(LANCE )
The secondary warehouse felt heavier than usual under the low evening lights. No club colors on the walls. No bikes outside. The meeting was strictly off-books — civilian clothes only, everything compliant with the RICO deferred-prosecution terms. My ankle monitor gave its familiar soft chime with every step as I moved through the room, a constant electronic heartbeat marking the boundaries of my new reality.
The air carried the scent of strong coffee, fresh plywood from recent repairs, and the faint metallic tang of tension rolling off the nearly sixty brothers gathered inside. Eliona stood at my side, calm and steady in a simple black top, her hand occasionally brushing mine for reassurance. The faint shadow of her bruise had almost disappeared, but the memory of her hooded an
