“How many?” Peyton asked softly.
“Ten,” Ironside replied as he coasted to a stop at the bar and poured himself a drink.
In the month since the Knights had walked into the trap at BKS, the two clubs had mauled each other repeatedly. It had been almost ten weeks since Peyton walked into his life, and it had been by far the bloodiest ten weeks in club history.
Two weeks prior, Whiteshirt and Ironside had been attacked in their homes on the same night. Ironside and Peyton had been making love at the time of the attack, and the dozen or so shots breaking the bedroom windows had scared Peyton badly. Nobody had been killed or injured in the drive-by shootings, but that had removed the gloves on the war. The Knights had hit back, arriving late one night and breaking into Andrew’s home in an attempt to kill him while he slept. He hadn’t been home, but they had left their calling card in the form of smashed furniture and destroyed walls. There had been no more attacks after that, until today.
The Saracens’ mole was dug in deep, and despite several efforts, the club hadn’t been able to uncover who it was. The only thing they knew for sure was it was one of the club girls or old ladies. The women were in constant turmoil, backstabbing and fighting among themselves, and had split into two camps, those who thought Peyton was the mole for the Saracens, led by Honey, and a group who had accepted her as Ironside’s squeeze, soon to be old lady, and an asset to the club.
Ironside had just arrived back from the BKS. The test was only supposed to last a couple of hours, and when there was no word long after the shoot should have completed, and nobody was answering their phones, Ironside and ten brothers had ridden to the studio to investigate.
When they arrived, Ironside had been horrified at what they found. The mole had leaked they were shooting some trial footage, and while there was no proof who had performed the hit, there was little doubt it was the Saracens that had arrived and killed the three brothers on security, the production crew, and the two actors.
“Do you know how they got in?”
“No. They either left the door unlocked or the Saracens had a key. There were no signs of forced entry. It looked like they just walked in, gunned everyone down, and smashed the place up again. Michelle and Rick were still in the bed, and from the way it looked and the position they were in, I would guess they were actually fucking when it went down. Damnit!”
Peyton grimaced in sympathy. She could understand how that could happen. Ironside had given her a tour of Black Knight Studios. The converted warehouse was a warren of rooms with moveable walls and overhead lights and camera rigs that would allow the Knights to shoot all manner of videos. They were still repairing some of the sets, but they had several different bedroom and living room sets, a bathroom with a working shower, a cave, a dungeon with jail cells, a jungle that included a stream and plastic plants, a beach complete with sand, water and waves, and an office. The warehouse also contained the rooms they used to edit the raw video and housed the servers they were going to use to host their videos on the web. It would be easy to sneak up on someone because there were plenty of walls and doors to hide behind, and none of the windows were actually windows, but frames for various backlit scene panels that could change the sets from a cabin in the woods to a high-rise in Manhattan.
“What are you going to do?”
“Change the locks, first. After that? I don’t know. We’re at a severe disadvantage here. They seem to know every move we make, and hitting back hasn’t deterred them at all. If anything, it’s only made them bolder. They killed seven civilians today. Seven! We can replace the equipment, but when word gets out we’re not going to be able to hire anyone because everyone will be afraid it could happen to them.”
“Which is why they did it,” Peyton pointed out.
“Yeah, probably. This has to stop. I don’t know how many men the Saracens have lost, but we’ve lost twenty-three, almost half our brothers.”
She leaned in to comfort him, taking him into her arms. He had been feeling the weight of his office and she felt helpless. Despite her efforts, she hadn’t been able to find the mole. Even Honey, the bitch she was, had checked out, and that had pissed her off most of all. She had been so sure it was Honey, and deep down she still suspected her, but she had intentionally let slip a juicy bit of information she knew would get back to her. Not only did the Saracens not go for it, they went in a different direction entirely and followed the real information.
The only saving grace was the Knights were mostly a legal operation and didn’t have cargo that could be intercepted, unlike the Saracens. That made it harder for them to fuck the Knights, but when they did, it usually involved blood, like today.
“I know it’s hard, Baby, but you’ll get through it. We’ll get through it together.”
He snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her in snuggly, smiling as she bent to give him a quick kiss. Just having her near, knowing she was there for him, made him feel like he could handle any problem or bear any load.
“We’ve got to find this mole. Losing the equipment is one thing, but the killing…that’s something else. We’re starting to lose key people in our bars and clubs over this.”
