Page 66 of Dreadful

Her eyes settle on mine. “Fear, honey.” She taps her nails slowly on the table. “Time comes with it.”

“So what now then?” Cruz asks.

“If not them directly, then their product,” Coco says immediately. “Find out where they're keeping it and burn the whole fucking supply.”

Rafe shakes his head. “We don't know where they're getting it.”

“Then find out,” she says.

“And if it's cartel product?” Bishop asks. “We torch a shipment that belongs to somebody bigger than Crowe, we inherit another fucking problem.”

Coco waves one hand. “Fine. Hit their routes.”

“Same problem,” Rafe says. “Those routes don't exist in a vacuum.”

“Suppliers?” Gage offers.

Cruz snorts. “I'm sure their suppliers will be accommodating to four assholes from Hollow Beach asking politely to stop doing business with the MCs.”

“I never said anything about being polite,” Coco murmurs.

I trace my fingertip through the condensation on my glass while they keep going. Drugs belong to someone before they belong to the MC. Routes overlap. Suppliers have other customers, other alliances, other people who'll take offense if the Calloways start fucking with their money.

Everything they come up with has strings attached to something bigger.

Except—

“What about their bikes?” The question spills out before an idea fully takes place.

The conversation stops. I look up to find everyone staring at me.

“What about them?” Cruz asks.

I sit forward. “They're theirs.”

“Excellent observation, sweetheart,” Bishop says with a scoff.

I ignore him, keeping my gaze on Cruz. “They don’t belong to a cartel or supplier or anyone else. And they’re expensive as fuck. Plus, don’t these guys practically build their entire personalities around their bikes?”

Cruz drags his hand through his hair as he leans back. “Yeah, okay. I can see it.”

Rafe rubs a hand over his jaw. “We'd need to hit enough of them to matter.”

“All of them,” Bishop says, and my gaze snaps to his. He reaches for his drink, eyes staying on me. “If we're going to do it, we do it right. Clubhouses, houses, wherever they keep them. Same night.”

“Jesus.” Gage starts to grin. “Can we set them on fire?”

Cruz turns toward him. “I feel like that's implied.”

The conversation takes off around me, shifting into where the bikes would be, how many they're dealing with, and how they'd hit both clubs before either one had time to warn the other.

It takes me a second to realize they're actually doing it.

Taking my idea apart, turning it over, figuring out how to make it work.

Coco taps one finger against the stem of her glass, and when I glance toward her, she's watching Bishop. Her eyes slide to me a second later before she lifts her drink.

“Motorcycles it is, then,” she says.