Reid's POV
The silence in the Vultures’ clubhouse was suffocating. Not the kind born of peace, but of dread—the kind where every man present could hear the ticking in Reid’s head, waiting for the moment it all erupted.
Reid leaned over the table, his knuckles white where they pressed into the wood. The maps beneath his fists were ruined now, the edges torn from his sudden fits of rage, glass rings soaking the paper until the ink bled into uselessness. His lips twitched in the semblance of a smile, but the madness behind his eyes made his men shift their weight, not daring to draw his attention.
“Three runs, all burned,” Reid hissed, his voice low, vibrating with suppressed fury. “Two shipments intercepted. And Evan, Marcus, and Roy—dead.” His eyes flicked up, sharp and cutting, like he
