Chapter 18

Chapter 18
Mason
"When are we gonna tell her?" Niko asks, his eyes locked on the laptop screen, blue light reflecting off his face.
He's been digging into Senator Alder's finances for hours, his fingers flying over the keys like he can hack his way straight into the bastard's soul. Meanwhile, King and I have been combing through camera feeds—traffic lights, alleyway corners, gas stations—anything that might give us even a glimpse of what went down the night of the drop.
So far? Nothing.
Either the footage was scrubbed, or those sick fucks knew exactly how to stay hidden.
Not that there were many cameras in that part of town anyway. It's the kind of place the city pretends doesn't exist—where drug deals go down dark alleyways, and the only witnesses are junkies or corpses no one bothers to claim.
Even if more than one person saw it happen, they'd keep their mouths shut. In neighborhoods like that, silence isn't loyalty. It's survival.
I lean back in my chair, rubbing a hand over my face, the weight of exhaustion settling behind my eyes. We've been chasing ghosts all damn morning, and every minute that passes makes the rage in King's shoulders more visible. 
King lets out a low growl, the type that makes the room feel smaller—like we're trapped in Gray's office with a caged animal seconds from snapping. 
Not that I'm worried about him hurting us. It's the room that should be afraid. This place has taken his temper before—and it didn't survive.
"We're not telling her shit until we've got something solid," he snaps. "No sense in worrying her if this turns out to be a dead end."
I don't disagree, but the way he says it—sharp, defensive—tells me this isn't just about protecting Alyssa. It's about holding himself together. Not going on another murder spree. 
"She's gonna find out eventually," I remind him quietly. "You really think we can hide something this big from her? She's already suspicious about the dance classes."
King's jaw flexes, the muscle in his cheek jumping as his hands curl into fists on the table. The scar above his left eye twitches—like it always does when he's ready to cause havoc. 
"He's right, King," Niko says, his tone calm but firm as he finally looks up from his laptop. "Whether we like it or not, she's still recovering from Isaac. If she finds out about this from anyone else, she'll never trust us again."
King's head snaps toward him, eyes dark with that familiar warning. The one that says, you're right but I don't wanna hear that shit right now.
The air shifts. Heavy. Charged.
For a second, no one moves. Not even me. Because I've seen that look turn into an explosion before, and I'd rather not be within arm's reach when it does.
Niko doesn't back down though. He's in VP mode—not King's slut right now. He just meets King's stare, calm as ever, like he's daring him to argue.
There's no softness in his eyes, no trace of the man who lets King drag him into bed. This is the version that keeps the club standing when King's temper wants to jeopardize it.
King finally breaks the silence, his voice rough enough to scrape the air. "You think I don't fucking know that? She's already carrying a heavy-ass load—the house, kids, wedding, us. And she still refuses help, even though we've been buried in shit for weeks." He leans forward, eyes flashing. "Add this onto it? We risk her shutting down."
He's not wrong.
We've seen her shut down before.
Last year, when her father-in-law placed a bounty on her head and we had to leave Zuri behind, she fell apart completely. 
Stopped eating. Slept too much. Cried until she couldn't anymore.
Sure, she was pregnant then—but that's not what broke her. Considering she was literally sold to Silas as a kid, finding out there's a new trafficking ring could bring it all back.
Could trigger the nightmares again. 
The ones that used to wake her up screaming. The ones we all still flinch at when she shifts too much in her sleep.
We've spent nearly a year helping her find peace. Stability. Some version of normal.
And all it takes is one headline like this to rip it away.
I clear my throat, keeping my tone even. "Look, both of you have solid points. My call: either we wait until after the wedding to tell her, or we hurry the fuck up and get real answers now. No point making her panic over a rumor until we've proven it's not just bullshit."
Niko snorts humorlessly. "Well, whether Alder is actually involved or not, there's still a sick fuck out there taking kids. Unless Pennywise crawled out the goddamn sewer, someone's organizing this—and we're already too late for at least ten of them."
