CHAPTER 16
THE KRAIT ROUTE
The Nest was awake but not alive yet.
Lane was in the front office with the door half open, one boot hooked around the leg of the chair.
He was doing the books for Randy and checking on some old Snake Eyes files. Ledger and notepad on the desk.
The phone rang once, twice.
He picked up.
“Yeah.”
Blaze didn’t waste time. “Just checking in. We’re still southbound. Everything’s clean so far.”
Lane glanced at the clock on the wall. Mid-morning. Too early for trouble, too late to pretend this was routine.
“Where exactly are you?”
“Just past Falfurrias.”
Lane nodded to himself, even though Blaze couldn’t see it. “Stay on 281. Don’t cut west yet.”
“That’s what I had,” Blaze said, then hesitated. “Kolton mentioned a pull-off last time, but I couldn’t remember if it was before or after the county line.”
Lane flipped a page. “After. Small dirt lot. No signage. You don’t need it unless the driver spooks.”
“Copy,” Blaze said, relief audible. “Just wanted to be sure.”
“I appreciate the call,” Lane said. And he meant it. “Don’t freelance. If something feels off, you slow it down and you call me.”
“Always,” Blaze said. “I won’t fuck this up.”
“I know,” Lane replied, and hung up.
nest kitchen
In the kitchen, Kait had the cordless phone tucked between her shoulder and her ear, a piece of toast balanced in one hand, coffee. Strawberry jelly bled into the bread unevenly. She didn’t care.
“—yes, I know it’s early,” she said in Danish, calm, precise. “But I need to know where things stand.”
Heidi’s voice crackled faintly through the line, warm and brisk. “There’s not a lot of progress.”
Kait smiled faintly. “Come on, Heidi.”
“Well, there’s interest,” Heidi said. “Two buyers. One likes the building but not the area, but the other wants a big discount for a cash buy.”
“And the bikes?”
“Slower,” Heidi admitted. “But one is close. If you need cash fast, I could push.”
Kait looked down at the toast, took a bite, chewed. “If anything closes, I’ll need it wired immediately.”
Heidi paused. “Of course. Everything all right in Texas?”
“Yes,” Kait said. “But things are moving faster than expected.”
Another voice carried down the hall—Lane this time, shorter, clipped. Bitching about something.
Heidi exhaled on the line. “I’ll post a flyer at the port. I’ll try to speed this up for you.”
Kait swallowed. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“Yes, you’re lucky to have me.”
She ended the call and set the cordless down on the counter just as Lane stepped into the kitchen, cellphone pressed to his ear now, voice low and irritated. He opened the fridge.
“—no, I don’t care if Barry thinks it’s fine,” Lane said. “If Huntsville can’t hold its own, then we’ll just have to—”
Kait turned away, taking a bite of her toast again, then licked her finger.
Lane stopped mid-stride holding a water bottle.
She stopped chewing.
They both registered the other at the same time.
Lane finished his call abruptly. “I’ll deal with it when I’m up there this weekend.” He hung up and looked at her.
She looked at the cordless, already suspicious.
“There better not be any jelly on that phone,” Lane said.
Kait blinked at him. “What are you talking about?”
He tilted his head toward the counter.
She looked.
There was, unmistakably, a faint red smear along the side of the cordless. Not much. But enough.
She stared at it for a beat, then calmly wiped it off on the corner of a paper towel and set the phone back in its cradle.
“Problem solved,” she said.
Lane exhaled through his nose. “Yeah.”
She didn’t look at him when she muttered, under her breath, in Danish, “Røvhul.”
He paused. “What.”
“Nothing.”
They stood there for half a second longer, irritation symmetrical, then both turned away like it hadn’t mattered.
Lane went back toward the office, already dialing again. Kait finished her toast, left the plate in the sink, and headed upstairs.
In her room, she shut the door and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling Jason’s card out of the pocket of her jacket where it had lived for weeks. She stared at it once more, then dialed from her cellphone.
It rang twice.
“Jason,” he answered, surprised but pleased.
“It’s Kait from the Dirty Alley,” she said. Sitting on the edge of the bed. “You said you wanted to take my picture?”
A pause. Then, carefully, “Oh, hey. Yeah. I didn’t get your name. Yes.”
“Cool. I’m in,” she said. “If the offer still stands.”
“It does,” he said immediately. He didn’t dress it up. “I’m glad you called.”
“How fast can we get it done?”
“As soon as tomorrow night,” he said. “I can come by the Alley, if that works.”
“Yeah. Good,” she replied. “So, nothing stupid, right? I’m not gonna end up in the personal ads or in some garage wall?”
“No, I wouldn’t—” he said. And she believed him.
