CHAPTER 17
AS KRAIT
monday morning
By seven, the Nest was already awake without being loud. The second run had rolled at two a.m., and the house sat in that narrow window where everyone was either gone or waiting. No engines in the yard yet. No calls coming in. Just the usual post-run quiet that meant things were either fine—or not finished.
The sky outside began to promise rain, but it was too far away to get excited.
Kait crossed paths with Don briefly and nothing was said that needed to be. When breakfast ended, they didn’t linger. They moved off the floor and toward the chapel the way Krait do when a conversation doesn’t belong at the breakfast table.
“Another bike sold in Denmark,” she said setting a roll of cash down on the table. “Wire cleared this morning.”
Don didn’t touch the cash right away. He looked at it, then at her, reading the situation before the numbers. “How much?”
“Five,” Kait said. “For the prospects. Bikes, parts—whatever finishes it.”
Don nodded once. He finally picked up the envelope, thumbed the edge, then set it aside like the decision had already been made. “That does it,” he said. “We can patch them in now, because of this. Because of you.”
Kait shook her head slightly. “It’s the least I can do.”
“You’re setting the bar pretty high. Everyone better catch up.”
“Please don’t tell them. It’s not about that.”
He watched her a second, then gave a quiet half-smile. “You should take the credit.”
“I didn’t do it for the credit,” she said. “We need Buster and Cricket patched in. We need the bodies. That’s it.”
Don inclined his head, accepting the boundary as easily as the money. “Understood.”
There was no speech, no gratitude. Just logistics lining up the way they were supposed to. The Judge shifted softly in the enclosure, the sound brief and contained.
Don pocketed the cash. “I’ll handle the rest.”
Kait nodded, already done with it.
Don and Loraine's house
“…and he didn’t even cry,” Loraine was saying, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “Just waved and told me I could go. Like he’s been doing it his whole life.”
Kait smiled into her coffee. “I can see that.”
“He had his little backpack on crooked,” Loraine went on, already halfway through the memory. “Wouldn’t let me fix the strap. Said it was faster this way.” She shook her head, fond and exhausted. “And then we walk into the classroom and—”
She stopped, lips pressing together.
Kait glanced up. “What.”
Loraine sighed. “Guess who his teacher is.”
Kait didn’t answer right away. She didn’t have to. The pause was enough.
“Amy,” Loraine said flatly.
Kait let out a slow breath through her nose. “Wasn’t she at the daycare center?”
“Yeah.” Loraine pushed off the counter and poured herself more coffee. “She planned it.”
Kait’s jaw tightened. “You think she’s there on purpose?”
“Absolutely. She’s never going to get over Kolt.” Loraine shook her head. “I just didn’t expect to see her name on the door. Ms. Amy Reed.” She traced the words in the air like she could still see them.
Kait snorted quietly, more amused than she meant to be at how much Loraine hated her. “At least she’ll take good care of Kyle.”
“Yeah. I guess.” Loraine hesitated. “Kyle was excited. He likes her. That’s what matters.”
“Yeah,” Kait said. “For sure.”
Loraine studied her for a moment. “You good?”
Kait nodded once. “I’m good.”
It wasn’t a lie. Not exactly. It was just smaller than the truth.
“You and Kolton are okay, right?” Loraine asked. “He’s been staying with you at the Nest?”
“Yeah. We’re fine.”
“Good.” Loraine tilted her head and sighed.
Guilt trip incoming in three… two… one.
“You should’ve seen him a few days ago when you guys were fighting. He went through an entire inhaler.”
Kait nodded slowly.
“He’s been so worked up lately,” Loraine continued. “With LeeAnn, Kyle’s arm, CPS, getting jumped. But whatever happened between you two—that’s what upset him the most. He loves you so much.”
Kait sighed and let the words wash over her.
“He’s not an addict,” Loraine added quickly. “So if you were fighting over that, you can rest easy. He only does it when he’s really upset. But he’s fine now.”
“Yeah,” Kait said. “I know. We’re great. Everything’s fine.”
CHAPEL - LATER
Don had laid the patches out on the table, neat and deliberate. Diablo stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching without comment. Lane handled the pile with practiced ease, sorting sizes, stacking backs and rockers like he’d done it a hundred times before.
Kode came in quietly, nodded once to all three, and took a seat
“They running L or XL?” Don asked, eyes still on the table.
“I say Large,” Lane said.
Diablo tilted his head. “They’re both about Prince’s size.”
Lane nodded. “Yeah. Same frame.” He tapped the table once. “I’ll check one of his jackets.”
“Mags can probably figure it out when they go get the patches put on,” Don said once Lane left the room.
Lane left the chapel and headed down the walkway, moving on muscle memory alone. Kolton was still out on the protection run, and Kait was on her way to Houston with Mack and Klaus, so he pushed open the door to their room without knocking.
The room was quiet. Empty.
