The way Finn stood like he was ready to bolt at any second despite the obvious pain it would cause. "Cannot teach someone who does not want to learn. But if you want it, I can teach you everything." He gestured at the workbench. "Hand me that torque wrench. The one with the red handle."
Finn looked at the array of tools hanging on the pegboard. His eyes scanned the shapes. The sizes. Something in his brain just clicked. Pattern recognition, spatial reasoning.
Whatever it was, he grabbed the correct tool on the first try. Wrench raised an eyebrow. "All right. Now hand me a 3/8-inch drive socket. Ten millimeter."
Again, Finn's eyes found it. Grabbed it. Handed it over without hesitation. Wrench took it. Looked at Magnus.
Something passed between the two men. A silent communication. "Kid has good hands. Natural hands." Wrench turned back to Finn.
"You ever taken anything apart?" "Never anything like this. I used to fix my mom's toaster. And her radio. She could not afford to buy new ones, so I would take them apart and figure out what was broken."
Wrench grunted again, but this time there was something that might have been approval in his eyes. "All right, kid, you heal up. Then you come back here. We'll start with the basics. Oil changes, brake pads, work your way up to engines. You pay attention, work hard, do not lie to me, and I will teach you everything I know."
Finn felt something unfamiliar blooming in his chest. Hope. Purpose. The sense that maybe, just maybe, he had something to offer the world beyond just surviving it. "Thank you."
"Do not thank me yet. I am a hard teacher. You'll be sore frustrated and covered in grease, but you will learn." Magnus put a hand on Finn's shoulder, gentle despite its size.
"Go rest. Doc wants you taking it easy for another week. Then you start." As they walked back toward the main building, Finn felt lighter, like some weight he'd been carrying had been lifted.
Not all of it. The guilt over his mother would probably never fully leave, but some of it. Enough to breathe a little easier. They were halfway across the courtyard when Axel appeared, moving fast.
His scarred face was hard, serious. "We got him," Axel said. Magnus stopped. His entire body language changed from mentor to warlord in the space of a heartbeat.
"He is at the Motel 6 on Highway 99. We have surveillance photos. He met with someone." "Who?"
Axel handed Magnus a phone. On the screen was a photograph taken with a telephoto lens. A man sitting in a car, dark hair slicked back, expensive boots, talking to someone in the passenger seat. Garrett Sloan.
The vice president. And the man he was talking to was someone Finn didn't recognize, but Magnus clearly did. His jaw tightened. His expression turned colder. "That is Dominic Vaughn, Vegas Syndicate."
Magnus handed the phone back. His voice dropped to a lethal whisper. "Bring him in. Quietly. Do not make a scene. Just bring him to church."
Finn didn't fully understand what he was witnessing, but he understood enough. Someone had betrayed the club. Someone close. Someone trusted. And Magnus Blackwell was about to deliver justice.
Church in the Hells Angels world meant the chapel. The sacred space where only patch members were allowed. Where votes were taken. Where decisions that affected the entire club were made. Finn wasn't allowed inside, but he watched from the hallway through a small window in the door as two dozen senior members filed in.
Grim. Silent. This wasn't a normal meeting. This was a trial. Garrett Sloan was brought in by Axel and three other massive angels.
His hands weren't bound, but he knew. You could see it in his face. The panic. The desperation. The knowledge that his life was about to change forever.
Magnus sat at the head of the table. President. Judge. Executioner. Garrett tried to speak.
Magnus held up one hand. Silence. Axel laid out the evidence. Phone records. Wire transfers.
Security footage. Bank statements showing $500,000 appearing in an offshore account under Garrett's name two days before the attack on Cass. The money had come from Vegas. From Dominic Vaughn. Payment for information.
Payment for access. Payment for betrayal. Garrett's defense crumbled fast. He tried to justify it. Tried to claim the club was going soft.
That legitimacy was killing what they were. That he was trying to preserve the outlaw spirit. Magnus listened without expression. When Garrett finally ran out of words, Magnus spoke.
"You sold out my wife for money. You put a target on her back. You gave professional killers her location, her route, her timing. You did that." His voice was quiet and controlled, which made it more unsettling than if he had shouted. "We are not criminals pretending to be a club, Garrett."
"We're a brotherhood first."