Chapter 3 Chapter three
"Three years ago, a rival club, the Death Dealers out of Pittsburgh wanted our territory. They had dirt on Dutch, on the club. They gave him a choice, bankrupt Chen Wei and drive him out of business, or they'd expose everything. Destroy the Iron Wolves entirely."
I shook my head, unwilling to believe it. "That's convenient. Blame it on some other club."
"I have proof," Dax said quietly. "Recordings. Documents. Text messages between my father and the Death Dealers' president. I've been gathering evidence for two years."
"Why?" The question burst from me. "If you have proof, why haven't you done anything about it?"
"Because my father is still club president, and he'd rather protect the club's reputation than admit what he did. Because the Death Dealers are still out there, still powerful, still dangerous." Dax's jaw tightened. "And because your father wasn't the only person Dutch hurt to keep the club safe."
The other Iron Wolves shifted uncomfortably. There was a story there, something painful, but Dax didn't elaborate.
"What does any of this have to do with my debt to Snake?" I asked.
"Snake works for the Death Dealers. Last night wasn't coincidence for you, it was a setup. They sabotaged Razor's bike and planted that tracker on yours. They knew Ghost Rider was you, Mia. They've known for weeks." Dax stepped closer still, close enough that I could smell leather and engine oil and something else, something that made my pulse quicken despite my anger. "They want you in debt to them. They want leverage."
"Leverage for what?"
"For me." His expression hardened. "The Death Dealers know I've been investigating. They know I'm close to having enough proof to take them down. They figure if they control you, they control me."
"That doesn't make sense. Why would you care what happens to me?"
Dax was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice carried a weight I hadn't heard before. "Because your father saved my brother's life once. Because Dutch's actions got a good man killed. Because I'm trying to fix the mistakes my family made, even if it costs me everything." He met my eyes. "And because you're a hell of a rider, and I need someone exactly like you."
"Need me for what?"
"There's an inter-club championship race in six weeks. Winner takes fifty thousand in prize money and territorial rights to three counties. Every major club will be there, including the Death Dealers." Dax pulled a folded paper from his vest pocket and held it out. "I want you to race for the Iron Wolves. You win, and the prize money clears your debt to Snake and then some. More importantly, it puts the Death Dealers in a position where they have to deal with me directly."
I stared at the paper without taking it. "You want me to join your club? The club that destroyed my father?"
"I want you to help me destroy the people who actually destroyed your father," Dax corrected. "There's a difference."
"And I'm supposed to just trust you? Just believe that everything you're saying is true?"
"No." Dax's expression softened slightly. "I'm asking you to come to my clubhouse tonight. Look at the evidence yourself. Talk to people who knew your father, who know what really happened. Then decide."
"And if I say no?"
"Then you've got about sixty hours to come up with fifty grand or disappear." His voice was matter-of-fact, not threatening. Just honest. "Your choice, Mia."
He placed the folded paper on the hood of Patterson's Ford, then turned back to his bike.
"One more thing," I called out. He paused. "Why now? Why wait three years to tell me all this?"
Dax looked back over his shoulder, and for just a moment, I saw something raw and painful in his expression.
"Because three years ago, I was a different person. I believed in my father, believed in the club's code. I thought what he did to your father was justified somehow, that the club came first." He swung his leg over his Harley. "Then I learned the truth about a lot of things. About Dutch. About the Death Dealers. About the cost of loyalty when it's given to the wrong people."
The engine roared to life. "Eight o'clock tonight, Mia. Iron Wolves clubhouse on Route Forty-Seven. Come alone, or bring an army. Either way, I'll be waiting."
Then they were gone, leaving me standing in an empty parking lot with grease-stained hands and a choice I never wanted to make.
I picked up the paper Dax had left behind. Unfolded it.
It was a photograph. My father, younger than I remembered him, standing beside a teenage boy in a hospital bed. The boy's leg was in a cast, but he was smiling. My father's hand rested on the boy's shoulder.
On the back, in handwriting I didn't recognize: "Chen Wei fixed my bike after my crash and refused payment. Said family takes care of family. I never forgot. - Marcus Steele"
Marcus. Dax's younger brother. The one who'd died two years ago in a motorcycle accident that everyone said was suspicious.
My hands were shaking as I tucked the photograph into my pocket.
Maybe Dax Steele was telling the truth.
Or maybe this was just another lie in a town built on them.
Either way, I knew I'd be at that clubhouse tonight.