He went straight to the closet, reached in, and pulled one of Kolton’s jackets off the hanger. As he turned, the sleeve brushed the edge of the dresser.
Something slid.
Lane caught the sound before he saw it—the soft thump of paper hitting the floor.
He looked down.
An envelope lay half-open, its contents scattered across the floor. Black-and-white prints.
Done very recently.
Lane crouched and picked them up without thinking.
Kait.
Not posed. Not trying. Calm. Direct.
He flipped through them quickly, faster than he meant to, cataloging angles, expressions—the way she looked like she belonged wherever she stood.
A voice in his head told him to put them back.
One of them stopped him.
Kait was turned slightly sideways, shoulder angled toward the camera, chin tipped just enough to be defiant without trying. Her eyes were locked straight into the lens—steady, unblinking, like she was daring someone to look away first. No smile. Just that calm, assessing stare she wore when she already knew how something was going to end. This wasn’t even part of whatever photoshoot they were doing. This picture was taken before. A test shot maybe. A backdrop and lights were still visible.
What is this for?
He couldn’t take his eyes off the image. Her lips were parted, barely. Not soft. Not inviting. Like she’d been about to speak and decided not to.
Lane’s thumb paused on the edge of the print.
Engines cut through the air outside, sudden and unmistakable.
The run was back.
Lane hesitated for half a second.
Then he slid the photo free, folded it once, and tucked it into the front pocket of his kutte.
The rest he stacked cleanly, returned to the envelope, and set back on the dresser exactly where it had been.
He checked the tag on the jacket, put it back in the closet, and left the room.
Engines rolled into the yard in staggered bursts, heat ticking off metal as the bikes cut and settled. Dust hung low before drifting away. Blaze put his hat back on as he walked, Ram already talking to the driver, voices calm, unhurried. Nothing about it said trouble.
Kolton swung off his bike last, helmet coming off as he scanned the yard. Randy was already halfway to the truck, going around it, checking the bumpers and the trailer for anything unusual.
Don came out onto the porch, watching long enough to know how it had gone.
“Driver good?” he asked.
Blaze nodded. “Clean all the way.”
“Get him settled,” Don said. “Then chapel.”
No one questioned it. The driver was walked inside, water handed off by Alejandra, the usual motions done without comment. It took less than five minutes before the core of them filtered toward the chapel—boots scuffing, bodies tired but loose.
Lane came in last, jacket in hand.
Don didn’t wait for quiet. He didn’t need to. He set the envelope on the table and slid it forward.
“Same split,” he said. “You did good.”
Money was counted, passed, tucked away. No smiles. No tension. Just work.
While they were still there, Don added, “We’re set to patch Cricket and Buster. Bikes are handled.”
That got a few looks, nothing more.
“Toast and Klaus are with Mack,” Don went on. “They’re in Houston checking one out now. Should have it back later this afternoon.”
Ram nodded once. “Nice.”
“That’s it,” Don said. “We’ll do it when everyone’s back.”
No applause. No announcement. Just information exchanged because it mattered.
The moment passed as easily as it came, and the chapel emptied again, the day moving forward like it always did—quietly, with decisions already made.
llantera rangel
Llantera Rangel was half-closed for the afternoon heat, bay doors cracked just enough to let air move through. A stripped truck sat on blocks in the far stall, Ramon Ayala low on the radio.
Alacrán stood near the workbench, arms folded, listening.
Severino finished his report without embellishment. “Third run. They’re rotating riders. Little prince was on tail today.”
Santos leaned against a tire rack, nodding once. “Mondragón cargo. Clean escort. No deviation.”
“They’re not sloppy,” Chido added. “Not bragging. Just doing the work.”
“They probably don’t even know what they’re hauling,” said Alacrán.
Roque paced instead of standing still. He’d been doing it since they walked in, boots dragging short lines through dust that was already there. “So we’re just going to keep watching?” he snapped. “That’s three now. That’s confirmation.”
Alacrán didn’t look at him. “It’s information.”
“It’s permission,” Roque shot back. “They’re moving Tijuana’s shit like it’s nothing. Through Falfurrias, our backyard.”
Severino shifted his weight. “We know the route now.”
“We knew the route after the second time already,” Roque said. “Now they’re comfortable.”
Alacrán finally turned his head. His eyes cut the space quiet without him raising his voice. “They gotta keep thinking they are.”
Roque stopped pacing but didn’t sit. “Every time they run it clean, it tells Mondragón they’re protected. Every time Mondragón feels protected, more product moves. We let it keep happening, Prez?” Roque spread his hands.
“Gonna start looking weak if we let them pass through all the time, ¿a poco no?” said Santos.
Alacrán stepped closer, just enough to remind him who set the rules. “We don’t look weak because we haven’t moved,” he said. “We look weak if we move wrong.”