She shifted the phone in her hand. “Payment stays the same?”
“Yes,” he said. “Three?”
“Ha-ha. Five. Cash.”
“Just teasing.”
She nodded. “Tomorrow, then.”
“Tomorrow, yeah. Thanks.”
She hung up before the moment could soften.
The room was quiet again. Ordinary. She blew out a raspberry and let herself fall backwards on the mattress.
The afternoon settled into something almost workable.
Not easy. Not calm. Just… moving.
Kait left her room and drifted back into the clubhouse, boots quiet on the worn floor. Cricket and Buster were in the garage with Mack. Korn’s Got the Life on someone’s radio.
She grabbed a can of Surge from the cooler and leaned against the counter, listening to the Nest breathe.
From the front office, Lane’s voice rose and fell in short bursts—radio checks now, not phone calls. Controlled. Measured. The kind of cadence that meant the run was moving the way it was supposed to.
She caught fragments.
“—border side clear—”
“—copy that—”
“—stay tight until—”
Nothing urgent.
That was the danger zone.
Kait crossed to the pool table and spread a few folded papers out—numbers she’d scribbled earlier. Rough math. Deposit amounts. What she could cover now versus what would need time. Cricket’s bike loomed largest. Not just the money—availability, timing, how long the club could pretend a new patch could ride borrowed steel.
She hated borrowed steel.
She folded the papers and slid them back into her pocket.
Outside, the sun climbed and flattened everything. Heat pressed in through the open doors. Somewhere down the road, trucks groaned and downshifted. Life doing what it always did.
Lane stepped out of the office, checked his watch, scanned the yard, then disappeared back inside.
“That shit’s gonna make your heart explode.”
She didn’t look up. “You wish.”
He snorted. “Do you eat anything other than sugar?”
“Leave me alone,” she said, already walking away.
The border crossing would be done by now. If it wasn’t already. Once the truck was north, things always felt easier—like the hardest part was behind them.
Kait dumped the rest of the can in the sink shortly after. Asshole was right. Her heart was beating so hard and fast against her chest it making it a little hard to breath. She thought, briefly, about the shoot tomorrow night. What was Jason going to have her do, and he better not ask her to do something stupid.
Something clean, at least on the surface.
She was halfway down the parking lot when the phone rang in the front office.
Once.
Lane answered immediately.
She stopped.
Didn’t turn back. Didn’t lean in.
Just waited.
The tone changed.
Not panic. Not shouting. Just that slight flattening, like a road suddenly losing shoulder.
“…slow down,” Lane said. Then, sharper, “Where exactly are you?”
Kait closed her eyes for a moment.
Afternoon.
Northbound.
Past the border.
That was when mistakes happened.
She turned back toward the front office just as Lane stepped into the yard, phone pressed tight to his ear. His posture had changed—not alarmed, not rushed. Compressed. Like he’d shortened his spine to fit a narrower space.
This time, she didn’t pretend not to listen.
“…no,” Lane said. “You’re not turning around. Just tell me where you are.”
A pause. Lane stopped walking.
“…how the hell did you end up there?”
Kait pushed off the wall slowly.
Lane’s jaw worked once. “Don’t let him get spooked,” he said. “Make something up.”
Another pause. Longer.
“Blue Impala? Are you sure it’s a tail?”
He listened, eyes focusing, already building the map in his head. “Then treat it like traffic. Don’t react. Don’t acknowledge.”
Kait caught enough in the silence between words to fill in the rest. Wrong road. Wrong timing. A back stretch everyone avoided—Reyes colors on one end, Talamantes business bleeding through the other.
Lane lowered his voice. “You’re skirting Reyes ground.”
Bingo
He didn’t need Blaze to answer. The confirmation was already there.
“Gotta get you back on the Krait route. Keep the driver calm,” Lane said. “Have Ram talk to him.”
Kait reached into her pocket and took out her keys.
Lane caught the movement in his peripheral and snapped his head toward her. “No.”
She didn’t slow. “They’re in the corridor.”
Lane turned his back to her, covering the phone with his hand. “Stay out of it.”
She stopped just long enough to meet his eyes. “I’m coming.”
“Don’t need you to.”
On the line, Blaze’s voice cut in again, tight but steady. “I’ll stall as much as I can.”
Lane uncovered the phone. “Head to the Texaco. I’m on my way.”
Kait was already heading for the parking lot.
“I said no,” Lane warned, his voice low and edged.
She paused, glanced back once. “I don’t give a shit.”
Outside, the Kriger came alive under her like it always did—clean, immediate, unapologetic.
Lane watched her for half a second too long. Loyalty, fear, responsibility. Maybe something darker threading through all of it.
