Chapter 86
-Logan-
We filed into the chapel. The oak table felt like a wall between us and the rest of the world.
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I took my usual seat. My leg complained as I sat down. The weight of Hailey’s absence was a physical pressure against my ribs.
Viktor stood next to Jake at the head of the table with his hands flat on the surface. He didn’t waste time.
“The warehouse in Burnsville,” he started. His accent clipped the words.
“It is active. A distribution point. My men watched for two days. Trucks come and go, but not many. They are cautious. The security is… professional. Former military, by the look of them. Four outside, always. More inside, at least fifty.”
He laid it out. The place was a fortress, but a working one. They were moving product.
Jake leaned forward, hands on the table, eyes sweeping the room before landing on me.
“Alright, Logan. You win. We hit it hard and fast… before they’re ready. We need to know shifts, patterns, layout. Viktor, can your guys get us a schedule?”
Viktor gave a single, slow nod. “It is possible.”
“Ledger, get the coordinates from Viktor and get me the layout of the warehouse.”
Ledger nodded. “You got it, boss man.”
The planning started then. River talking about approach vectors. Dex debating types of explosives. My old man pointing out the logistical nightmare of a daytime hit versus night.
I listened. My mind ran through the scenarios. My leg ached, but the itch for action was stronger. This was good. We were finally doing something.
Point me at a problem I can shoot.
Then Ledger’s phone rang.
He frowned, pulling it from his cut. He held up a hand, cutting off Dex mid–sentence. “It’s Tony,” he muttered.
Tony managed The Anchor, our bar on the north side. After the tattoo shop, Ledger put the word out to all our business fronts to report anything unusual.
He tapped the screen and put the phone on the table. “Tony. You’re on speaker. What’s up?”
Tony’s voice came through. He sounded nervous. “Hey, Ledger. Uh, you said to call. So… two guys came in around noon. Definitely Russian, heavy accents. Dressed nice. Suits, but not cheap ones.”
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The room went dead quiet.
“What’d they do?” Ledger prompted, his eyes locked on the phone.
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“That’s the thing,” Tony said, sounding almost sorry. “Nothing. They ordered vodka. Paid cash. Sat at the bar for about forty minutes and made small talk. They asked who owned the place, how long it’d been here. Just… curious, you know? But it felt… off.”
“Did they threaten you? Ask about anyone by name?”
“No, man. Nothing like that. They were polite. They finished their drinks, left a decent tip, and walked out. But it creeped me the fuck out. You said to call.”
“You did right, Tony. Thanks.” Ledger ended the call. The quiet in the chapel was thick enough to chew.
Jake broke it, his voice gravelly. “Christ, they work fast. Already casing our businesses.”
The plan for Burnsville was suddenly made of glass, and someone had just tapped it with a hammer. We were looking at hitting their operation while they were calmly, methodically studying ours.
The balance of power felt like it was tilting even further out of our favor. These Russian fucks had to go. We tried to pick the threads back up, but the conversation was distracted. The focus had shifted.
It wasn’t just about what we were going to do to them anymore. It was about what they were already doing to
- us.
Then Ledger’s phone buzzed again. A different ringtone. He looked at the screen, and his face went pale under his beard. “It’s Valerie.”
The manager of The Cheshire Cat. Our strip club.
He answered, putting it on speaker again before she could even speak. “Valerie. Lay it on us.”
Her voice was higher, edged with a tremor that hadn’t been there in Tony’s. “Ledger. You said to call if anything felt off. These two guys came in about an hour ago.”
“Description?”
“Suits. Russian accents. Polite. They sat in the back, didn’t bother the girls on stage. Bought a bottle of champagne, didn’t even drink much of it.”
“Thanks for calling, honey,” Ledger said. “What exactly did they say?”
She took a shaky breath. “That’s the thing, Ledg. They started asking weird questions. About the cameras. Where they were placed. If we had a lot of staff turnover. If we ever closed early. They acted like they were just… making conversation, but my girls were scared.”
The final piece clicked into place with a soundless, devastating snap.
