Page 47 of Damascus & The Wildfire
Jack slammed a fist onto the table. “You’re telling me that little shit’s been feeding info to the feds under our noses? How long?” His Southern drawl softened the harshness of anger in his expression.
“Since he moved back,” I said. “The FBI recruited him after hefailed the bar. They promised him a letter of recommendation for Quantico if he played ball. He’s been meeting with a handler for months, feeding her information.”
Archer leaned forward. “What’s he actually given her? Anything that could put us away?”
I shrugged. “According to him, nothing that would stick. But he’s compromised our security. And today, when we confronted him, he grabbed Kenna. Put a goddamn gun to her head. If she hadn’t fought back, we’d be talking about a body, not a betrayal.”
“Two bodies, because he’d be dead the moment he put a bullet through her head, and then I’d tear apart his body with my bare hands,” Hatchet growled. “He used Kenna as a fucking shield. For me, that alone is enough to take him out. He’s a rat and a coward.”
Reaper’s jaw clenched. “He’s a liability.”
Fuse shook his head, voice calm but edged with steel. “We kill him, the feds will be on us before the body’s cold. They’ll know it was us. We’re already on their radar, but nothing’s stuck. If they had anything solid, we’d all be in the pen. Killing Tyler gives the feds something real.”
Thane steepled his fingers, his eyes cold and sharp. “Tyler’s not worth burning my club to the ground. If we kill him, we risk everything.”
Hatchet leaned in, voice raw. “So we just let him walk? Let him keep breathing after what he did to Kenna? If it were Rhetta, you’d have already dug the hole.”
Thane narrowed his eyes. “Kenna’s not an old lady. Different standard. Unless you’re planning to settle down, kid, know your fucking place.”
For a beat, a tense silence stretched across the room.
Archer broke the tension. “We need a plan,” he said, his tone measured and thoughtful. “Something that doesn’t lead back here. Or we find another way to neutralize him—something that keeps the club safe and off the FBI’sradar.”
Don shook his head. “That’s just passing the problem down the line. He knows too much.”
“Whatever we do, it needs to be unanimous,” Reaper cut in. “No blood unless we all agree.”
Linc grinned. “I have a solution. We don’t kill him. Not directly. But we make sure everyone knows exactly what he is. And then we let the wolves do the rest.”
I raised a brow. “The floor is yours.”
Linc explained his plan, and I’d admit, it was smart. He would hack together evidence—messages, emails, and deepfake voice notes—to make it look like Tyler had been spying on the Rangers. We’d dump Tyler on the outskirts of Austin, alive and conscious. Linc would anonymously send evidence to Poe, the Rangers’ president, and Tyler’s handler.
“If the Rangers find Tyler first, he’s a dead man,” I mused. “And if the feds get to him first, he’s compromised, exposed, and useless. It’s smart.”
“Either way, Tyler’s fate is sealed,” Fuse added. “He’s out on front street. A marked man. He’ll either be dead, abandoned by the feds, or end up in WITSEC. Our hands stay clean.”
Thane whistled. “Smart.”
I nodded. “It’s probably the best way to minimize risk to the club. All in favor, say aye.”
The officers unanimously agreed.
“Then it’s settled. Linc, get started on your part. I’m heading back to the junkyard. We might be leaving Tyler alive, but he’s not getting out unmarked.”
Hatchet raised a brow. “I don’t know what you have in mind, but count me in.”
Our engines snarled as we rolled out from the clubhouse. Hatchet rode beside me with a grin that promised bloodshed. The club had spoken, and we’d deliver justice, Maverick-style.
When we reached the junkyard, the place was silent except forthe distant buzz of cicadas. Hatchet and I pushed through the door, our boots echoing on the oil-stained concrete.
Tyler, still chained to the chair, looked up in resignation. He must’ve thought the vote would end him tonight. He wasn’t entirely wrong.
Hatchet leaned in, voice low and cold. “You’re not dying yet. But you’ll fucking wish you were.”
I pulled the knife from my belt, the steel catching the light. “You’re never going to Quantico,” I said, my voice flat as I admired the beautiful curve of the blade. “You’re never going undercover for anyone. Not after tonight.”
Hatchet grabbed Tyler’s arm, pinning it to the chair. I pressed the blade to his skin, just below the elbow, and started to carve. The word “RAT” bloomed in angry, jagged letters across his forearm. Tyler screamed, the sound bouncing off the walls.
