Chapter 22

Ethan's world had been reduced to the cold, stark confines of a holding cell. In the silent, solitary space, he had no indication of the passage of time, and nothing to distract him from his spiraling thoughts. The relentless hum of the precinct lights grated against his nerves. Each buzz reverberated with the weight of the allegations, his worries, and his fear for Hunter's safety and wellbeing. He shifted on the unforgiving metal seat. When the interrogating officers left him, they didn't remove the cuffs, despite his lawyer's protests.

When Mr. Schaffer left, he promised to arrange bail and be in touch.

Ethan's nose itched, but when he tried to scratch, he was hampered by the chafing presence of the metal cuffs.

The door clanked open, and Dani stepped in. Her face was unreadable. Without her usual fumbling, she moved forward. Her steps echoed on the concrete floor. She held a folder clutched tightly under her arm. "The lawyer got your bail set up," she announced without preamble as she dropped the folder onto the table and released the handcuffs. "But you have house arrest, Ethan. They're taking this seriously."

Ethan's heart sank further, the words settling like a stone in his stomach. He rose slower than his arthritis-riddled grandpa had done in his final years. His movements were stiff from hours of confinement.

As they walked through the winding corridors of the precinct, every eye seemed to bore into him, each glance a silent accusation. His colleagues' stares mixed curiosity with judgment, the air thick with unspoken questions and whispered rumors. Ethan kept his gaze fixed forward, focusing on the exit.

Ethan followed Dani. His release papers crinkled in his grip. As they approached the booking counter, a burly officer motioned for Ethan to sit at a small, bare table.

The officer laid out an electronic ankle monitor. "Left or right ankle?" he asked, his voice devoid of warmth. Ethan extended his left leg, surprised by the weight as the officer secured the device around his ankle.

"Keep within the geo-fence, check in with your case officer twice a day," the officer instructed, reciting the conditions like a well-rehearsed script.

Ethan nodded. The reality sank in with each word, tightening like the band around his ankle.

Dani stood by silently. As they exited through the heavy doors of the precinct, the sunlight glared down on him

"Hunter is here." She gestured to the man waiting by the car. His expression was grim, but his eyes softened as he saw Ethan. Without a word, he stepped forward and pulled Ethan into fierce hug. "Let's get you home," Hunter murmured, steering him gently toward the passenger side.

The drive to Ethan's house was tense and silent. Hunter's jaw was set, his hands tight on the wheel, while Ethan kept turning his head, checking the rearview mirror as if expecting to be followed.

As they pulled into the driveway of Ethan's apartment building, the tension from the drive seemed to linger in the air like a thick fog. They sat in the car for a moment longer than necessary, neither man eager to break the silence that had settled between them. Hunter killed the engine. The abrupt cessation of the car's hum almost physical.

With a heavy sigh, Hunter turned to face Ethan.

His gaze was intense and his brows furrowed in concern, as his eyes locked onto Ethan's with unwavering attention. He opened his mouth to speak, hesitated as if weighing his words carefully, then pressed on with a voice steady and firm. "I've got to head back to the club." His jaw was set in a clear line of determination.

Hunter's posture was rigid, every muscle seeming to brace for the burden of the conversation.

Ethan nodded, understanding the call of duty that tugged at Hunter, yet feeling a twinge of abandonment at the thought of facing what awaited him alone.

They both got out of the car.

Ethan watched Hunter grab his leather jacket from the back seat. "Got a situation at the club. Brick called ‘church'," Hunter explained as he slipped into the jacket.

"Church?" Ethan's brow furrowed. "I didn't know you were religious."

Hunter almost stumbled before he started laughing. "Church means a serious meeting for our members."

Ethan's face heated. "I didn't know."

"Of course you didn't."

"But wait. You've got a situation ? Can I help?" The words were fueled by concern and the need to do something more than just wait.

"No, you can't. It's club business." Hunter's smile was gentle, apologetic, as he adjusted the collar of his jacket. Reaching over, Hunter's rough hand was gentle as it clasped Ethan's. "Sort things out here," he urged, giving Ethan's hand a reassuring squeeze. "Your lawyer will be here soon, and you need to be ready."

Before Ethan could reply, Hunter pulled him closer. The kiss they shared was fierce, a brief escape from the constraints that now defined Ethan's world. Then, with a last look that seemed to carry all the words they couldn't say, Hunter turned and walked toward his parked bike, his boots thumping solidly against the concrete.