They were learning our rhythms, our staffing, our security weaknesses. They were looking for the seams in
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Chapter 86
our operation, the places where pressure could be applied most effectively.
Violence would’ve been easier. This was a cancer.
The buzz of Ledger’s phone ending the call was the only sound for a full minute.
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We were all staring at the thing like it was gonna start breakdancing, Jake slowly sat down for the first time since we came in here. He scrubbed both hands over his face. When he lowered them, he looked ten years older.
“Alright,” he said. His voice was hollow. “First thing tomorrow, we change everything. Rotate security at all our spots. New schedules, different patterns. I want cameras checked, blind spots eliminated. No one works a solo shift anywhere. Understood?”
Nods traveled around the table. The energy had completely shifted. We’d gone from planning an attack to battening down the hatches.
It felt like surrender, and it tasted bitter in my mouth. My knuckles ached from how hard I was clenching my fists under the table.
This was their game. They forced us onto the defensive with a couple of polite conversations and a few glasses of vodka. Anatoly wasn’t a thug. He was a goddamn maestro.
My old man was watching me. He could always smell when I was about to boil over. He gave a slight shake of his head. The same look he’d been giving me my whole life… a silent warning. *Not now.*
But now was all I had.
This fuckin waiting was a slow death. I needed to move. I needed to hit back. The phantom itch in my leg was nothing compared to the itch to do something. Anything.
River spoke up before I did. “So what about Burnsville? We just let them fortify? They’re not just sittin‘ on their hands over there.”
“We don’t let them do anything, son,” Jake snapped, glaring at him. “But we gotta make our first hit count. It’s not just about the hit anymore… it’s about surviving what comes after.”
The truth of it hit us all. They had patience… we had fury. I wasn’t sure which one was more dangerous in the long run, but right now, fury felt useless.
I looked around at my brothers. Dex was staring at the table. Link was picking at a loose thread on his cut.
The confidence they had an hour ago was gone. They felt it too. The walls weren’t just closing in… the walls had eyes.
Jake was about to slam the gavel down. Dismiss us to our new, paranoid routines. But I finally spoke up. My voice cut through the fog of resignation.
“I’ll lead the hit on Burnsville.” All eyes turned to me. I kept mine locked on Jake. “My leg’s fine. And I’m done waiting for them to bring the fight to our doorstep.”
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Jake’s eyes narrowed. “Logan-‘
“They’re in our heads,” I interrupted. “They’re counting our bottles and our bouncers while we sit here talking about changing shifts. That ends. We hit them first, we hit them hard. And I’m the one to do it.”
I could feel the heat in my face, the adrenaline already starting to pump at the mere thought of action.
My old man shifted in his seat beside me. “Son, your leg-”
“It’s a fucking scratch,” I snapped, turning on him. “It won’t slow me down. What’s slowing us down is this… this feeling like we’re already beat. I’m not beat.”
I looked back at Jake. My jaw was set. “Let me take a team. A small one. In and out. We ask a couple of polite questions ourselves… using explosives.”
I could see the calculation in Jake’s eyes. He knew I was right about the morale. He also knew I was volatile. That my personal stake was a liability as much as a motivator.
But sometimes you need a lit fuse, not a steady flame.
River nodded slowly from across the table. “I’m in.”
“Me too,” Link grunted.
“Me three,” Monty added, leaning forward.
Jake let out a long, slow breath. He looked from me to Talon, who gave a nearly imperceptible shrug. A silent admission that trying to stop me was pointless.
“Alright,” he muttered. “You got it. But you wait for Viktor’s intel. You go when I say go. And you don’t do anything stupid. This isn’t a suicide run. It’s a surgical strike. Understood?”
“Understood,” I said. The word felt like a key turning in a lock.
He slammed the gavel down. The meeting was over.
Chairs scraped back as brothers started to file out. The mood had shifted from grim paralysis to a tense, focused energy. I stayed seated for a minute, feeling the decision settle into my bones.
It was a terrible idea.
It was the only idea.
I stood up and pain shot through my leg. Reminded me exactly where I stood in this fuckin
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