“Should be there in an hour,” he said into the phone.
“Copy,” Blaze replied, relief slipping through despite himself.
Lane ended the call and yanked his helmet off the hook. “You better keep up.”
“Please,” she scoffed. “Now that I know where it’s at. You better not get in my way,” Kait shot back.
He made a face, already moving, not bothering to answer.
They rolled out seconds apart, engines ripping the quiet afternoon open.
Lane took the lead.
Kait stayed on him anyway.
By the time they rolled into the station, they spotted the truck at the far pump, angled wrong but not in an alarming way. Blaze leaned against the ice freezer by the door, cowboy hat on, posture relaxed enough to pass as casual if you didn’t know him. Mack stood nearby, half in shade, half in sun, the kind of waiting that had gone on just long enough to start wearing thin. Kode paced a short loop, boots crunching gravel, eyes constantly moving.
Lane cut his engine and scanned.
No tension spike.
No obvious threat.
Just… stalled.
Kait killed the Kriger and took in the same details, already filing away what didn’t quite fit. Ram was talking to the truck driver. His hand moving in a reassuring way that everything was okay. The driver seemed unconcerned.
Then she saw the bikes.
Three of them, parked farther down the curb. Not close enough to crowd. Not far enough to be coincidence. The tacky Reyes bikes. Shit.
And then a car.
The blue Impala Lane mentioned earlier idled off to the side of the lot, hood ticking softly in the heat like it had been there a while. From its blown-out speakers, the vocals of La Puerta Negra had more balls than any of the cholos inside.
Lane swung off his bike and looked went over to Kait. “Do not. Open. Your mouth,” he said and walked forward, measured, eyes tracking the men now drifting into focus. One leaned against the Impala, relaxed, boot crossed at the ankle. Another stood near the bikes with a shit-eating grin. The third headed back from inside with a sack of chips and a six-pack like he’d just stopped for supplies.
No one touched the truck.
That was deliberate.
Blaze noticed Lane then and straightened slightly. Not just relief. More like thank God.
Lane stopped a few feet short of the Impala.
Severino looked up.
No surprise.
No tension.
Just familiarity settling into place.
“Didn’t expect company out here,” Lane said looking at the other Krait.
Severino’s mouth curved just barely—not a smile. An acknowledgment.
“You should,” he replied. “You know whose backyard this is.”
Lane’s gaze flicked once, quick and controlled, to the truck.
“We’re passing through. Just like you and the other tamales were passing through Dryden yesterday.”
“Yeah.”
They stood there for a beat longer than mutual respect required. Not a standoff. Not a challenge. Just two men confirming boundaries that had existed long before today.
Behind them, Chido cracked open the beer like this was nothing. Santos leaned into the Impala, arms crossed, watching the lot without making it obvious. Blaze shifted his weight, annoyed but contained.
Kait joined Blaze by the freezer.
She didn’t step in. She watched Lane instead—how Severino’s attention skimmed the scene, how it paused on her just long enough to register, how it moved on again.
That was worse than staring.
Severino pushed off the car.
“So, you moving stuff for Mondragón and the TJ crew now?” he said.
“We ain’t moving shit,” Lane said looking back for a split second.
Severino’s eyes slid past Lane again, briefly, to Kait. Not possessive. Not curious.
Evaluative.
“We’ll clear out, just making a pit stop,” Lane said.
Blaze caught the change. The dilation. The faint, pleased stillness underneath it. He remembered the way Severino had looked at her at Brews, like a thought he hadn’t finished yet.
“You all sharing that,” Severino said returning his attention to Lane, voice light, “or she yours?”
The air shifted.
Lane felt the heat rise—old, fast, unwelcome.
“Why,” he said. “You want her?”
His eyes stayed on Kait.
Severino nodded, like that was obvious.
“Let’s just say that if I see her within reach, I may just snatch her up,” he said.
A pause.
“Really? She may not cooperate.”
“Don’t have to. She works nights, runs errands.”
Then, casual as dirt:
“Maybe wants a new patch from Mags to match the one she got the other day.”
He finally looked back at Lane.
“She’s all alone sometimes.”
Lane looked at him for a second, then said,
“Or you could just ask her out… Like a normal person.”
“But where’s the fun in that?”
Severino let the words hang for half a second longer than necessary.
Then he looked past Lane again.
At Kait.
Just long enough to finish whatever thought he’d started.
Lane shifted once—subtle, deliberate—putting himself squarely back in Severino’s line of sight.
Severino stepped back, turned, and walked away.
Chido followed, muttering something under his breath. Santos got on his bike without a glance back. Engines came to life one by one, unhurried, confident. The Impala rolled out last, honking a horn more suitable for an elote cart.
