Dutch made his move on a Friday, and it had nothing to do with Ellie.
Or so Rafe told himself when Cord brought him the news: the Road Kings had absorbed two independent operators on the east side of Route 9, quietly, over two weeks. No violence, no drama — just money changing hands and two men who used to be neutral now wearing Road Kings patches.
It was a play. A slow one. Dutch was old school — he didn't rush, didn't rattle, he simply accumulated until the weight of what he'd accumulated became its own argument.
Rafe called a church — the Saints' term for a full club meeting — for Saturday morning. Twelve men around the table in the back room of the Devil's Spoke. He laid out what they knew. He watched his men's faces.
"We hit back. Marco said. He was twenty-four and still believed
