“That isn’t --” Mercer tried to push himself upright, gasped, and dropped back.“You don’t understand.She’s my fiancée.She ran away and he… he interfered…”
“Ms.Robbins is not engaged to you,” Monroe replied.“She is not your fiancée.Never was.”He gestured, and two officers moved forward carrying medical supplies and cuffs.“You stand under arrest for kidnapping, assault, unlawful discharge of a firearm, abuse of authority, plus a list of companion charges we can finalize after medical staff stabilizes you.”
The officers went to work.One pressed bandages against the wound, another locked a cuff around Mercer’s free wrist.Mercer fought the words more than the hands on his body.“My uncle… Captain Mercer… he will fix this… you’re making a mistake…”
“I don’t think so.Your uncle has lost his badge for now.”Monroe spoke without a hint of sympathy.“Suspension during an investigation into his involvement in the earlier complaints against you.No family shield.No last-minute favors.Your streak ends tonight.”
They read Mercer his rights while paramedics worked on him, voices smooth from habit.His protests broke apart fast, then died completely as pain and shock tightened their hold.By the time they placed him on a stretcher, he’d fixed his gaze on the rafters, unwilling to look at a single person in the room.
Monroe faced Marci and me, expression easing only slightly.“Ms.Robbins, I need a full statement.Mr.Ardis, one from you as well.Medical care can happen first if either of you require it.”
“I can wait.She took the brunt here.He held her for hours before I arrived.”
Marci shifted away from my chest, standing under her own strength despite a subtle sway from exhaustion.“I want to speak now.While my memory is clear.”Her voice steadied even as tremors chased through her limbs.“He kidnapped me from the motel parking lot this morning.Drove me here.Promised to kill Ace, frame him for trafficking, and destroy the Savage Raptors.He’s been stalking me for the last two years, following my every move.He refused to accept my choice to leave, to let me do anything on my own.”
Monroe’s pen moved fast.Around us, more officers snapped photos and marked evidence.I stayed close enough for my hand to rest against the small of her back, support offered without pressure.She leaned into my touch just enough to let me know she welcomed the contact.
Her statement took around twenty minutes.Tears started midway through, yet her voice held firm.She described ropes, bruises, threats, and the absolute conviction she would die in this warehouse.Monroe asked follow up questions in a tone shaped by years of dealing with victims.When she finished, he closed his notebook, the softclickcarrying a sense of final judgment.
“Thank you, Ms.Robbins.That level of detail requires courage.”He glanced at the brothers scattered around the space.“We will also need statements from the rest of you.Those can wait.Work done here tonight matters.Evidence and testimony.None of this happens without your efforts.”
Atilla inclined his head, lines on his face deepening.“Men like Mercer have hidden behind badges for too long.Too many women suffer because predators learn to dress like protectors.”
“Agreed.”Monroe nodded toward the open doors where paramedics loaded Mercer into an ambulance, officers watching on both sides.“A pattern this long, this ugly, will keep him locked away for a very long time.Even a skilled defense attorney can only do so much against documents, witnesses, and a live crime scene.”
We watched as they raised the stretcher.Mercer’s pale face and cuffed wrist vanished behind closing doors.Red lights pulsed across cracked pavement while the ambulance pulled away.That siren carried more than a wounded cop.It carried the end of a nightmare.For Marci, for the club, for me.
General clapped a hand on my shoulder as we started toward the exit.His grip felt solid, approving.“You did right, brother.Walking in here took stones.”
“Never walked alone,” I answered, nodding toward the brothers surrounding us.
“Even so, you stepped forward.”His gaze shifted to Marci beside me, her fingers finding mine as we moved around evidence markers and splintered wood.“That choice defines family.Willingness to bleed when someone under your protection needs you.”
Outside, dawn had begun in earnest.The sky shifted from deep gray to pale gold, the sun brushing clouds in faint color.Fresh air washed away the taste of rust and old dust.Patrol cars still formed a ring around the warehouse, officers wrapping up, but the sense of emergency had drained away.
I stood in the lot, Marci tucked against my side, and watched sunlight climb higher.Brothers lingered nearby, close enough to help, far enough to give us space.Somewhere across town, Mercer began a new life full of barred windows and locked doors.
“It’s really over,” Marci whispered, wonder and disbelief mingling in her voice.“He can’t hurt me anymore.”
“No, he can’t.”I shifted so I could take her in completely -- every bruise, every scrape, and the fierce strength burning in her eyes.“You’re safe now.For real this time.”
She lifted her face toward mine, tears trailing down her cheeks.I wiped one away with my thumb.
“You can have every dream you ever whispered.”I drew her into my arms and pressed a kiss to her forehead, tension easing from her as she leaned closer.“You can build everything here.Beside me.Beside this club.Surrounded by family.”
The sun climbed higher, clearing shadows from shattered glass and scarred concrete.Golden warmth wrapped around us while my brothers stood guard, a silent wall of loyalty.Bruised, bloodied, but still upright.Marked by pain yet breathing free for the first time.
The hardest chapter had ended.A future stretched ahead -- unpredictable, but finally ours to claim.In that sunrise, hope stopped feeling like fantasy.For the first time, I believed we could reach something better.Together.
Chapter Eleven
Ace
The hammer sat easy in my hand -- solid oak handle worn smooth from seven years of repairs, steel head ringing true each time contact met a nail.I drove another one deep through fresh pine into the deck joist, thecrackof the strike echoing acrossThe Broken Spoke’s half-rebuilt outdoor area.Sweat soaked through my shirt despite the October chill, shoulders burning from the kind of work that left a man proud instead of exhausted.Around me, a dozen brothers moved in synchronized silence, each one aware rebuilding went far beyond lumber and hardware.This project meant reclaiming everything we’d earned.Proving fire, threats, and one cop’s vendetta couldn’t tear down what we’d created here.
Three weeks since Mercer torched the back section.Three weeks since paramedics hauled him into an ambulance, bullet in his shoulder and handcuffs locking down any chance of escape.The bar carried scars now -- would always carry traces of what happened -- but progress stood in front of us all the same.New joists stretched overhead where flames had erased the old ones, pale wood glowing against dark beams that survived the blaze.The scent of sawdust and fresh lumber filled the air, clashing against the faint ghost of smoke no amount of scrubbing would ever fully erase.
“Need another eight-footer over here,” General called from the far corner where he was framing out what would eventually be storage.His military precision showed in every measurement, every cut.Nothing wasted.Nothing rushed.
