Chapter 3

Helena Austin POV:

The paper in my hands rustled against the tense silence of the clubhouse.

Hubbard stared at the two contracts, his weathered jaw clenching so hard the veins in his neck bulged against his leather Cut.

Up in the VIP booth, the heavy gaze continued to bore into the back of my neck, making the fine hairs on my arms stand up. I ignored the predator in the shadows and kept my eyes glued to the old warlord standing in front of me.

"Where the hell did you get those papers?" Hubbard growled, taking a heavy step forward, using his massive height to tower over me.

"You recognize your own signature, don't you?" I sneered, flicking the documents so they landed right at the tip of his iron cane. "The copy you filed with the Alliance claims my logistics network will remain an independent trust under my name. But this private contract you tried to slip into my folder transfers full ownership of every truck, warehouse, and fuel depot directly into the Harrington MC general fund."

Murmurs rippled through the gathered bikers.

Even among outlaw clubs, stealing a woman's inheritance before she was officially claimed violated the oldest rules of the Alliance.

Calhoun, clutching his bleeding mouth, limped over and looked down at the pages on the floor. His eyes widened in genuine confusion. "Wait... Dad, this isn't what we agreed on. You said we were only managing half the fleet..."

"Shut your damn mouth!" Hubbard roared, kicking Calhoun hard in the shin.

Calhoun let out a sharp cry and dropped to one knee on the floorboards.

Hubbard turned back to me, the fury in his eyes giving way to a chilling, murderous malice. "You're a clever little girl, Helena. But out on the asphalt, clever people tend to end up under the wheels of an eighteen-wheeler."

He raised his hand. The twelve Enforcers surrounding me raised their weapons, the black muzzles pointing directly at my chest and head.

"You're going to execute me?" I countered, twirling my skull ring. "In your own clubhouse? Half an hour before the Alliance Arbitrators arrive for their scheduled territory inspection?"

Hubbard's lips pulled back in a cruel, yellowed grin. "Execute you? No. You're our honored guest."

He pointed the tip of his cane at the trampled patch on the floor.

"Pick it up. Wear it. Once you're Calhoun's claimed Old Lady, everything that happens inside these four walls is club business. The Alliance doesn't interfere with internal club discipline."

The memory of the dark basement and the chains flashed across my mind. The bile rose in my throat, hot and bitter.

"And if I say no?" I tilted my chin up, meeting his dead eyes.

"Then I break both your legs," Hubbard whispered, his voice thick with the smell of stale tobacco. "And I lock you in the back of the repair shop in an iron cage until your hand learns how to sign your name."

He lunged forward.

Before I could draw the small blade hidden in my boot, his massive, calloused hand clamped around my throat like an iron vise.

He lifted me clean off my feet, slamming my spine against the wooden support pillar behind me.

My airway closed instantly.

Black spots danced across my vision. I dug my fingernails into his wrist, kicking my boots against his heavy thighs, but his grip was like solid steel.

"You belong to this club now, little girl," Hubbard spat into my face.

My hand slipped down toward the hem of my right boot, my fingers brushing the grip of the micro-taser concealed in the leather lining.

Just as my vision began to darken, a piercing siren split the night air outside.

The siren wasn't alone.

It was instantly swallowed by the synchronized, thunderous roar of over thirty heavy custom Harley-Davidsons tearing down the driveway. The shockwave of the exhaust pipes rattled the clubhouse walls and vibrated through the floorboards beneath our feet.

Hubbard flinched, his grip loosening just enough for air to rush back into my lungs.

I didn't waste a second.

I drove the steel toe of my combat boot straight into his left knee.

Hubbard let out a muffled grunt of pain, his grip breaking as he stumbled back a step.

I dropped to my feet, coughing violently and clutching my bruised throat as I sucked in the stale, smoky air.

The heavy iron front doors shook under three massive, rhythmic pounds.

"Prez!" a Prospect shouted, tumbling through the side entrance in a panic. "It's the Alliance Arbitrators! Hayes brought the whole enforcer convoy! They're thirty minutes early!"

Hubbard spat a curse, quickly smoothing down the front of his leather vest and adjusting his posture to look composed.

"Lower the guns," Hubbard hissed at his men. "Now!"

The iron double doors were thrown open with a violent metallic bang.

Six towering men in charcoal-grey leather Cuts entered the room. Stitched across their chests was the single, universally feared rocker: Arbitrator.

Leading the pack was Arthur Hayes, the Alliance's senior enforcer. His silver-streaked hair and cold, calculating gaze scanned the chaotic room, instantly taking in the drawn weapons, the blood on the floor, and the trampled patch.

"Looks like we interrupted a family meeting, President Gardner," Arthur said, his voice ringing like cold iron. "Or did we arrive right on time?"

Hubbard forced a tight, oily smile onto his face, stepping forward with an open hand. "Brother Arthur. Just a minor misunderstanding between the kids. Nothing we can't handle."

I took a deep breath, straightened my back, and walked right past Hubbard.

"It's not a misunderstanding, Arbitrator Hayes," I said, my voice raspy from the chokehold but perfectly steady. "It's an armed robbery."

I picked up the dual contracts from the floor and thrust them directly into Arthur's hands.