Page 15 of Falcon’s Forever

"Enough," Vulture says, not raising his voice, I always find it amazing how a room full of bikers can go silent when he speaks. I take my seat on his right. VP. For the first time in weeks it feels less like a habit and more like something I need to earn back.

"Falcon. Start us off." Vulture doesn’t look at me.

I open the folder Sterling gave me that morning. "Condor found movement through one of Castellano's feeder companies. The transport contract renews through a security logistics company, there’s three layers between it and anything we've already tied to him directly. It’s the same corner of the map the Reapers used to run before they came apart."

Condor turns his laptop so the table can see the web of company names. "The primary's clean on paper. There are two subsidiaries, and an offshore parent. It’s the same accounting firm as before. Two of the drivers show up on old route logs we tied to trafficking."

"Enough to move on?" Rook asks.

"Enough to watch," I say. "Condor keeps digging ownership. Zip, check route history against the south and east corridors. Sterling, anything new comes through contacts, it comes to me and Vulture first." I look at Ice Pick. "You and Rook review security around the compound and the women's house. Quietly. I don't want the women seeing brothers suddenly carrying twice as many weapons."

"Got it." Ice Pick answers, respectfully, none of his anger from earlier showing on his face.

"Harrier, supplies. Food, medical, fuel, anything we'd need if the compound goes into lockdown."

He sobers fast enough that I know he understands exactly why I'm asking.

Condor clears his throat before I can move on. "One more thing. Traffic cameras caught the same SUV on the south road twice in the last forty-eight hours. Late at night. Moving slow."

The room shifts, not dramatically, just a fraction, with every man at the table sharpening at once.

"Widen the search," I tell him. "A half-mile radius if you can."

"I can." Condor is already looking at the computer screen and working on it.

"Zip, change patrol times tonight, don't make the pattern obvious. Rook, take north side, Ice Pick takes the south side."

Vulture's gaze stays on me a beat after the others nod. "Falcon. You're taking perimeter rotation oversight this week."

The room goes quiet enough that I can feel every man at that table deciding whether I'm about to prove him right or wrong. He's not just handing me a job. He's finding out whether I can still carry one. Nobody says it out loud, but every man at this table remembers the last time perimeter oversight went to somebody who couldn't hold it. Three years back, before Kells, before Merrick, before any of this, we lost a full patch named Coyle on a rotation that got sloppy at the wrong hour. Vulture buried him himself. Nobody's forgotten what sloppy costs.

"You good with that?" Vulture prompts me again.

It isn't really a question. "I've got it."

He nods once, no praise attached, and it's exactly what I deserve.

Sterling flips a page. "One more update. Women's support."

My whole body reacts to that before I can stop it, and I know Sterling clocks it, I know Zip does too, and I pretend neither of them did.

"We had an incident this morning," Sterling says. "The contractors on the guttering, one of the women saw a man outside her second-floor window and panicked. I had the work order and didn't pass it over. My fault, no excuses."

"Fix it," Vulture says.

"Already started. Cara made the point that we keep talking about protecting the women without including them in how it works."

Harrier sits back. "She said that to Vulture?"

"She told him no," Zip says, grinning now.

Every head turns toward Vulture, who looks irritated enough that I know it's true. Ice Pick mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like smartest you’ve been all day.

Before I can respond, Vulture raises his voice over the noise around the table. “We’re setting up a regular meeting. Any woman who wants input gets it.”

“Good,” I say, settling back in my chair.

Zip’s head turns sharply in my direction. “That’s it? No argument?”