Page 34 of Tiny's Testament
“Lattimer?” Tiny asks, flat.
“And a Hellhound cell,” Red answers. “Colors are half-stitched, but I scraped video at a stoplight near San Ysidro. Same low-profile pickup we saw by the burn site. Distinct dent on the front quarter.”
Trigger whistles, humor dead now. “Delivery route to a warehouse or out of state?”
“Or across,” Blayze says, tapping a finger south on the map. “Border run.”
Capone nods once, as if he already made the decision in his mind before we walked down the stairs. “We’re not hitting anything stupid. Recon only. Tiny, you lead. You pick your shadow team. Eyes, ears, no heroics. We confirm movement, mark it, then ghost.”
Tiny’s voice is steady. “South line. Two bikes ahead staggered, two behind. Red runs eyes from base.”
“Take Dagger,” Capone adds. “He knows those roads better than anyone.”
Dagger’s grin is feral and immediate. “Si, jefe.”
“Stop calling me that,” Capone says, not bothering to hide the grin he doesn’t mean to have. “Aftermath, stage the cage with gear on standby. Derange, pull the longer toys. We don’t use ‘em unless we have to, but I want them close. Trigger…”
“Already on cash and comms,” Trigger replies, spinning a roll of tape on his finger. “Also, if anyone touches my gun oil again, I’m switching to decaf just to watch the world burn slower.”
“Decaf’s a war crime,” Torch says, appalled.
“Man drinks decaf, he’s not one of us,” Bones declares solemnly. “We vote him out.”
“Focus,” Capone says, but he’s almost smiling. “We ride in two hours. We ride light.”
The meeting dissolves into the usual controlled chaos of prep. Boots thud. Chairs scrape. The rhythm of a club getting itself sharp.
Tiny lingers, letting the others grab first because he’s the one who’ll double-check every bolt before he mounts up. When his gaze meets mine across the table, there’s a question in it. I nod, answering what he didn’t ask out loud.
I’m not breaking today.
He comes to stand beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat off him, but not touching. The restraint between us feels like its own kind of intimacy.
“You eat?” he asks.
I lift my fork. “Under threat of Daisy, yes.”
“Smart woman.”
“The smartest.” I angle my head. “You okay?”
He opens his mouth, then closes it. “Getting there.”
“Good.” I take a breath I don’t quite have and tell the truth. “I’m staying clean for me.”
His eyes soften like dawn over the lot. “That’s the only way it sticks.”
“And for Peanut,” I add, dead serious. “She needs a stable co-parent.” Peanut, mid-table heist attempt number three, chirps like she approves.
“Traitor,” Tiny tells her, but his hand briefly rests on my shoulder. A steady warmth spreads across my skin, then he’s gone, crossing the room with that slow, deliberate stride that makes other men part without realizing it.
“Hey,” Nadia says, sliding in at my side. “You look… lighter.”
“I feel… less heavy,” I say, and we both accept that as a win.
She follows my gaze to Tiny and covers a smile. “Last time I saw that man smile like that, someone paid off a debt and promised him an engine rebuild.”
“Toast theft,” I say gravely. “Powerful magic.”