Then they were gone.
Lane waited until the sound of engines thinned out, until the pressure released just enough to move again.
“Let’s roll,” he said, already turning away. “Too fucking hot for this shit.”
Blaze didn’t argue. Neither did Mack or Kode. The truck driver climbed back into the cab, thanking Ram for whatever he said to him. The run snapped back into motion like nothing had happened.
Lane swung onto his bike and started it, posture steady, voice clipped, all business.
“Alright, clear out.”
Kait fell in behind him as they pulled out.
From the outside, it looked clean.
Handled.
Done.
Lane could still hear Severino’s words as he rode, steady on the throttle, eyes fixed ahead.
Lane adjusted his speed by a fraction, just enough to be able to see her in his side mirror.
How could he leave to Huntsville now.
How to protect her without her knowing or, keep a promise that he’d never said to her out loud.
They rolled in just before dusk.
The truck was waved through the gate and parked where it always did. No applause. No backslapping. Just Krait peeling off helmets, unshouldering weight, letting the day fall where it could.
Blaze walked the driver inside. Mack went straight for the office. Kode peeled off toward the Dirty Alley like this had been any other run.
Lane stayed mounted a second longer, scanning the yard.
Everything looked normal.
That didn’t mean anything.
Kait cut her engine and swung off clean, already moving, already occupied with the next thing. No glance back. No question.
Good.
He didn’t have the energy for another back and forth.
Lane dismounted and followed the truck with his eyes until it parked.
Another clean run and another layer added.
He went inside and got in the shower.
The lot had mostly cleared out.
The Nest easing back into itself.
A few beers in, Blaze waited until they were alone. Then he reached into his kutte and pulled out the envelope. Thick. Neat. He handed it over without ceremony.
Lane took it, weighed it once in his hand.
“Everything accounted for,” Blaze said.
He lingered a second. Then another.
“Hey,” he said. “Thanks. For earlier. For… showing up.”
Lane slid the envelope into his kutte. “Comes with the patch, brother.”
Blaze shook his head. “Nah. You saved my ass.”
“I owe you. Just—keep my cut.”
Lane popped another can open. Didn’t look at him.
“Shut the fuck up. You need the money… If anything—”
Lane finally looked at him. Not long. Just enough.
“What.” Blaze said.
“Watch Lokken’s six.”
The smile drained from Blaze’s face.
“Why?” he asked, quieter now, cracking his own beer.
“Severino’s got his eye on her.”
Blaze stilled. “Fuck man, I knew it. Ain’t no shame in his game.”
Lane shook his head. “He’s been keeping tabs on her too.”
“Seriously?” Blaze said, a little too loud.
Lane scanned the lot once, then back. “Just don’t let her be alone,” he said.
“Of course not. Fuck. That guy’s a freak.”
“Yeah,” Lane said. “And he wasn’t playin’.”
“Kode already knows and he’s at the Alley. Tell her you’ll ride with ‘cause you’re hanging out with him or whatever.
Blaze nodded.
“You tellin’ Kolt?”
“Fuck no. His dumb ass will go kick in the llantera’s front door.”
“Yep,” said Blaze and took a drink.
“Let’s just keep it in that circle. I’ll talk to Ram and Mack tonight.”
Blaze’s jaw set. “Okay, yeah.”
“So,” Blaze said after a couple drinks in silence. “Huntsville tomorrow?”
Lane nodded. “Early.”
Blaze glanced back toward the clubhouse. “I’ll stay close.”
Lane met his eyes.
“Thanks.”
Blaze shrugged, but it didn’t soften. “Don’t mention it.”
Lane nodded. Relieved.
“And I promise to stay on the Krait route.”
“Yeah, you fucking do that.”
He looked up, spotting the truck parked off to the side.
“I hope this shit’s as good as Don says,” Lane muttered.
Blaze snorted. “Five-grand-good so far.”
Lane smirked. “Don should give you your cut tomorrow. Driver in his room already?”
“Yeah,” Blaze said. “He’s with Tracy.”
Lane made a face. “Christ.”
Blaze grinned. “He actually asked for Kait first.”
Lane nearly spat his drink, and for the first time all day, they both laughed.
Kait stepped out onto the front walk, phone still pressed to her ear.
“I don’t have time for this right now,” she said, already scanning the lot. “No. Not tonight.”
A pause. She closed her eyes for half a beat.
“I’m not doing this over the phone,” she added. “Just tuck Kyle in. I’m glad he doesn’t have his cast anymore. We’ll talk later.”
She didn’t wait for Kolton’s reply. Just ended the call and slid the phone back into her pocket.
