Jax’s POV
The carnival tip came in at midnight. A bartender at The Rusty Nail heard two guys talking, mentioned an old man matching Frank's description near the old rail yard. By morning, I had every contact in the city working.
That's the thing about running a club like the Reapers. You build a network. Mechanics who hear things when they fix cars. Bartenders who catch whispers over drinks. Hackers who can pull camera footage faster than the cops. Street kids who know every corner of every neighborhood.
We had eyes everywhere.
"Rail yard's clean," Grizz reported after checking it out. "No sign of him."
"Keep looking," I said. "He's here somewhere. We find him before he finds us."
The men scattered. Phones rang. Bikes roared out of the compound.
Everyone except Tyler.
He stood by
