Jax’s POV
The police station smelled like coffee and fear. Same as always. I sat in a hard chair, across a metal table, two detectives staring at me like I was a bug under glass. Detective Morrison, old school, gray hair, tired eyes. Detective Chen, younger, sharper, taking notes.
"The explosion at your compound," Morrison said. "Tell us about it."
"What about it?"
"Don't play dumb, Slater. Your clubhouse gets blown up, eight of your men end up in the morgue, and you expect us to believe you know nothing?"
I leaned back. Kept my face calm. "I know my home got hit. I know my brothers died. I don't know who did it."
"Gang violence," Chen said. "That's what we think. Some rival club sending a message."
"You think what you want."
Morrison leaned forward. "Nevada law is clear on this,
