Page 88 of Vengeance

Dixie watched him leave, feeling strangely unsettled. She didn't know his story. She didn't know why trouble seemed to follow him. She only knew one thing—when he looked at her, for one brief moment, he'd looked like a man who desperately wanted someone to prove him wrong.

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What is being released next from K.L. Ramsey? You won’t want to miss Peak’s Code (Grave Prowlers Book 1), coming in August 2026!

Peak

Chesapeake Henry Dixon III wasn’t big on pretensions, as his name might suggest. He couldn’t help that he inherited his grandfather’s name along with his fortune. Hell, most guys would be happy with never having to work a day in their lives, but he wasn’t like most guys. That’s why he opened his own bike shop. His motto was that if he couldn’t fix it, then it was really broken.

He lived on the Eastern Shore in Maryland, just before the Delaware line. That’s where he opened his shop, wanting to stay close to home and family after his father passed. He already had a big house to live in, and he knew everyone in town, so sticking around was a no-brainer.

His father had spent countless hours trying to convince him to use his degree, but sitting in a stuffy office all day long wasn’t something that appealed to him. It was his choice to major in computer programming, but when Uncle Sam tried to recruit him as a hacker for the government, he refused. He graduated from the Ivy League school that his grandfather’s money had paid for, and shoved his diploma into his desk drawer.

Of course, his father found out about the government’s offer and told him that he was a fool for not taking it, but he wasgood at playing the fool. Now, his club was trying to rope him into becoming their “Hacker,” and that was the last thing that he wanted to do. Gone were the days when bikers would just get together to ride up and down Ocean Highway, or sit in the clubhouse to have a few beers. No, now, they had hackers who could spy on other clubs, and potentially take them down if they got too close to your own club’s business.

But Peak had a knack for finding trouble—and becoming his club’s hacker would only lead to trouble for him. His dad used to tell him that if trouble was out there, he’d find it. It was as if his father thought that he sought out trouble, but he didn’t. It just had a way of finding him. Staying out of club business when things got messy was his biggest downfall. He just couldn’t seem to help himself when it came to his MC and the guys who were like brothers to him. If they asked for help, he’d give it—no questions asked.

Peak had learned the hard way, with blood on his knuckles and the taste of copper in his mouth more times than he cared to count. The problem was that the club didn’t ever really let you stay out of anything. Once you earned your patch, you earned the weight that came with it—brotherhood, loyalty, and yeah, even violence, when necessary.

The garage door to Dixon Customs was rolled halfway up, the salty air from the bay mixing with oil and gasoline as Peak leaned over a stripped-down Harley, his forearms slick with sweat and grease. The radio was low in the background, classic rock humming beneath the clink of tools. His shop was the only place his mind ever shut the hell up. It was just him and the bikes that needed to be fixed. There were no ghosts, no memories of his father lying in a hospital bed, and no club drama. While he was working on the bikes, he couldn’t disappoint anyone, and that was a pretty good feeling.

“Tell me you ain’t hiding out in here again,” a voice called from the open doorway.

Peak didn’t look up. “It’s not really considered hiding away if my shop’s open, is it?” he asked. Boots crossed the concrete floor, slow and familiar. Warden, all six-foot-four of him, was standing in his shop, and that was never a good sign. He was built like a wrecking ball, and when he stopped beside Peak with his arms crossed over his kutte, he knew that Warden was there on official club business.

“Prez wants you at church tonight,” he growled. And there it was—the business that Peak had been hiding away from. He couldn’t fault Warden for showing up and tossing down the demand from Captain, their Prez. As the club’s Enforcer, it was Warden’s job to keep the guys in line, and Peak had become one of his damn priorities. Refusing to do as asked and become the club’s hacker had landed him in hot water with Captain. Hell, he was in over his head with most of the guys, but Captain was stubborn—sending Warden to fetch Peak was proof of that.

He straightened, wiping his hands on a rag before finally meeting Warden’s gaze. “That sounds like a you problem, man, because I have no plans to show up to church tonight. Hell, I’m staying as far away from the club as I can until Captain finds another stooge to be his hacker.”

Warden grinned, “It’s a good thing that problems are my specialty,” he boasted.

Peak exhaled through his nose and glanced back at the bike he had been working on. He’d rebuilt half the damn thing already and was close to being done, but it would have to wait. Church meant that decisions were going to be made, and he knew that if he didn’t show up, there would be consequences.

“Captain is willing to put your conversation about becoming the club’s hacker on hold for now. He needs you there for another matter,” Warden said.

“What other matter?” Peak asked. He worried that Warden was just telling him what he wanted to hear in order to get him into church tonight. He hated being ambushed, so asking a bunch of questions was his only way to be sure.

“It’s about new blood and territory issues. And—” Warden’s grin faded as he paused, “it’s about a woman.”

Peak stilled. “What kind of woman? Who does she belong to?” He had a feeling that if they were holding a meeting about a woman, she’d have to be one of the guy’s Ol’ladies.

“She’s the kind that doesn’t belong anywhere near the Grave Prowlers,” Warden warned.

Those were the worst kind of women because they usually got caught in the crossfire. “Then why the hell is Captain holding a meeting about her?

Warden shrugged. “She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. We just need to figure out how to handle her, and Captain might need you to do a little bit of digging into her past.” So, Warden was just talking out of his ass when he said that Captain was willing to let the hacker thing go for a bit.

Peak muttered a curse and tossed the rag onto his workbench. He grabbed his kutte from the hook by the office door, the worn leather heavy in his hands. He’d sworn he wouldn’t get pulled into anything unnecessary again. Sworn he’d keep his distance from the club for a while, but here he was, being sucked back into Grave Prowler’s business.

“Don’t forget your laptop,” Warden ordered. He was standing over Peak’s desk that sat in the corner of the garage as though guarding the damn thing with his life.

Peak sighed and crossed the room, grabbing his laptop and charger from his desk. He shoved them into his saddle bag and grumbled under his breath about being sucked back into club business. Warden didn’t look at all amused, but he was already getting on his bike, so he’d probably let that comment slide.

As Peak swung his leg over his bike and fired the engine to life, a strange tension settled in his chest—an instinct he’d learned to trust. Something was coming, and whatever it was, it was about to change everything.

The clubhouse sat back from the road, half-hidden by trees that lined the highway. Grave Prowlers’ territory always felt heavier at night—like the walls of the clubhouse soaked up secrets and refused to let them go. By the time Peak cut his engine and swung off his bike, the tension in his chest had tightened into something sharp and restless. Church had already been called, and being late was going to get him in trouble with Captain. That was the last thing he needed because he planned on telling his Prez that he still wasn’t going to be the club’s hacker, and that wasn’t going to go over well.

Inside the clubhouse, smoke curled toward the ceiling, mixing with the low murmur of voices and the scrape of chairs. The long table at the front of the room was occupied—Captain at the head, Ruin, the VP, to his right. Warden was leaning against the wall like a loaded weapon waiting to be fired at the first sign of trouble. Every set of eyes tracked Peak as he walked in, as though telling him that he was late without having to say a word. The look of disappointment on Captain’s face said it all—he wasn’t pleased. Peak ignored them all. Let them stare.