Bishop was lean, quiet, and always watching. He had been a mechanic, a locksmith, and half a dozen other things before the club, and nobody in the chapter knew exactly which of his old skills were legal. He crouched down slightly so he was closer to Mason’s height.
“Guilty of what?”
Mason looked at Lily.
Lily tightened her hand around his shoulder.
“The stolen clinic money,” she said. “The missing supply truck. The fire at the warehouse. All of it.”
The words fell into the snow-heavy silence.
Bear glanced at Bishop.
Bishop’s jaw moved once.
For three weeks, local news had been full of stories about a missing donation truck loaded with medical supplies, winter coats, blankets, and food intended for low-income clinics and shelter kitchens across the city. A warehouse tied to the same charity network had burned two nights later. Officials blamed unknown criminal elements, and some news stations hinted that biker groups had been seen near the area.
Bear had ignored it at first.
People blamed bikers for bad weather if it suited them.
But now two homeless children stood in the road with frozen hands and details they should not have known.
Lily pointed toward the overpass.
“We heard them talking under the bridge. They don’t know we sleep there. They said your ride would come through after nine because you always take Route 19 back from the toy run. They said people would believe it because of the patches.”
Diesel cursed under his breath.
Bear lifted one hand without looking back.
Diesel went quiet.
“How many men?” Bear asked.
“Six at the bridge,” Lily said. “Maybe more in the warehouse yard.”