He turned back to the bench, picked up a rag, wiped his hands though they weren’t dirty. “Krait is protecting Mondragón. Mondragón is tied to TJ now. The route is confirmed. That part is done.”
Roque leaned forward. “Then what are we waiting for?”
Alacrán met his eyes. “The right time.”
Roque clenched his jaw, nodded once, but the tension didn’t leave him.
“And we ain’t doing it for free. I’m reaching out to Don Iván and see how he wants this handled.”
As they filed out, Severino lingered a beat, watching Roque’s shoulders stay tight even as he walked away.
“We’ll make a move soon,” Alacrán said quietly.
the nest
Kait was with Kolton and Blaze by the pool, catching up with Diablo, when Buster drifted over.
“Hey, Toast—Randy wants you in the chapel.”
Kait frowned. “For what.”
He shrugged. “Didn’t say. Just said now.”
That was enough. She set her beer bottle on the table and got up.
Randy was already at the chapel, laying out equipment with deliberate care. Lane stood across from him, sleeves rolled, watching the Judge’s enclosure like it was a mechanism instead of a living thing.
Both of them were pulling on protective gloves.
Kait stopped just inside the doorway.
Randy glanced up. “Good. Help us with the venom.” He jerked his chin toward the tank.
Lane’s eyes flicked to her—quick, measuring.
The first time they’d been in the same room since Huntsville.
Since ride safe.
Since the photo.
Something tight passed between them and disappeared.
Kait stepped in without comment and reached for a second pair of gloves. “How much are we pulling?”
“Whatever he gives us,” Randy said. “but we only need one drop for the ink. We don’t wanna paralyze our new members.”
She nodded. “Are we mixing it with the ink now?”
“Nah,” Randy said, a crooked grin pulling at his mouth. “We’ll do that in front of them. Watch them shit their pants.”
Kait huffed a quiet laugh.
Lane shifted closer to the tank. “You’ve done this before.”
Not a question.
“Yeah,” Kait said, eyes on the equipment. “In Denmark.”
Randy opened the lid carefully. The Judge coiled tighter, alert but still. Lane shadowing while Randy lifted the snake with practiced control, movements slow and measured.
“The VP and I usually handled our Judge,” Kait added, positioning herself where Randy indicated.
Lane snorted. “The VP who didn’t step up.”
Randy shot him a look. “Toast, grab the cup.”
She grabbed the small collection cup on the side of the table. “Yeah. Same guy.”
Lane glanced over. “You call him Judge there too?”
“In Danish,” she said. “Dommeren.”
“That’s cool,” Randy said, shifting his grip as the Judge started to resist. “Okay—steady. Yeah, one drop should be enough to give them a good buzz,” he said laughing mischievously as if remembering past initiations.
“Too bad no one asks for the Bite anymore,” said Lane.
There it was.
Kait didn’t look at him. “Can’t blame them. It will take them out for days. We need these guys now.”
Lane watched her now. Too closely.
“Yeah, makes no sense. Back then we were still romantic about dumb shit,” he said. “Alright—ready?”
Lane and Kait nodded and she raised the cup.
“Now.”
Randy guided the Judge’s head down, firm and precise, angling the fangs against the cloth. Venom beaded slowly, heavy and clear.
“So,” Lane said, eyes still on Kait. “You really took the Bite?”
“I did,” she said watching as the venom kept dripping slowly.
“You sure, ‘cause stories tend to get bigger when people cross oceans,” Lane said still looking at her.
The Judge’s head lifted slightly. Kait adjusted her grip on the cup without thinking.
“True stories don’t. Yeah, I took the Bite,” she said. Flat.
Randy glanced at both. The room got about fifty degrees cooler suddenly.
Lane huffed a breath. “It put me on my ass for two weeks. That shit would’ve killed you.”
“Probably, but I got ready for it. I still wasn’t able to ride for almost a month.”
“Alright,” Randy said sharply. “We’re done.”
He eased the Judge back into the enclosure. Lane sealed it and they backed away.
“I don’t buy it,” Lane said.
That did it.
Kait stepped back, stripped off her gloves. “Well, I don’t give a shit if you believe me or not.”
Lane shrugged. “Just saying. Sometimes people like to wear history they didn’t earn.”
Kait inhaled once. Slow. Her pupils blown wide.
“Kount.”
Randy’s voice was a warning.
“Well I sure as fuck earned it,” Kait said—dropping the gloves onto the table as she turned.
She didn’t look back.
The door closed behind her—soft, final.
Randy stared at it for a beat, then turned on Lane. “What the hell was that?”
Lane said nothing.
“Not cool, son,” Randy said, disgust clear in his voice.
The Judge shifted quietly in its enclosure, unbothered.
the dirty alley - later
The Alley was running smooth, which meant Kait was in a bad mood.
