He walked to the door, turned back to Arthur, and pointed a stern finger. “You don't leave this room. Tiny is going to stand right outside this door. You stay quiet. I’m going hunting.”
Bear unlocked the door and stepped out into the hallway. Tiny was standing exactly where Bear had left him, arms crossed like a marble statue.
“Nobody goes in,” Bear told Tiny. “And I mean nobody.”
Tiny gave a single, slow nod.
Bear walked out into the main garage. The mechanics were busy grinding metal and wrenching on engine blocks, the loud whine of power tools echoing off the high tin roof. Jax was in the far bay, furiously wiping down the chrome pipes on Bear’s Harley.
Bear kept his face relaxed, walking straight past Jax toward the employee locker room in the back.
“Looking good, Jax,” Bear called out casually.
Jax looked up, a tight, artificial smile stretching across his face. “Yeah, boss. Getting the road dirt off.”
Bear pushed through the swinging doors into the locker room. It was empty. The scent of sweat, leather, and cheap deodorant hung in the stagnant air. Bear walked straight to Jax’s locker.
It had a heavy master padlock on it. Bear didn't hesitate. He walked over to the shop's heavy tool chest, grabbed a pair of thirty-inch bolt cutters, and returned to the locker. With one massive squeeze of his thick arms, the lock shattered.
Bear swung the metal door open.
Inside hung Jax’s spare leather cut, a pair of boots, and a duffel bag. Bear pulled the bag out, unzipped it, and began carefully dumping the contents onto the wooden bench. Clothes. Ammo. A spare knife.
And at the bottom, wrapped in a plastic grocery bag, a thick stack of pristine hundred-dollar bills secured with a bank band. Beside the money was a small black burner phone.
Bear picked up the phone. He pressed the power button.
No passcode. Jax wasn't smart enough to encrypt his betrayals.
Bear opened the messages. There was only one number saved. The messages were blunt and undeniable.
1:14 AM: The package is secure. He rides out at 7 PM.
1:16 AM: Excellent. The task force is ready. You will have the gavel by midnight.
3:00 AM: Payment received. The club is yours after he drops.
Bear’s chest tightened, a deep, primal rage burning behind his ribs. It wasn't just a setup. Jax was being paid to betray him. The money in the bag was his down payment for selling out twenty years of brotherhood.
Bear took a slow, deep breath, reigning in the fury that wanted to tear the locker room apart.
He took out his own phone and took clear photographs of the messages, the burner phone, and the stack of federal cash. He carefully placed the phone and the money back into the duffel bag, zipped it, and shoved it back into the locker. He pushed the locker door shut, hiding the broken padlock behind the latch so it looked undisturbed from a distance.
He wasn't going to fight Jax in a dirty locker room. A traitor didn't deserve a private beating. A traitor who tried to poison the club needed to be exposed in front of the entire family.