Blaze was leaning against his bike a few feet away, watching her. “Everything good?”
“Everything is everything,” she said, slipping her gloves on.
Blaze nodded like that explained plenty.
“Heading to the Alley?” he said casually.
Kait swung a leg over the Kriger. “Yeah.”
“I’ll ride with. Meeting up with Kode for a few.”
Blaze mounted his bike Strait beside her, settling in like this had always been the plan.
They rolled out together, engines evening out as they hit the road.
Lane watched them go from the edge of the lot, a little relieved.
Blaze didn’t look back.
Neither did Kait.
Lane nodded to himself and went to pack for the weekend.
THE DIRTY ALLEY
The place was already alive when they pulled in—neon buzzing, bass thumping through the walls, bikes lined tight in the gravel like the whole town knew where the heat lived.
Kait killed the Kriger and swung off clean. Blaze parked Strait beside her like it was habit now.
Inside, the air hit thick—smoke, perfume, spilled beer, sweat. Crazy Town’s Butterfly chewing through the room. A few heads turned. A few didn’t. Kait clocked all of it anyway.
Kode was easy to spot.
He had Peaches topless on his lap like he owned the fucking building, one arm loose around her waist, the other hand lifting a longneck. Pretending to laugh at whatever she said.
Peaches caught Kait’s eye first and grinned, shameless as ever.
“Thank God she didn’t send Ram,” she called.
Kode tilted his beer in greeting. “Toast.”
Blaze leaned in and said something to him low.
Kait walked up, close enough to be heard over the music without yelling.
“I’m gonna be in the back most of the night,” she said, like it was routine.
Kode nodded once. “Copy.”
Blaze didn’t react. Didn’t ask why. Just watched her the way he’d been told to—subtle, noninvasive, like he was just a man enjoying a night out.
Kait hooked her thumb toward the hallway.
“If you need me, send Peaches over,” she said.
“Got you,” Kode said.
Kait looked at Peaches. “Been slow?”
“Steady for now.”
“Okay,” Then she was gone into the back.
The hallway behind the curtain was quieter—past the office, a couple of private rooms, then the dressing room at the end.
The place where the fantasy ended.
Or started.
Jason was already there.
Not in a suit tonight. Dark tee, sleeves rolled, camera bag open on a chair like he belonged back here. Tripod half-assembled. A portable light leaned against the wall.
He looked up the second he heard her boots.
And his face changed.
Not crude.
Not hungry.
Professional—but struck.
“Hey,” he said, like he didn’t want to startle her. “You came.”
Kait stopped two steps inside the room, posture neutral.
“I told you I would.”
Behind him, Sunshine and Dulce were already hovering like sharks that’d smelled blood.
Sunshine clapped once. “Okayyy—yes. YES. We are so doing your hair.”
Dulce’s eyes were bright. “Oh my God, I’ve been waiting for this forever—”
“Hold on.”
Kait raised one finger.
They froze. Not offended. Just surprised anyone stopped them.
Kait’s eyes stayed on Jason. Calm. Controlled.
“I want the money first.”
Jason blinked—then nodded immediately, like he respected the hell out of it.
“Yeah. Of course.”
He reached into his bag and pulled out a thick white envelope, already sealed. No drama. No bargaining. He handed it to her like a contract.
Kait took it, felt the weight, and opened it without hesitation.
A clean stack.
She counted fast. Not sloppy. Not paranoid. Just exact.
Jason didn’t interrupt.
Sunshine and Dulce watched like they were witnessing something sacred.
Kait slid the money back into the envelope and tucked it deep into the inside pocket of her kutte.
“Okay.”
That was the green light.
Sunshine grabbed her wrist like they were lifelong friends. “Sit. Sit right here. Don’t move.”
Dulce was already tearing into a makeup drawer. “Purple eyeshadow. Cut crease. Thick wing. Sparkly falsies. Pink lips—yes.”
“Sparkly what?” Kait said.
“No,” Sunshine cut in. “Gold shimmer, thick wing. Red lips.”
“You’re doing hair, bitch. I’m doing makeup,” Dulce snapped.
“Well you’re doing Kait’s makeup, not your own, you trashy whore.”
“Fuck you, Jenna Jameson wannabe.”
Jason paused, watching the exchange, then met Kait’s eyes.
Kait tipped her chin at him. Welcome to my world.
She let herself be guided to the chair and they started working.
Jason adjusted his tripod, very clearly trying not to stare. Failing anyway.
Kait glanced at him once. “You make me look like a whore, I’ll kill all of you.”
Jason looked mildly offended on principle. “Of course not,” he said. “You’re in good hands. Promise.”