She stood near the bar with the ledger open, one shoulder angled toward the office door, eyes moving constantly—stage, rail, back tables, hallway. Dulce was onstage, Suavemente sounding that much more annoying tonight. Sunshine worked the floor between songs, Peaches and Jojo rotating through the back. A couple of filler girls lingered near the rail, laughing too loud.
Everything was a little less bearable for Kait after the chapel incident.
A guy at the rail reached when he shouldn’t have. Kait didn’t yell. She didn’t even raise her voice.
“Hands,” she said.
He laughed.
Wrong choice.
Kait stepped in close, low and calm. Whatever she said next never carried past his ear, but he backed off fast, palms up, face already red. He finished his drink and left without another word.
Sunshine watched the exchange, concern cutting through her practiced smile. When the song ended, she drifted over, leaning her hip against the bar near Kait.
“You okay?” Sunshine asked quietly.
“I’m fine.”
Sunshine didn’t buy it. “You’ve been kinda sharp all night.”
Kait flipped a page in the ledger. Numbers lined up perfectly.
Sunshine hesitated, then lowered her voice. “If you need to talk.”
Kait didn’t look up.
Sunshine swallowed. “Did something happen… with Kount?”
Kait’s head snapped up.
The look she gave Sunshine wasn’t angry. It was lethal.
Sunshine took an involuntary step back. “Okay,” she said quickly. “Got it. Just saying, you can talk to me.”
Kait closed the ledger and walked straight into the office without another word.
The door shut behind her.
Inside, the monitors showed the whole club in muted color—stage, rail, bar, hallway—silent little squares that made the Alley look calmer than it really was. Sex & Candy leaked through the walls, warped by bass and cheap speakers.
“This stupid fucking song,” Kait muttered.
She braced her hands on the desk and stared at nothing, breathing slow and deliberate, like she could force her pulse down through willpower alone.
A moment later, Kolton walked in.
He immediately started scanning the room like he was late for something important—which he was. His eyes snagged on the office door.
Kolton barely got two steps in before Dulce intercepted him.
“She’s been on one all night,” Dulce said softly. “Just so you know.”
Kolton frowned. “Yeah. It didn’t start here.” He didn’t bother pretending otherwise. “Where she at?”
Dulce tilted her head toward the office. “Just went in the office.”
Kolton nodded once, jaw tight, and headed straight for the door.
Dulce followed.
The office door opened. Kait didn’t turn.
“Hey, babe,” Kolton said gently. “We got church.”
“Fuck,” Kait breathed.
Kolton hesitated, voice dropping like he didn’t want the cameras to hear him even if they couldn’t. “Alright, what’s going on—”
Dulce closed the door behind them.
The click was loud in the small room.
Kait finally looked up.
Dulce crossed the space without asking—hands light, grounding—one settling at Kait’s waist, the other catching her wrist like she was stopping her from breaking something. Kait didn’t pull away. Her shoulders sagged just a fraction, like something finally gave.
“It doesn’t matter what’s going on,” Dulce murmured, close enough that her breath warmed Kait’s cheek. “Not right now.”
Kolton stood there, unsure, watching the two of them like he’d walked into something already in motion.
Dulce glanced at him once. Calm. Certain. “Let’s just make her feel better.”
Kolton looked at Kait—checking, asking without words.
Kait answered by grabbing him by the belt buckle and yanking him closer.
That was all the permission anyone needed.
When they finally stepped back into the Alley, the bass hit first—Are You That Somebody rolling thick through the room. Jojo was already onstage, moving like gravity had shifted.
Dulce smoothed her tiny skirt like nothing had happened and walked straight to Sunshine like she’d just gone to check the ice.
Sunshine’s eyes flicked past her.
Kait and Kolton were already heading out.
Kait’s face hadn’t softened. Not really.
Sunshine watched them go, expression tightening in a way that said she didn’t even need to ask. Whatever happened in that office hadn’t fixed a damn thing.
Dulce exhaled, half laugh, half sigh—too bright, too honest. “That was probably the hottest fucking thing ever.”
Sunshine looked at her for a long second, then shook her head slowly.
She didn’t need details.
“Maybe we can go for round two later at the party.”
“You are such a whore,” said Sunshine as she counted her tips.
OUTSIDE
Kolton walked her toward the bikes like he didn’t trust the air around her. His hand hovered at her back without landing, like he was trying to figure out where he was allowed to touch her.
Kolton cleared his throat. “You good?”
Kait didn’t answer right away. She stared across the parking lot at nothing in particular, the neon bleeding color onto her face.
Kolton tried again, quieter. “You feel better?”
That one hit closer to the truth than he deserved.
Kait exhaled slowly through her nose and finally looked at him. There was no softness in it—just the kind of patience you give someone who won’t stop asking.
“I’m fine,” she said, voice low, tired. “Promise.”
Kolton studied her like he could pull the real answer out if he stared long enough.
Kait stepped into his space just enough to end it. She wiped off Dulce’s pink lipstick off his chin and pulled his kutte straight like she was doing him a favor. Like she was putting him back together.
