Chapter 35 Shifting shadows
Ryder's POV
I grabbed Marcus by the arm and pulled him into Vincent's office before he could leave. Jaxon and Sage followed close behind.
"Tell us everything," I said. "Every detail you remember about that night."
Marcus sat down heavily in one of the chairs. "I was leaving late, maybe eleven thirty or so. Most of the brothers had already cleared out. I was walking to my bike when I saw someone standing by Vincent's truck."
"Who was it?" Jaxon demanded.
"I don't know. I assumed it was Vincent himself until I looked through the window and saw him still inside talking to Snake." Marcus rubbed his face. "The person was wearing a club jacket so I figured it was just another member checking their bike or waiting for someone."
"What were they doing exactly?" I asked.
"Just standing there. Maybe leaning down like they were looking at something on his bike. I didn't think much of it at the time."
Sage leaned forward. "And then what happened?"
"I got on my bike and left. I was maybe less than two blocks away raking a smoke on the side of the road when I heard the shots. By the time I got back, Vincent was on the ground and everyone was calling 911." His voice cracked. "If I'd known what I was seeing, if I'd gone over and checked..."
"You couldn't have known," Jaxon said quietly. "None of us did."
"But that's not all, is it?" I studied Marcus' face. "There's something else you remember."
He nodded slowly. "The figure. I've been thinking about it for weeks, trying to remember details. Medium height, lean build. Moved with confidence, like they belonged there. Could be half the club honestly."
"That's not helpful," Jaxon muttered.
"But there was one thing that stuck out." Marcus looked up at us. "They were wearing gloves."
"Gloves?" Sage repeated.
"Yeah. Black gloves, like the kind you wear when you're working on an engine. But it was summer, had to be seventy degrees out that night. Who wears gloves to check a bike in summer?"
The room went silent as the implication sank in.
Someone methodical. Someone who didn't want to leave fingerprints. Someone who knew exactly what they were doing and planned it carefully.
"Vincent's murder wasn't a crime of passion," I said. "It was planned. Whoever killed him stood by his bike wearing gloves so they wouldn't leave evidence."
"Planting something maybe," Jaxon added. "Or tampering with something."
"A tracker," Sage said quietly. "They could have planted a tracker on his bike so they'd know exactly where he was when they shot him."
Marcus stood up. "I'm sorry I didn't say something sooner. After Vincent died, the feds started asking questions, people were looking at everyone sideways. I got scared that saying something would make me a suspect."
"It's okay," Jaxon said, though his expression suggested it wasn't. "You're telling us now. That's what matters."
After Marcus left, the three of us stood in Vincent's office trying to process what we'd learned. The murder was premeditated. Someone in the club had planned Vincent's death carefully enough to avoid leaving evidence.
"What was Dad protecting me from?" Sage asked. Her voice was small and lost. "What could possibly be worse than forcing me into a marriage I don't want?"
"I don't know," Jaxon admitted. "But whatever it was, he thought the Blood Sisters alliance was the only way to keep you safe from it."
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I almost ignored it but something made me check.
Unknown number. One image attachment.
I opened it and my blood turned to ice.
The photo showed Sage and me on the clubhouse roof. Her sitting with her back against the air conditioning unit, me beside her. The image was clear despite the darkness, shot from a distance with a high-powered lens.
But that wasn't what made my hands shake.
Overlaid on the image were crosshairs. Red lines intersecting perfectly on Sage's head, the kind you'd see through a rifle scope.
"What is it?" Sage asked.
I turned the phone so they could see.
Jaxon's face went white. "When was this taken?"
"Tonight. When we were on the roof before Tommy and the others came back." I zoomed in on the image. The timestamp in the corner showed it was taken less than two hours ago.
"Someone had a rifle aimed at you," Jaxon said quietly. "Had a clear shot and chose not to take it."
Sage grabbed the phone and stared at the photo. Her face had gone pale but her hands were steady.
"They're not trying to kill me anymore," she whispered. "They're trying to terrorize me. Make me so scared I can't think straight."
"It's working," I muttered.
"No." She handed the phone back to me. "It's not. Because now I know something important."
"What?"
"Whoever this is, they want me scared more than they want me dead. Which means I have power here. I just need to figure out how to use it."
Jaxon looked at his sister with something like pride. "That's good thinking. But it also means you're still in danger. They could change their mind any time."
"I know."
My phone buzzed again. Another text from the same unknown number.
Just one line that made everything worse.
"You're being watched. Every move. Every moment. Stop digging or next time I won't miss."
I showed them the message and watched Sage's brief flash of bravado crumble.
Someone photographed us on the roof through a rifle scope. They could have killed us at any moment but chose to send a warning instead.
The question was why. And how long until warnings turned into action.