Then, to the girls, “Smokey eye. Clear gloss. We’re shooting black and white.”
Sunshine snapped her fingers. “An updo—”
“I was gonna say smokey eyes,” Dulce laughed. “I mean, that’s perfect for her.”
Jason shot them a look, then softened and turned back to Kait.“I want it to feel… editorial,” he said carefully. “Like you walked out of a magazine and nobody knows why they can’t stop looking at you.”
Kait’s expression didn’t change.
“I don’t care. Just hurry up.”
Sunshine squealed like Christmas morning.
And they descended—brushes, clips, powder. Too many hands. Too much attention. Almost ridiculous.
Kait sat still through it, unreadable.
Don's house
Kolton was in the living room with the volume low, thumbs moving over a controller out of habit more than focus. Kyle had gone down easy tonight. Loraine was already asleep.
Don’s office light stayed on.
Klaus shut the door behind him and didn’t bother sitting right away.
“Oslo and Gothenburg are at it again.”
Don didn’t look up from the ledger. He just exhaled through his nose and kept writing.
“What is it this time,” he asked, already knowing.
“Same old bullshit,” Klaus said. “Personal shit. Oslo Koil went to Gothenburg to visit family, ran his mouth to a local Fang, got his ass handed to him.”
Don capped the pen and leaned back. “That beef makes no sense.”
Klaus nodded. “Never has. Historic shit, though.”
He finally took the chair across from Don’s desk.
“Rokkstar used to shut shit down early,” Klaus went on. “Before it got loud.”
Don’s eyes flicked up—just once.
“And Bremen?” Don asked.
“Trying to step in,” Klaus said. “Acting neutral. Playing grown-up.”
“Problem with that,” Don said, “is nobody listens to a voice that doesn’t carry weight.”
“Exactly.”
Klaus folded his hands.
“That’s why I’m worried about Helsinki.”
That got Don’s full attention.
“They didn’t send dues,” Klaus said. “Not late. Not partial. Just… didn’t.”
Don sat still for a beat.
“That’s new,” he said.
“To tell the truth, they’ve been quiet since Rokkstar passed,” Klaus continued. “No requests. No movement. No noise at all.”
“Fuck,” Don muttered. “I don’t want to shut down another charter up there, or anywhere. Too soon.”
“Ulver’s going to reach out,” Klaus said. “On the mother charter’s behalf.”
Don leaned back, fingers steepled.
Klaus leaned back slightly, signaling the subject was done.
Don caught it.
“All right,” he said. “That’s Europe.”
Klaus nodded. “For now.”
The room settled—paper shifting, the low hum of the house around them.
Then Klaus went on, different tone.
“This Mondragón deal is moving fast,” he said. “Too fast for a first expansion. Twice a week runs. New territory. No real shake-out period.”
Don folded his hands. “That’s how money works.”
“I think Mondragón’s getting ahead of themselves,” Klaus said.
Don leaned back in his chair. “What are you saying.”
“I don’t think they really understand how the Tijuana crew operates,” Klaus said.
“No,” Don admitted. “Not yet. But for us, the money’s real. And the structure’s there for something bigger.”
He closed the folder on his desk.
“As long as ‘bigger’ doesn’t mean Tijuana bleeding into Dryden,” Klaus added. “You see that shit in Ensenada the other day?”
“We’re Krait MC, not a ranch birthday party.” Don said. “We’re not letting that happen.”
“Just saying to tread carefully. The road to hell’s paved with good intentions,” Klaus added.
Don waved it off. “And my intention is to make us money. Lots of it.”
He stood, signaling the meeting was over.
“I’m going to bed,” he said. “Don’t overthink this.”
Klaus nodded.
“And if Europe starts slipping,” Don added, “you may have to go straighten it out yourself.”
Klaus met his eyes.
“Yeah,” he said. “I know. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
THE nest
next morning
The Nest woke up slower on Saturdays.
Not quiet—never quiet—but easier. Less urgency in the way they moved, like somebody had granted the club one unofficial day to pretend the world wasn’t closing in.
Kait was at the table with coffee and a plate that barely counted as breakfast—toast, strawberry jelly, one bite taken and forgotten.
Lane sat farther down, already eating like he had somewhere to be, posture rigid even in a kitchen full of domestic noise.
Blaze was on his second cup of coffee. Mack was talking about something pointless. The easy rhythm of a morning that didn’t want to admit what it cost to exist.
Then the front door swung open.
And the entire nest changed.
Kyle came in like a bullet.
No cast.
Two bare arms pumping as he ran, hair messy like he’d been in a hurry to get here.
Kolton followed at a normal pace, carrying a bag over one shoulder and that permanent tiredness in his face that didn’t belong on somebody his age.
