The warrants changed everything immediately. Devil’s Hollow stopped acting like a motorcycle club and started acting like ghosts.
By sunrise the clubhouse stood nearly empty as weapons disappeared into hidden caches, money moved through trusted hands and paperwork burning inside steel barrels behind the garage. And motorcycles scattered across three counties instead of sitting together in one parking lot.
Nobody wanted the federal government finding anything useful ot wanted to become to next arrest.
Roman stood in church with a map spread across the table while every remaining member gathered around him.
“We split up. Safehouse One takes patched members. Safehouse Two takes prospects and families rotate every forty eight hours.” Roman explained as he pointed toward different locati