Hunter swung his leg over his bike and peered over his shoulder, before revving his engine. The Harley roared to life.

Ethan watched him go, the figure of the man he relied on receding into the distance, leaving him to gather his strength and prepare for the legal battle ahead.

As Hunter drove away, his heart waged a silent war against his mind. Emotionally torn, his heart ached to stay by Ethan's side, offering support and comfort, but his rational side, his loyalty to the club, demanded he attend to pressing matters that couldn't wait. His hands gripped the handlebars tighter, as the road ahead blurred with the speed of his bike.

Memories of the past few hours replayed in rapid succession, like a movie on fast forward. The adrenaline of the chase, the shock of discovery, and the cold realization of betrayal had thrown his world into disarray. He recalled the moment they showed Brick the evidence of treachery. The club president's face, usually so composed, twisted with the same anger and resentment that churned in Hunter's gut.

Now alone, with only the hum of the engine and the wind as his companions, Hunter's resolve hardened. The betrayal would not go unanswered. They would clean house, rooting out the rot that had set within their ranks. Once the club was set straight, his next focus would be well defined. They would clear Ethan's name and dismantle the trafficking ring that had brought them all so much pain.

He glanced down briefly, noticing the speedometer needle pushing dangerously high. With a deep breath, he eased off the accelerator, bringing the bike back under control. His shoulders relaxed slightly as he made a conscious effort to calm the storm inside. The road stretched out before him. It would be tough, possibly the toughest challenge he'd ever face, but Hunter was ready. With each mile he put between himself and the city, a plan began to form, a strategy to protect what mattered most – Ethan, his club, and justice.

Hunter rolled into the clubhouse parking lot, the gravel crunching under his tires as he eased his bike into an empty spot among rows of gleaming motorcycles. The usually vibrant atmosphere was conspicuously absent tonight; instead, a heavy silence hung in the air like a dense fog.

As he swung his leg over the bike and removed his helmet, the somber mood of the place settled deeper into his bones. He stepped through the side door, the familiar creak of the hinges sounding louder in the quiet.

Inside, the clubhouse was subdued. Instead of its usual laughter and raucous jokes, the bar area was bright and nearly silent. Rex stood behind the bar; his usual easy grin replaced by a somber, tight-lipped expression. He lifted a bottle in silent question, but Hunter just shook his head. His mind was too cluttered for the numbing comfort of alcohol.

From the back room, Brick's impatient and harsh voice cut through the murk. "Come on, you fuckers, I don't have all day." His call to gather wasn't met with the usual shuffle of feet but a resigned turning of heads toward the sound and heavy sighs.

Hunter's gaze swept the room, noting the cluster of club members. TJ and Max whispered in the corner, their heads bowed close together, speaking in tones too low to carry. Around the room, others sat isolated or in small groups, not a single laugh or shout to be heard.

Hunter noted that Slate hadn't yet arrived. He pulled out his phone to check the time—almost 8 pm. As the club's Sergeant at Arms, Slate's tardiness was unusual and did nothing to ease his tension. Hunter pocketed his phone with a frown.

The heavy air in the clubhouse thickened as Brick stood up, signaling the start of their meeting. His face was like an iron mask as he gestured toward Rex, who was setting up a video on the big screen. The room fell into a tense silence, every eye locked on the images that began to play.

As the footage unfolded, revealing irrefutable evidence of betrayal, a collective gasp sucked the air from the room. As the reality of what they were seeing sank in, the room erupted.

TJ sprang from his seat, his voice like the sharp crack of a whip. "What the fuck?" he barked.

Angry shouts cascaded through the clubhouse, chairs scraping against the floor and boots thudding heavily as men stood in disbelief.

Max moved closer to the screen, as if proximity could change the facts laid bare before them.

Brick's voice cut through the chaos. "For fuck's sake, settle down!" he bellowed.

Although the tumult subsided, a low murmur of dismay continued to ripple through the group.

As the room regained some order, Hunter pulled out his phone. Tapping on the screen, he tried to track down Slate, only to find his efforts thwarted. Slate's phone was off, his whereabouts unknown, and the sinking realization that he had deliberately disappeared was like a cold weight in Hunter's stomach.

"Why would Slate do this to us?" Max, one of the newer members, muttered, his voice laden with a mix of anger and disbelief.

The question hung in the air and remained unanswered.