“Let’s go,” she said.
Kolton nodded, relieved to be given something he could understand.
They mounted up and rolled out.
the nest
Lane leaned against the garage wall, half in shadow, one boot hooked on the concrete lip. He looked like he was killing time. Like he was waiting on nothing.
His mind wouldn’t stop.
The moment replayed on a loop—his mouth moving before his judgment caught up, the way her expression went flat, the precise drop of her gloves on the table. Not thrown. Not slammed. Placed. Final.
If that was a challenge to a duel, he would let her shoot first.
The feeling settled heavy and familiar. He regretted every second after she walked into the chapel earlier. Every word landed like a strike, a cheap shot rather. And he’d felt it the moment she turned away.
The photo sat in his kutte pocket.
He didn’t need to take it out.
He already had it—every angle, every line—burned behind his eyes from the dozen times he’d gone over it too fast and too slow all at once. He knew the way her silver eyes looked right through him. The way her lips stayed parted like she’d decided not to say something.
A photograph shouldn’t weigh that much.
But it did.
Lane shifted his weight. Exhaled hard.
Pure frustration and confusion.
He didn’t want to call it power, but she had some sort of hold on him and he was sick of it.
He kept his face empty and watched the yard.
Headlights swept the fence line.
Kolton came in first, steady and loud, riding like he wanted to be seen doing it right. Kait followed, clean and precise, the Kriger settling like it belonged exactly where she put it.
Lane didn’t move.
Didn’t react.
Just watched.
Kait killed her engine and swung off in one smooth motion. No hesitation. No scan of the yard. She never checked to see who was looking—because she didn’t give a shit.
Kolton parked too close. Not accidental. A claim made with proximity.
They walked toward the Nest together.
Same posture. Same face.
Then she walked up toward the clubhouse and bumped fists with Mack and smiled.
His throat closed for no good reason.
Kait’s gaze flicked across the yard and caught him—just for a beat.
Smile was wiped right off.
Lane held the look anyway.
Men started shifting. Boots scraping gravel following inside. Some voices turned into whispers.
Diablo stubbed out his cigarette and called him over.
Church was about to start.
Don stood at the head of the table, hands resting flat on the wood. He didn’t raise his voice. The room leaned in anyway.
“Cricket. Buster,” he said. “You’ve been riding with us. You’ve been working hard. You’ve been showing up.”
Lane glanced at the table. Kait met his eyes for half a second before looking away.
“That doesn’t earn you a patch,” Don continued. “It earns you this room.”
Another pause. Chairs shifted. Someone cleared their throat.
“My brothers and I didn’t start Krait because we wanted titles,” Don said. “We started it because we wanted a community. A family. None of us had that. Overkill and I were foster kids that no one would take because we were twins and we refused to be split up.”
His gaze moved, slow and deliberate, taking in the table.
Rokkstar was a runaway and Klaus got kicked out at eighteen because he wanted to be a soldier and his father wanted him to be an accountant like himself.”
Reactions filled the room. Ram snorted. Kode chuckled. Kait shook her head at the image of Klaus the accountant.
“And Randy lost his folks at a young age… So we started this thing and we made our own family.”
He was talking to Buster and Cricket now. “A family of badass motherfuckers who have each other’s backs no matter what.”
Lane’s jaw tightened slightly. Kait’s fingers curled once against the edge of the table.
“People who don’t believe a nine-to-five is the only way to earn,” Don continued. “Who don’t wait around for a politician to tell us things are gonna get better.”
“Yep,” said Randy.
“We built something where we call the shots,” Don went on. “We decide how we live. Who we answer to. What we risk. And yeah—” a faint edge of a smile, gone just as fast, “—we have a lot of fucking fun doing it.”
Cheers and whistles flooded the room, fists hit the table.
“But make no mistake,” Don said quieting the table again. “This isn’t about freedom without responsibility. This club survives because we carry weight for each other. Because we don’t fold when things get ugly. Because when someone here fucks up, it doesn’t just land on them.”
His eyes flicked briefly to Lane. Then, just as briefly, to Kait.
“It lands on all of us.”
Silence.
“Before anything gets made official,” Don said, stepping back half a pace, “I’m opening the floor. If any patches here have a question they need answered—about how you think, how you move, or what you bring to this club—now’s the time.”
Lane and Kait exchanged another look. Longer this time. Charged.
“Just answer what’s asked,” Don finished. “Don’t bullshit like it’s a job interview.”
A pause.
Kait didn’t rush it.
When she spoke, it wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.
“Krait wasn’t built for people who fit into normal settings,” she said. “We’ve got Americans, Mexicans, Europeans… even a woman.”
A beat.
She kept her eyes on Cricket and Buster. Not the table. Not Lane.
“This club survives because we don’t all come from the same place and we don’t all bring the same things with us,” Kait continued. “So, to both of you, as Krait keeps evolving and growing, how will you handle the arrival of new people with new skills and new strengths—especially if you don’t understand them?”
