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Dixon sits on the other side of the desk, rubbing his temples like he’s trying to stave off a migraine.
Dixon grumbles, his eyes heavy and tired. “Yeah, it’s a problem.”
“Problem? I wish it was a fucking problem. This is a goddamn disaster.” Damon punches the air with frustration. “We need to move forward with whatever we’re going to do. We can’t keep sitting on our asses.”
“Agreed,” Dixon finally sighs, dropping his hands to the desk. “Call church. We need to discuss this with the rest of the officers and full patches.”
I shift my weight, making sure they don’t see me.
This isn’t meant for prospects’ ears, but hell if I’m not curious.
The tension between them is thick enough to cut with a knife, and whatever is going on with the brothels, it’s bound to come back and bite us all.
I slip out quietly, heading down the hall before they notice me.
My mind races with fragments of what I just heard.
Forty percent.
That’s not a small dip—that’s catastrophic.
And if Damon’s losing his shit over it, then it’s more than just numbers on a balance sheet.
I step outside into the cooler Halloween air, trying to shake off the unease settling in my gut.
The decorations are up—thanks to the ol’ ladies—and for a second, I let myself get lost in the sight of inflatable ghosts and pumpkins swaying in the breeze.
It’s better than thinking about the storm brewing inside.
Sakura, Kat, and Camila are nearby, wrestling with another inflatable.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, already knowing what it’s about.
"All full patches and officers report to church in 1 hour."
The words on the screen confirm it.
Church is called. So, shit’s getting even more serious.
Prospects like me don’t get a seat at that table, but we’re not left in the dark for long.
They’ll fill us in soon enough, but we’ll have limited information compared to everyone else.
Until we’re sitting at that table, everything is on a need to know basis.
The ladies continue to struggle with the inflatable, so I head over.
I shove my phone back into my pocket. “Need a hand?”
“That’d be amazing,” Camila says, barely looking up from her task.
She’s focused and determined—like she always is.
I join them, grabbing stakes and helping secure the inflatables into the ground.
It’s a good distraction, grounding me in the present instead of letting my mind run wild with what might be going down inside.
Sakura steps back, admiring their work, her face lighting up with a satisfied smile.
