'd led the Devils' attack on the clubhouse.
"We've got company," she said quietly.
King didn't turn around. "Expected company. Devils asked for a meet. Neutral ground."
"Graveyard’s not neutral anymore," Reed pointed out. "Not with our dead being disturbed."
"No," King agreed. "It's not. Which is why you and Rowan are going to follow Dr. Beasley back to her lab while I have a chat with our friends. Time to see what's really buried in our past."
Rowan started to protest, but Reed's hand closed around her arm. "Sergeant's orders," he said softly. "Besides, I think it's time you and I had a real conversation about what you're doing here."
Looking at Reed's hard expression, Rowan had a feeling that conversation would be even more dangerous than the firefight had been. But she was King's daughter. Danger was in her blood.
Barbara's lab was housed in a converted warehouse on the edge of town, the brick walls covered in decades of grime. Inside was another story. State-of-the-art equipment filled the space, computers humming quietly as they processed data. The archaeology professor had equipped the space with the latest technology for analyzing historical artifacts, her academic connections providing access to resources most MCs could only dream of.
"The radar scans are still rendering," Beasley said, pulling up images on a large monitor. "But look at this." She pointed to dark shapes beneath the disturbed graves. "Metal objects, buried with the bodies. All at the same depth, all roughly the same size."
"Lock boxes," Reed said. "Club tradition. Important members were buried with proof of their rank. Documents, photos, sometimes other items that needed to disappear."
Rowan studied the images. "The Devils aren't after bodies. They're after whatever's in those boxes."
"Smart girl." Reed's voice was closer than she expected. She could feel the heat of him behind her, smell leather and gun smoke on his skin. "Question is, how do you know about club burial traditions?"
"Same way I know about a lot of things," Rowan said, turning to face him. "I listened. I learned. I prepared."
"For what?" His dark eyes searched her face. "What's the endgame here, Rowan? Because I'm starting to think finding your father was just a convenient excuse."
Before she could respond, Beasley’s computer beeped. New images filled the screen—not from the graves this time, but from under the clubhouse itself.