The question hung in the room, solid and unavoidable.
No clarification.
No softening.
No looking around to see how it landed.
Kait placed her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand, like she’d said exactly what needed saying—and nothing more.
“I’d welcome them,” Buster said. Simple. Honest. “Try to learn from them and what they bring so I can grow and get better too.” He shrugged slightly, almost self-conscious. “I’m kind of a geek. I like learning new things. New ways to do shit.”
A couple of heads nodded.
Kode murmured, half to himself, “Didn’t know that,” with a faint hint of approval.
Lane watched without expression, eyes steady on Buster. Not judging the words—measuring the posture. The lack of bravado. The absence of defensiveness.
Buster met Kait’s gaze briefly, then looked back to Don. He was done.
Cricket was shifting his weight from side to side almost subconsciously, until all eyes were on him and he realized it was his turn to answer. He squared his shoulders like he was reminding himself where he was.
“I’d welcome them too,” he said. “Do whatever I can to get to know my new Krait brother—” he hesitated, then corrected himself without prompting, “—or sister.”
Kait’s face stayed neutral, but something in her eyes softened just a fraction.
“So I can have their back,” Cricket continued. “And so they can have mine. I don’t see the point in riding with people you don’t know or trust. Bond matters. Makes us stronger.”
Lane’s jaw tightened—not in disagreement, but in recognition.
He leaned back slightly, folding his arms again, eyes flicking once toward Kait before returning to the prospects. The look was unreadable, but the tension beneath it hadn’t eased.
“Thank you,” said Kait and lit up a cigarette.
Don said nothing.
The room absorbed the answers the way it absorbed everything else—quietly, collectively.
The standard had been set.
Lane didn’t speak right away.
He watched Cricket and Buster for a long beat, like he was deciding whether they were worth the air it would take to answer him.
Then he leaned forward just enough to change the room.
“This club has history,” Lane said. Calm. Level. “Not just miles or years—decisions that kept it standing when it would’ve been easier to burn it down. A mother charter doesn’t survive on impulse, exceptions or handholding. It survives because people learn when to move, and when to pull back.”
His eyes stayed on the prospects.
“As Krait,” he continued, “will you know when to push forward with what you bring, and when to respect the decisions of Krait who’ve been carrying this patch longer than you?”
Silence settled again.
Cricket answered first.
“I think that comes down to listening,” he said. “Not just waiting to talk—but actually paying attention to why a call was made.” He glanced briefly at the table, then back to Lane. “If I don’t understand a decision, I would still respect it and learn the reason behind it. I mean, there must be a good reason.”
Lane’s eyes narrowed a fraction. Not displeased.
Cricket didn’t add anything else. He didn’t need to.
Buster shifted his weight before speaking.
“I’d respect it too,” he said. “If someone’s been carrying this longer, that matters. I’d follow their lead until I knew the ground I was standing on.” He paused, then added, more firmly, “And when it was time to step up, I’d make sure it was for the club—not just for me to look good or smart or whatever.”
That landed.
Lane leaned back, arms folding again, his gaze moving between them once before drifting—briefly, unintentionally—to Kait.
Her face gave him nothing.
Don remained silent.
The questions had been asked.
The answers were on the table.
And the room understood exactly what had just happened.
Kait didn’t raise her voice.
“As Krait, we make votes that range from routine to decisions that change Krait’s direction entirely,” she said. “If you become a patched member, will you make sure to stand by your vote—so that when you give your word, you don’t walk it back later?”
She held their gaze. Steady. Unblinking.
Cricket answered first.
“Yes,” he said. No hesitation. “I wouldn’t vote on something I didn’t believe in. And if I put my name on it, I’d stand by it—even if it got uncomfortable later.”
Lane’s eyes flicked to Cricket, then away. A muscle jumped once in his jaw.
Buster took a breath before speaking.
“Yes,” he said. “Your word’s only worth something if it holds when it costs you. I will own my decision no matter the outcome.”
That one landed heavier.
Lane leaned back in his chair, arms folding again. He didn’t look at Kait this time. Didn’t look at anyone. The silence after the answers stretched just long enough to be noticed.
Don shifted.
Lane didn’t soften his voice.
He didn’t raise it either.
“This patch isn’t a costume and it isn’t a gimmick. Things can get bloody, things can get dangerous,” he said. “If it becomes clear you can’t handle what the club expects of you, will you have the decency to recognize when you’ve become a liability—and step away before you put your brothers in danger?”
The word liability hit the room like a dropped tool.
Cricket didn’t flinch.
“Yes,” he said. Immediate. “If I’m ever the reason someone else gets hurt, I don’t belong wearing it.”
Buster nodded once before speaking. “Same. If I can’t cut it, I will walk away. Hundred percent, but that ain’t happening.”
