Page 25 of Priest

When I drop her off at the clubhouse, she tries to linger longer than necessary, before she steps back. I walk away without looking back.

Inside, the noise hits me all at once. Brothers talking. A prospect dropping a crate too loudly. Deacon watching from across the room with his arms crossed and his face unreadable.

I snap at two people before I make it past the bar.

Ghost clocks it immediately. “You good?”

“No,” I say.

He nods once and doesn’t push.

The words from the truck keep moving through my head. Joker. Ace. Belonging. The way Sadie looked around that waiting room like she expected someone to walk in wearing a familiar face.

I straighten, decision settling. “Get Church together.”

Ghost’s brows lift slightly. “Now?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Now.”

Church happens in the back room, away from the music and the noise. Officers take their seats around the long table while the room settles into that heavy quiet men get when they know something is about to turn ugly.

I don’t waste time.

“Ghost brought me something earlier,” I say. “Dead Man’s Hand has been sniffing our outer routes. Not a hit. Not a threat in the open. Small moves.”

Ghost leans forward, forearms on the table. “A parts supplier got asked about Saints traffic. One of Joker’s boys was seen near the old fuel stop. Could be nothing by itself.”

“But not together,” Deacon says.

“No,” Ghost answers. “Together, it feels like someone testing what we’ll notice.”

Ledger flips open his notebook. “They don’t usually fish without bait.”

I look around the table. “That’s what’s bothering me.”

Nomad’s expression hardens. “You think someone’s feeding them my routes?”

“I think Joker knows enough to be curious,” I say. “Not enough to move. That means either he’s feeling blind, or someone is tossing him crumbs.”

Silence settles over the table.

Deacon leans back in his chair. “Crumbs turn into maps if you leave them long enough.”

“Exactly.”

Graves cracks his knuckles once. “So we choke the routes.”

“We tighten them,” I correct. “Quietly. Double eyes on outer roads. No solo runs. Prospects don’t hear shit they don’t need. If anyone sees a Dead Man’s Hand patch near our lines, I know before they finish breathing.”

“And if they push?” Rook signs from beside me, his expression flat.

I meet his gaze. “Then we remind them where Saints territory ends.”

No one argues.

Good.

Chairs scrape as men stand. Church breaks quiet and heavy, the kind of heavy that follows men out of a room and sits on their shoulders.