“Look!” Kyle yelled the second he saw the room. “LOOK!”
Everyone turned.
Everyone smiled.
Like they forgot how to be hard for a second.
“Heyyy!” One of the girls squealed from the edge of the kitchen and they all came out like they’d been summoned. “Oh my God—no cast!”
Kyle shoved his arm up like it was a trophy. “They took it off yesterday!”
“No way!” Blaze boomed, already out of his chair. “Lemme see that arm, pimp.”
Kyle held it out proudly as Blaze inspected it like he was a doctor.
“Solid,” Blaze declared. “You’re gonna be wrestling gators by next week.”
Kyle laughed like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.
Kait stood before anyone could even ask her to.
Kyle spotted her and veered—straight into her like he’d been aiming for her chest all along.
“Kait!” he shouted.
Kait lowered, opened her arms, and caught him automatically. Hugged him hard. For half a second, her face softened into something most people would never get to see.
“You look different,” she said.
“They fixed it!” Kyle announced, pulling back just enough to show off his arm again.
Kait smirked. “Just in time for school. Are you excited?”
He nodded fast.
Lane was watching.
Not with irritation.
With something quieter. Familiar.
Kyle scanned the rest of the table.
And then—like nothing else in the room existed—he beelined.
“BRAIN!”
Lane caught him without looking, one arm hooking under Kyle’s ribs and lifting him up like he weighed nothing.
“Pinky,” Lane said, low and deep, slipping into his best Brain voice. “No cast.”
Kyle shoved his bare arm in his face. “Nope. They took it off.”
Lane nodded once. “Good. Hard to plot world domination with a cast.”
Kyle’s face lit up. “Yeah—hey, Brain—”
Lane tilted his head slightly, already setting it up. “Yes, Pinky.”
“What are we doing tonight?”
Lane straightened, serious now. “Take a bath?”
“No!”
“Brush your teeth?”
“NO!” Kyle yelled, cracking up.
“Oh. I know… Same thing we do every night…”
Kyle’s eyes widened, waiting for it.
“Try…,” Lane began.
Lane and Kyle, in perfect sync:
“To take over the world.”
Kyle laughed so hard he nearly tipped backward. Lane adjusted his grip automatically, steady as stone.
Blaze let out a laugh.
Kait couldn’t help but think that was close to being adorable. But it was Lane, it didn’t make it quite so.
That was history between uncle and nephew. Something long before she ever crossed the ocean.
Lane set Kyle down but kept a hand on the back of his neck, grounding him there.
“You bring your swimming stuff?” Lane asked.
Kyle nodded furiously. “Yep!”
Lane’s eyes narrowed. “Who you swimming with?”
Kyle thought fast. “You!”
Lane snorted. “Real quick because I’m heading out.”
Kyle’s face fell. “Where you going?”
Lane scooped him up again. “Getting Diablo. He’s gonna help us with our plan.”
“Narf!” Kyle said immediately.
Lane ruffled his hair. “Exactly.”
That almost got a smile out of Kait.
Kolton drifted closer like he’d been waiting for the moment the room stopped orbiting around Kyle.
He didn’t interrupt Lane and Kyle or try to compete with it.
He just stepped into Kait’s space, quiet and familiar.
“Can I get a hug too,” he asked, voice low, almost playful, “or am I still in timeout?”
Kait didn’t look at him right away.
She watched Kyle laugh, watched Lane’s hand settle on the back of Kyle’s neck like an anchor.
Then she finally turned her eyes to Kolton.
And rolled them.
Kolton smiled like that was permission.
He reached up, thumb catching her face gently—not rough, not possessive. Familiar.
Kait didn’t pull away.
He leaned in and kissed her softly, slow enough to make it look like it meant more than it did.
When he pulled back, he stayed close.
Like they’d just agreed on something without saying it.
“I miss you,” he murmured.
Kait’s expression didn’t change.
Kolton’s eyes flicked across her face.
A beat.
“…you got makeup on?” he asked, the smallest grin tugging at his mouth.
Kait lifted her coffee like it was a shield. “Sunshine was trying something last night.”
Kolton leaned closer, inspecting like he had a right to. “I like it.”
Behind them, Kyle was still talking a mile a minute.
“—and then Diablo’s gonna help, right? Like he’s gonna help us build a laser,—”
Lane cut in instantly, dead serious. “We do not reveal our plans at the breakfast table.”
Kyle slapped his hands over his mouth. “OOPS.”
Blaze laughed into his cup.
Kolton watched it for a second—Lane with Kyle—then his attention snapped right back to Kait like a magnet.
“We should go to the room and talk,” he said.