“I wish I could help. I’ve tried, but just when I think I get a line on someone, something happens that removes her from the list. Every single woman had an alibi for at least one piece of information that got passed.”
“I know. Whiteshirt and I have tried, too, but we can’t get anywhere either.”
***
“This can’t go on,” Ironside said later as he and Whiteshirt sat in kirche, the room feeling empty without Dolch’s presence. It was late in the day and the only four people left in the clubhouse were Ironside and Whiteshirt, and their two women.
“How do you suggest we stop it?”
“I want to make another play to ferret out the mole.”
“How?”
“We’ve been spreading false information around using brothers, trying to track it back to one person, and it’s gotten us nowhere. The Saracens either didn’t move on it at all or they saw through it and ambushed us. I want to try to eliminate half the club in one shot. I want you to plant a rumor with Honey that we’ve figured out the mole is one of Peyton’s supporters, and I’ll plant the same rumor with Peyton, only that the mole is in Honey’s camp. Same rumor, with big bait, so big the Saracens won’t dare not move on it.”
“What’s the bait?”
“That we’re going to go all in on wiping them out. The hit today is the perfect excuse for it. I want us to mention we are moving back into guns, and we are bringing in heavy weapons. A couple cases of full autos and a fifty-cal. Once we get those, we’re going to hit them head on and try to take them out in one massive punch. The only difference is you’ll tell Honey they’re coming in by truck, I’ll do the same with Peyton, but by boat.”
“I don’t understand how this will help.”
“It may go nowhere, but I’m hoping telling Peyton the spy is somebody on Honey’s side will loosen her tongue a little with the girls she trusts. Same with Honey. Even if they don’t give any details, only that we’re planning a major hit, it may flush someone out. If someone gets a little too nosy we’ll at least have a fresh lead to follow.”
Whiteshirt thought about it a moment. “It might work. We’ll have to sell it, though. What’s your timeframe?”
Ironside grimaced. “Two weeks? I’m kind of making this up as I go. I just thought of this on the way back from the studio.”
“Sounds reasonable. Long enough for the news to get to the Saracens, if it’s going to, but not so long that they can spend a lot of time trying to ferret out if it’s the truth or not.”
Ironside nodded. “I think it’s important we keep this between the two of us. No brothers…so they can’t muddle the message. We start with Peyton and Honey and see where the information goes.”
“And if they keep it to themselves?”
Ironside shrugged. “Then we’re no worse off than we are now, but we have to try something. We can’t keep going like this. Eventually we’ll bleed each other so badly neither club will survive.”
“You think it might be Peyton?”
“No, but I’m not going to rule her out. I’m not ruling anyone out. I think we need to start over fresh.”
“I don’t think it’s Honey either, but you’re right. We need a fresh start, and I think we need to keep the leak minimal. Truck, or boat, and heavy weapons to hit the Saracens. If they learn too much, they’ll see it as a trap.”
“Agreed. We need to tell them at the same time, more or less. Tonight?”
Whiteshirt nodded. “Tonight. If this doesn’t work, do you have any other ideas?”
Ironside shook his head. “Only maybe try again to see if we can get a bite. After that? Isolate the girls until this is over? What about you?”
Whiteshirt snorted. “I’ve given it my best shot. I don’t know who the hell it might be.” He paused a moment. “I don’t like the idea of pushing the women out. That’s going to cause a lot of pissing and moaning if we cut off the pussy, but we may not have any choice. You ready to stop talking to Peyton?”
“If I have to.”
“She’ll think you don’t trust her anymore, and that will piss her off.”
Ironside grinned. “Yes it will, but she’ll have to get over it. What about Honey?”
Whiteshirt grinned in return. “About the same.”
They sat in silence a moment, each trying to think if they had anything to add. “You ready to go?” Whiteshirt finally asked.
“Yeah. We should probably get out there to make sure those two aren’t tearing the place apart.”
Whiteshirt chuckled. Even though Peyton and Honey hadn’t locked up since the pit, it was clear to everyone they couldn’t stand each other. “Good idea.”
They rose and stepped out of kirche, both men looking to the other then breaking into low chuckles. Peyton and Honey were sitting on opposite sides of the room, as far apart as possible, studiously ignoring each other. When this was over, they were going to have to find a way to have Peyton and Honey resolve their dislike of each other. Having the old ladies of the President and Vice President at each other’s throat all the time was bad for the club.