That was enough.
Don got up from his chair before anything else could be said.
“Alright,” he said, firm and final. “That should be good enough.”
The air shifted. The back-and-forth cut clean, like a switch thrown.
Don looked at the table. “You’ve heard them. Anyone got a reason they shouldn’t be patched?”
No one spoke.
Not Lane.
Not Kait.
Not a single patched member.
Don nodded once.
“All in favor.”
Hands went up. One after another. No hesitation. No drama.
“All opposed?”
Nothing.
Don didn’t smile—but his eyes softened just a fraction.
“Then let’s give the Judge the final word.”
Cricket and Buster looked at each other. Worried.
“Kowman?” said Don and Randy got up.
Kait watched Lane move but she got up and spotted Randy while he took the Judge out.
Lane sat back down, reluctantly.
“What, um… what exactly…” Buster began.
“The Judge will decide if you get patched in. If he coils and snaps, you’re ain’t getting in and we have to kill ya, ‘cause now y’all know too much.”
Cricket looked around. Then little by little the members began breaking character. Ram and Kode were the first starting to point and laugh at the prospects.
“We’re just fucking with you,” Don said and reached for the patches.
The entire room began to tease them until Don got closer tot hem.
Randy and Kait went back to their spots.
Cricket and Buster straightened instinctively as Don stepped forward, laying the colors out in front of them. The weight of it hit then—not the fabric, but what it meant.
“You earned this,” Don said. “Now don’t make us regret it.”
“Yes, sir,” they answered together.
“Once Krait…” Don began.
“ALWAYS KRAIT,” the patched members completed his sentence.
“Diablo. Two dots. Left forearm.”
Don barely finished the sentence before the tension cracked.
Blaze let out a low laugh like he’d been waiting all night to breathe again.
Ram leaned back in his chair, instantly shameless.
“Well hell,” he said, “if that venom gets you drunk, we better pace ourselves.”
Randy snorted getting the venom out of the cabinet. “It ain’t gonna get you drunk.”
“Oh, it’ll get ‘em somethin’,” Ram said, eyes flicking to Cricket and Buster like they were already doomed. “You boys ever heard of side effects?”
Klaus chuckled and muttered, “Here we go…”
Ram didn’t even pause.
“Krait venom will have your heart racin’, your blood hot, and your priorities all fucked up,” he said. “You’re gonna wake up tomorrow not knowin’ what the fuck happened.”
Buster blinked. “All that?” he said as looked at the container.
Cricket looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or apologize.
Diablo, already pulling gloves on, deadpanned without looking up, “Just a drop. We want you in the club, not fucking dead.”
That got the first real wave of laughter.
Ram leaned forward, grinning wider now that the room had turned friendly again.
“And if it lasts more than three hours,” he added, “good thing the Alley girls are here tonight!”
Randy shook his head like he hated all of them. “Christ.”
Blaze slapped the table once. “Drink after ink. That’s the rule.”
“Yeah,” Mack called from somewhere behind them, “because if you drink before, your dots end up in your elbow.”
Cricket let out a nervous laugh. “This is really happening.”
“Oh, it’s happening,” Ram said. “We Ride, We Bite, motherfuckers. Shit just got real now.”
He pointed at them. And all echoed the motto.
WE RIDE, WE BITE!
“Just remember,” Ram went on, “it ain’t fear. It’s the bond entering your bloodstream.”
Don didn’t smile, but his eyes softened.
“Alright,” he said. “Enough. Sit still and let Diablo work.”
But the vibe was already set.
The hard part was over.
After Diablo fired up the tattoo gun and dotted Cricket and Buster they could finally celebrate.
LATER
Out in the yard, the party had thinned into clusters. Descent was mid-chorus, industrial and relentless, someone laughing too loud near the bikes, a bottle clinking against concrete.
Lane stood near the fence, staring past the courtyard like he was watching something only he could see.
Diablo came up beside him and leaned against the rail.
“Well,” Diablo said mildly, nodding toward the Nest, “that was interesting.”
Lane snorted. “You saw that shit? She did it on purpose. She does it all the time.”
Diablo studied him and lit a cigarette. Took a drag.
“Every fucking chance she gets,” Lane went on, fingers hooking into the chain-link fence like he needed something to hold him in place. “She’s always trying to start shit. Doesn’t matter what it is. She’s always doing something to challenge me or undermine me.”
Diablo blinked once. “I was talking about Cricket puking some green shit back there, but—”
Lane frowned. “What.”
Diablo let the smoke roll out slow. “She got you all screwed up with them questions.”
Lane finally turned, irritation snapping sharp. “Those weren’t questions. She knew exactly what she was doing. It was a direct attack.”
“You did the same,” Diablo said.
“The fuck I did,” Lane shot back. “I just gave it right back.”
Diablo was quiet for a beat.
“She was calling me out,” Lane said. “In front of everyone.”
