The dimly lit room was filled with the low murmur of conversation. Smoke curled lazily toward the ceiling as the group sat around the large oak table, their faces barely illuminated by the soft glow of the chandelier above. At the head of the table, the man who truly ran Hell's Angels observed the discussion with quiet intensity, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrest of his chair. He listened carefully, the details flowing in from his associates like pieces of a puzzle he had been assembling for years.

"She's asking questions," one of the men said, his voice barely audible. "Mae. She's starting to dig deeper into things."

The man at the head of the table nodded slightly, a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "That was always going to happen," he said, his voice low and calm. "She's curious. But curiosity can be a useful tool."

Another associate, a grizzled man with years of experience under his belt, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "What if she starts to uncover too much? The connections between us... if she follows the trail—"

"She won't," the man cut in smoothly, his tone dismissive. "She'll find exactly what we want her to find. Nothing more."

There was a murmur of agreement around the table, but tension still lingered in the air. They all knew that Mae wasn't like the other performers. She had a history, a story they had carefully woven into the tapestry of Hell's Angels. And now, she was beginning to pull at the threads, unaware that the more she tugged, the tighter the knot would become.

One of the newer associates, still unfamiliar with the unspoken rules of the table, hesitated before speaking. "She's been seen with that priest... Father Charlie. They've been talking a lot lately."

The mention of the priest sparked a flicker of something in the man's eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table as he considered the information. "And what of it?" he asked, his voice devoid of emotion.

The younger man shifted in his seat, unsure of how to respond. "It's just... if they're close, and if he starts to ask questions, too—"

"He won't," the man interrupted, his voice cold and final. "Father Charlie is irrelevant. Focus on Mae. She's the one who matters."

The others around the table exchanged glances, but no one dared to challenge the man's authority. He had built Hell's Angels from the ground up, turning it into a powerhouse that stretched far beyond the glittering lights of the club. His control was absolute, and no one in the room doubted his ability to keep it that way.

"She's useful to us," the man continued, his tone softening slightly. "For now. Let her continue to ask her questions. Let her think she's uncovering something. But remember, she's not running the show. We are."

The associates nodded in agreement, though the tension still hummed beneath the surface. They knew that their power extended far beyond the walls of Hell's Angels, but Mae's increasing curiosity was a wild card—one that needed to be handled carefully.

"And if she tries to leave?" one of the older men asked quietly, breaking the silence.

The man at the head of the table paused for a moment, his expression unreadable. "She won't."

The silence in the room deepened, the unspoken threat hanging in the air. Everyone present knew what that meant. No one left Hell's Angels without paying a price. Not Mae. Not anyone.

"She still thinks she's in control," the man said softly, his eyes narrowing. "But the truth is, she's been walking the path we've laid out for her from the beginning. She's exactly where we need her to be."

Another brief murmur of agreement rippled through the room, but the man remained focused, his mind already moving several steps ahead. Mae was important to the operation, yes—but only for as long as she remained useful. If she became a liability, if she started to dig too deep or stray too far from the course they had set for her, she would be dealt with. Just like all the others before her.

One of the men at the table shifted, clearing his throat before speaking again. "What about Father Charlie? He seems to be getting more involved."

For the first time, the man's expression shifted, a faint flicker of amusement crossing his face. "Father Charlie has his own role to play. But that's something we'll deal with when the time comes. Right now, our focus remains on Mae."

The associates nodded once more, and the man leaned back in his chair, his eyes glinting in the low light. Mae had no idea how deep she was in, no idea how carefully her every move was being watched. She thought she was making her own choices, thought she was on the verge of discovering something about the club and its true nature.

But in reality, every step she took was leading her exactly where he wanted her to go.

"We let her keep moving forward," the man said finally, his voice low and calm. "But if she steps out of line... we'll handle it."

The meeting began to wind down, the associates rising from their seats one by one. As they left the room, the man remained seated, his mind still focused on Mae and the delicate game they were playing. He had waited a long time for this moment, had planned every detail with precision. And now, with Mae growing closer to the truth, the game was about to reach its climax.

But no matter what she thought she had uncovered, no matter how far she thought she had come, Mae was still just a pawn in a much larger game.

And when the time came, she would learn just how tightly the strings had been pulled around her.

The man stood, his eyes scanning the city skyline through the large window. He could almost feel the pieces falling into place, the web tightening around Mae as she unknowingly moved closer to the center.

She wouldn't be able to escape. Not this time.