Page 28 of Spock’s Snare

CHAPTER TEN: CHLOE

I pull off the highway and turn into Inferno Ridge, my stomach easing for the first time all morning. The gated community is still little more than dirt, concrete, and lumber, but I can already picture what it will become. Wide streets curve through the property, each lot carefully marked, each home designed to give the Demon Dawgs and their families a place to put down roots.

Three construction sites are alive with activity.

In a nearby cul-de-sac is Wildcard’s home. Right now, it's nothing more than a smooth concrete slab waiting for framing. Next to it sits Chill's future home in the same state. Stacks of neatly bundled lumber sit between them.

Puma's house is another story entirely.

The first and second floors are fully framed, transforming the skeleton of the home into something that finally resembles a house instead of an idea. Electricians and plumbers weave through the maze of exposed studs, running wire and pipe before insulation and drywall can cover the chaos.

I park beside the temporary office trailer, grab my clipboard, and slip on my hard hat before heading toward the structure.

The familiar sounds of construction surround me—the rhythmic pounding of hammers, the whine of drills, shouted curses, and the steady hum of generators. Normally, it's music to my ears.

Today, it also brings relief.

My crew notices me as I step inside.

"Morning, boss," someone calls from the first floor.

"Morning," I answer with a smile.

I climb the temporary staircase, exchanging greetings with carpenters, electricians, and plumbers as I make my way upward. Every face is familiar, every nod reassuring. These men have worked with me for years, and despite everything that's happened lately, they're still here.

I reach the second floor and step into what will eventually become Puma's primary bedroom.

Unsurprisingly, Puma chose the lot that lies in the thick of things. It’s closest to the center. The king surrounded by his subjects. Or maybe, a father surrounded by his children. I’m not sure which description fits the big man better. He’s definitely a bit of both.

I cross the room and step through the framed opening. Temporary plywood covers part of the balcony, but it's sturdy enough for me to stand on while I inspect the exterior framing.

A warm breeze brushes across my face as I look out over the view below. From here, I can barely see the distant mountain range on the horizon, but only if I turn left. The clubhouse is behind me and won’t be visible once the house is finished. Instead of facing the view that most homeowners would pay extra for, Puma chose something unspectacular.

The first time I studied the blueprints, I assumed it was a mistake. I’d even asked him about it, but all he did was smile and say that he wanted the view he would eventually have.

Now, standing here months later, I finally understand.

Below me, the heart of Inferno Ridge is already taking shape.

The basketball court is finished, its bright painted lines waiting for the first pickup game. Beside it, the tennis court sits complete behind freshly installed fencing, looking almost lonely without anyone using it. Everything else still exists mostly in my imagination.

Survey stakes mark where the swimming pool will eventually sparkle beneath the Nevada sun. Beyond that lies the future playground, where a jungle gym, swings, and slides will someday echo with children's laughter. Another section has been reserved for a miniature golf course winding through desert landscaping with rocks, cacti, and waterfalls.

Near the center of it all is an open stretch of graded dirt that doesn't look like much now, but will someday become the community center. I've studied those plans so many times that I can picture every room without looking at them. A large great room that can host birthdays, weddings, club parties, and holiday dinners. A restaurant-style kitchen big enough to feed an army. Even a small theater where families can gather for movie nights without leaving the neighborhood.

Leaning against one of the temporary railings, I look back toward the clubhouse.

If Puma wanted prestige, he'd have aimed his balcony that direction. Every morning, he could have drunk his coffee, looking at the clubhouse where he ruled as their President. He could have chosen a quiet place to sit and enjoy a last beer as the sun set over the mountains. Instead, when this house is finished, he'll step onto this balcony and look down at the family he created.

He’ll watch the little ones climbing the jungle gym and racing across the playground. He’ll see the teenagers playing pickup games on the basketball court. He’ll see families strolling through the park or laughing as they putt around the miniature golf course.

Family is what means the most to Puma. This community is what he takes the most pride in. The realization settles over me with surprising force.

I've spent enough time around the Demon Dawgs to know they throw the word family around constantly. They call each other brothers and sisters. They claim every wife, husband, partner, and child as their own. I always assumed it was just part of the motorcycle club culture.

But what Puma is creating here isn’t temporary. It’s a blueprint for the future. Every decision has been made with the next generation in mind. Puma didn't sacrifice the mountain view because he couldn't appreciate it. He sacrificed it because, to him, there was something far more beautiful. He wants to wake up every morning and see children laughing where there used to be empty desert.

He wants to watch his family grow.