That hung there.
Diablo exhaled smoke, eyes narrowing slightly, not amused now. “You know, I wasn’t gonna say anything ‘cause I wasn’t really sure.”
Lane didn’t answer.
“But now I’m pretty fucking sure,” Diablo went on, voice level. “And you need to hear it out loud.”
Lane’s jaw tightened. “The fuck are you talking about?”
“You have a thing for her.”
Lane barked a laugh. “You’re fucking stupid.”
“You fell for her, Kount,” Diablo said calmly. “Hard. And you have no idea how to deal with it.”
Lane paced once, then back. “Did you get high on venom too back there? You’re out of your fucking mind.”
“Am I?”
“Yeah. Bat shit,” he said and shook his head.
“Patching party in full swing and you’re over here by yourself thinking about her?”
“I am not—” Lane cut himself off, turned, “This is fucking stupid,” and walked back toward the noise, shoulders tight like motion might outrun the thought.
Diablo stayed where he was, smoke curling up into the dark.
“Yep,” he muttered.
“…just couldn’t. You get paralyzed.” Kait was saying, leaning back in her chair, “I didn’t get a party. No booze. No celebration. Just my dad and Klaus sitting across from me like I was on trial. And I was.”
Buster frowned. “Klaus was there?”
Kait nodded. “Unfortunately.”
Blaze laughed. “I was out longer when I took the Bite than getting thrown off by a twelve-hundred-pound bull.”
“Yeah, it’s no joke,” said Kait.
“What else they did in Denmark?” asked Kolton.
“They grilled me for hours,” she went on. “Krait history. From technical to the most random shit. What’s Don’s favorite whiskey—”
“Jameson,” Blaze and Kolton said at the same time.
“Oh, fuck you both, I got that one wrong,” said Kait and they all laughed.
Ram shook his head. “Fuck that. I did it just like this, got my ink, few drinks with my brothers, and I was buried in pussy ‘til the next morning.”
Buster opened his mouth to say something else—
And Kait stopped listening.
Across the yard, Lane peeled away from the fence line and Diablo and headed toward the garage, cutting through shadow instead of noise. His shoulders were tight. His stride too fast.
She watched him go.
Just long enough.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, already standing.
She didn’t wait for a response and moved across the yard. Didn’t rush. Didn’t hesitate.
By the time she reached the back, Lane was already gone inside the garage.
The garage was quieter than the yard. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Tools hung where they always had. Familiar. Grounding.
Lane paced.
Once. Twice. Then stopped short and dragged a hand through his hair.
You fell for her.
“Give me a fucking break,” he muttered.
He grabbed a rag off the workbench, wiped his hands even though they weren’t dirty. Tossed it back down harder than necessary.
And you have no idea how to deal with it.
He scoffed. Picked up a socket wrench, turned it over in his palm like it might explain something. Set it down again.
He exhaled sharply, annoyed at himself now. At Diablo. At the fact that the thought wouldn’t go away.
When he looked up, she was standing just inside the garage.
Kait didn’t hesitate.
“When have I put any of my brothers in danger?”
Lane froze.
She took another step in, eyes locked on him. “When have I not done what this club expects from me?”
He straightened, irritation flaring on instinct. “That’s not what—”
“All you said in there was directed towards me,” she cut in, voice tight but controlled. “So I’m asking you.”
She stopped a few feet away. “When have I been a liability.”
Silence stretched.
Silence stretched.
He crossed his arms. “You don’t get to turn this back on me when you’re the one who started that shit.”
“You sat at that table and talked about danger and blood and liability and when to step away. Like I’m a fucking Hatchling, like I just got patched in.”
Lane shook his head once. “You shouldn’t even be patched in. You shouldn’t be here. Your whole presence in this club is a liability.”
“Too fucking bad. Because you already voted me in. You said yes.”
“Only to bring you here. Out of respect to Rokkstar and Don.”
“And ever since then, you’ve been setting me up to fail.”
He took a step closer without meaning to. “You’ve done that all on your own.”
Her eyes burned into his. “You keep sabotaging me every chance you get as if I was trying to hurt Krait. Everything I do is for the benefit of this charter.”
“Right, this charter. The Mother Charter… why here?” Lane pressed, closing the distance without realizing he was doing it. “Why did you have to come here? Why not Sweden or Finland or— I don’t know, start your own chapter in the North fucking pole?”
His chest was rising and falling faster now.
“Why the fuck did you have to come here?”
The air between them vibrated. Not shouting yet—but close. The kind of tension that came right before something broke.
“You ruined the Mother Charter.”
The words landed harder than anything else he’d thrown at her.
Kait’s clenched her teeth.
Lane got even closer. “Are you going to hiss at me?”
Kait narrowed her eyes and—
“Guys.”
Ram stood at the edge of the garage, breath tight, eyes already searching their faces.
They both turned.
“Mack’s been shot.”