The words hang heavy between us. 
That number's not just a statistic—it's fuel. The kind that lights the fire under our asses to figure out who the fuck's behind this, to keep our family, our club, and our town safe. 
King's head lifts, eyes burning like he's already picturing killing the bastard responsible. "We won't go home tonight until we've got somethin' tying Alder to those girls," he says, low and certain. "Then we'll tell her. Reassure her we've got a plan. That we'll keep tabs on every move that motherfucker makes."
I believe every word.
King's a lot of things—violent, reckless, borderline unhinged—but when it comes to protecting what's his, there's no one more ruthless. The heat behind his words settles in the room like steam, and whatever doubt I had about waiting disappears under the weight of that promise.
Relief floods my chest. If we pull this off, we won't have to hide anything from her.
No half-truths. No softening the edges. We'll hand her the proof, the plan, and a timeline for when we're going to put this monster's head on a spike. 
I let the image sit here—crude, satisfying—and feel the tight coil in my gut loosen a notch.
Action steadies me. It always has.
And even though we haven't found shit yet, I know between the three of us, we'll get something done today.
We've worked through worse together—no leads, no sleep, no hope—and still pulled bodies out of the fire. It's what we do. King's anger, Niko's focus, my patience... together, it's a weapon. 
And right now, that weapon's aimed straight at whoever's sick enough to touch those kids. 
Niko exhales, the tension in his shoulders easing for the first time all morning. "Good," he mutters. "Because as innocent as it's been, I fucking hate hiding shit from her."
He drags a hand through his hair, eyes glued back to the screen. "We've worked too damn hard to earn her trust to risk it over this," he continues. "She's not that little girl we had to protect from knowing anything anymore. Our woman won't hesitate to kick our asses if we start keeping secrets again—and honestly?" His mouth twitches, almost a smirk. "She'd be right to."
King huffs a short, rough laugh. "Yeah, no shit. She's already been side-eyein' us for comin' home late. One wrong move, and she'll have our balls in a jar before we can explain ourselves."
"Yeah, that doesn't sound pleasant," I mutter, earning a snort from Niko.
"Then, let's get back to work," Niko says, voice tight with the kind of focus that means he's done talking. 
Ending this trafficking ring and making sure our ol' lady doesn't actually get pissed enough to cut off our balls and put them in a jar is his top priority.
His fingers start hitting keys again, windows multiplying across the screen. King drags a laptop closer, blue light carving lines across his face. I pull up timestamps we've already scraped, cross-referencing logs and garbage pickup routes like it's a goddamn puzzle that owes us its pieces.
For a few minutes, there's nothing but the determined clack of keyboards and the hums of the monitors—three men doing what we do best: turning noise into a map.
Suddenly, there's a knock on the door. 
The three of us look up, tense but alert. No one knocks on Gray's door unless it's important.
Luther peeks his head in, eyes flickering between us like he's about to lob a grenade into the room. "Whatever the fuck you boys did, start sayin' your goodbyes. I'm pretty sure your ol' lady just rode in to collect your souls."
Niko's brows knit, his voice slicing through the silence. "What?"
"Oh, and she's not alone," Luther adds, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe like he's enjoying every second of this. "Gray's woman is with her—and judging by their faces, y'all are about to find out what it's like to be hit by a deadeye."
Shit.
What the hell are they doing here? 
And where are the girls?
Alyssa rarely leaves the house, and when she does, she always lets us know. 
So if she's here out of all places, unannounced, something's seriously wrong. 
Beside me, Niko's posture shifts, tension snapping down his spine like a live wire. King's already on his feet, every muscle in his body coiled tight, jaw grinding as if he's bracing for impact. 
This isn't just a surprise visit. This is a confrontation. 
And from the sound of it, we're the target.
My pulse kicks up, the weight of what's coming sinking into my gut like lead.
There's only one explanation—she thinks we did something worse than what we actually did.
And if we don't answer her fast enough?
We're so fucked.