Her Possessive Bikers

26. Tres

26

TRES

M y blood runs cold when Jacoby's call comes through. The words barely register - Brick's house, fire, Indy safe but devastated. The phone creaks in my grip.

"Get everyone in the main room. Right fucking Now." My voice comes out like gravel, and Kyler knows better than to ask questions.

I slam through the clubhouse doors, my boots echoing against hardwood. Brothers scatter out of my path as I storm toward the meeting room. The rage builds with each step, remembering Brick's pride in that little house, how he kept it perfect for his daughter.

"Those fucking cowards." I slam my palms on the wooden table. "They went after his house. His daughter's inheritance."

The room fills quickly. Good men, loyal men - they know what this means without me having to spell it out.

"Boss, what's the play?" Tank asks, already strapping on his vest.

"We ride. Now. I want eyes on every street corner those sons of bitches frequent. Someone saw something, and they're gonna talk."

"How's Indy?" Ghost pipes up from the back.

"She's with Jacoby. They're heading back here." I check my piece, sliding it into my holster. "And when I find out who did this..."

"They're dead men walking," Tank finishes.

"Gear up. Five minutes." I scan the room, meeting each pair of eyes. "This isn't just about territory anymore. This is family."

The room empties in seconds, the sound of boots and leather filling the air. I take a deep breath, trying to steady the murderous thoughts racing through my mind. O'Brien trusted me to protect her. I failed him once - it won't happen again.

"Ready to roll," Tank calls from the doorway.

I nod, heading for my bike. "Let's go hunting."

The engines roar to life in unison, a sound that usually brings me peace. Today it's a war cry. We peel out of the lot, chrome glinting in the sun, a pack of wolves on the hunt. Those bastards just declared war, and they're about to learn why that was a fatal mistake.

I pull up to O'Brien's house just as the fire chief steps away from his truck. The air reeks of smoke and ash, making my throat tight.

"Chief," I call out, striding over. "What are we looking at?"

He wipes soot from his forehead. "Definitely arson. Found accelerant traces in multiple spots. They knew what they were doing - started in the garage, spread to the upper floor."

"How bad?"

"Garage is a total loss." He gestures to the blackened ruins. "Main structure's salvageable, but it'll need work. Upper floor took heavy smoke damage, some fire damage near the master bedroom. Foundation's solid though."

"Mother fuckers," I mumble.

"Found something else you should see," the chief adds, leading me away from Indy. He pulls out his phone, showing me photos of crude spray paint on the basement wall. "Looks fresh, probably done right before they set the fire."

The message makes my blood boil: "NEXT TIME IT'S NOT JUST THE HOUSE."

"We'll need copies of those photos," I tell him, keeping my voice level. "For insurance purposes."

He nods, understanding passing between us. "Of course. I'll email them over."

I pull out my phone, dialing Jacoby while keeping my eyes on the fire crew working. "Put her on," I say the moment he answers.

A rustling sound, then her voice comes through, thick with tears. "Tres?"

My chest tightens at the pain in that single word. "Listen, darlin'. The garage is gone, but the house itself can be saved. Foundation's solid, mainly smoke damage upstairs and the master bedroom." I run a hand through my hair, pacing away from the chief. "We'll get it fixed up, make it better than before."

"The photos... I hope they're okay, they were in the living room…" Her voice cracks. "All his things in the garage..."

"Hey now, remember what your old man always said about material things?" I keep my tone gentle, though my free hand clenches at my side. "It's the memories that matter. And those bastards can't burn those."

A shaky breath. "You're right. I just... that house was all I had left of him."

"Not all." I watch another crew member emerge from the house carrying a partially charred box. "You've got us. His family. And we're gonna make this right."

"Promise?"

The vulnerability in her voice makes my jaw clench. "On my life, Indiana'. On my life."

I end the call, nodding to Tank who's waiting by his bike. Time to remind these fuckers why you don't mess with family.

The roar of our bikes echoes off the walls of the Dos Banditos compound as we roll up. I grip the Louisville Slugger tighter, letting the weight of it ground me. My knuckles go white around the handle.

"Look what the cat dragged in," their VP, Antonio sneers from behind the gate. "Come to cry about a little house fire?"

I swing the bat, connecting with their security light. Glass rains down as sparks fly. "That 'little fire' just bought you a war."

"You threatening us, old man?"

"Nah." I smash the second light, plunging their entrance into darkness. "Just making things even. Dark times ahead and all that shit."

Jacoby steps up beside me, his usual playful demeanor replaced with cold steel. "Boss, they're gathering inside."

"Good." I press against the gate, metal creaking under my weight. "Listen up you worthless fucks. You crossed a line going after Brick's kid. His house? That's sacred ground."

Lupe emerges, flanked by muscle. "Brick's dead. His territory's up for grabs."

"That's her goddamn house," I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "This isn't about territory anymore. You threatened his daughter. My family."

"What you gonna do about it?"

I toss the bat aside, stepping closer to the gate. "War. Plain and simple. You wanted to play rough?" I lock eyes with their president. "Game on. Sleep tight, boys. Never know when we might come knocking."

Back at our bikes, I nod to Tank. "Split up. Two-man teams. I want eyes on every exit of this shithole all night."

"What about you, boss?"

"Me?" I swing my leg over my bike. "I'm taking the front gate. Want to be the first thing these fuckers see if they try anything stupid."

The engines roar to life, and we disperse into the shadows. Let them sweat it out, wondering where we're watching from. The night's young, and I've got nothing but time.