Kait took a sip of coffee.
“We can go to the room, but I don’t want to talk,” she replied already heading outside.
Kolton froze a half second—surprised, hopeful, half ready for her.
Then he followed.
Too fast.
Lane saw the way Kolton followed her—too quick, like he was afraid she’d change her mind if he didn’t keep up.
Sure. I’ll watch your kid while you go fuck, Prince.
Kyle tugged on his hand. “Uncle Lane, I’m talking to you.”
“What.”
“Let’s go swimming.”
Lane looked down, blinked once, reset. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”
He glanced at Blaze. “You swimming too, or you gonna sit there pretending you live here?”
Blaze snorted. “At this rate, it ain’t pretending.”
Lane was already walking Kyle toward the back doors. “Well, you’re swimming.”
Blaze hesitated just long enough to know Lane wasn’t asking. Then he stood, drained the rest of his coffee, and followed.
The sun hit hard outside.
Chlorine. Heat. The slap of water against concrete.
Kyle peeled out of his clothes in record time and cannonballed without waiting for permission.
Lane sat on the edge, already in his swim shorts, shirt tossed aside, feet in the water. He watched Kyle surface, grinning like nothing in the world could touch him.
Blaze waded in after him, scooping Kyle up and tossing him toward the deep end as the kid squealed.
“You talk to Julia yet?” Lane asked.
“Yeah,” Blaze said casually, catching Kyle again and swinging him around. “She wants me home. I’m just stalling a little.”
Lane huffed. “Shocking.”
“She’s letting me come back,” Blaze added. “That’s something. She’s still mad, though.”
“She’s always mad,” Lane said.
Blaze nodded. “Yeah, I know.”
Kyle swam back to the edge, breathless, gripping the concrete. “Uncle Lane, get in the pool.”
Lane didn’t smile. He just slid in, hooked his hands under Kyle’s arms, and launched him clean across the water.
Kyle shrieked—pure joy.
Blaze laughed. “Man. He’s the spitting image of his old man.”
Lane didn’t answer.
He watched Kait’s door instead.
Watched for movement. For Kait to come out . For anything at all.
Nothing.
Kyle swam back again, gasping. “Again!”
Lane threw him again.
Harder.
Blaze leaned back against the pool wall, stretching. “I’m probably heading home after this,” he said. “Let’s see how long we actually talk…”
Lane didn’t like that. “Yeah.”
Blaze chuckled, then sobered. “You good?”
Lane’s eyes never left the house.
“Yeah,” he said. “I just want Huntsville wrapped up.”
He wasn’t.
He just needed them to come out already. Angry, arguing, slamming doors.
They didn’t.
Church came together the way it always did—chairs scraping, conversations trailing off, bodies moving toward the table like gravity had shifted. Saying hi to the Judge.
Kait stood near the back, arms loose at her sides, watching the rhythm of it. The envelopes moved fast. Clean. Don’s tone stayed light, confident. Another successful run. Good money. Good timing. Momentum.
People nodded. Smiled. Clapped shoulders.
On paper, everything worked.
Blaze took his envelope without looking at it. Slid it straight into his kutte. Already halfway gone.
The room loosened again as church broke. People peeled off in pairs and small groups. Ram joked about food. Randy about sleep. Life resuming like it hadn’t been paused at all.
Lane headed to his room and grabbed his backpack.
He felt her before he saw her.
Kait stepped into his path in the walkway as he came out—not blocking him, not cornering him. Just there.
Close enough to matter.
“Hey,” she said.
Lane stopped.
Just enough.
“Hey,” he answered.
They stood there for a second, the noise of the courtyard washing around them. Kolton was downstairs talking to Blaze. Kyle had already been scooped up by Loraine, being promised snacks and a laser gun.
No audience.
No privacy.
The only kind of moment they ever seemed to get.
Kait saw the backpack over his should and then met his eyes.
No smile. No edge.
“Ride safe,” she said.
That was it.
Lane felt it hit somewhere low and steady, like a hand on his back right before a shove forward.
He nodded once.
Didn’t trust his mouth.
He moved on and headed downstairs. Kait stayed there and watching him.
Goodbyes followed Lane as he reached the bottom of the stairs and made his way to the parking lot.
Voices from the courtyard. From the clubhouse. Waved hands. Familiar words. Don’t forget to fill up in Houston. Say hi to Barry. Hurry back…
He didn’t register any of it.
He slid his goggles on, swung a leg over the Hardline, and fired it up—letting the engine swallow the sound of the Nest whole.
As he pulled out, there was only one thing that carried.
Not asshole.
Not fuck off.
Ride safe.
Just that.
And Lane rode north with it.
