Ghost sees my face. “Diesel?”
I show him the phone.
He swears. Reaches for his gun. “I’ll find her location.”
I nod once.
But inside?
Inside I’m already gone.
Gone to war.
Because I’m bringing her home.
And I’m going to bury the man who thought he could take her from me.
Ghost gets the location within an hour.
Grace is being held at an old ranger station outside Black Pines. Remote, tucked into national forest land, no neighbors for miles. Used to be government property. Now it’s just another forgotten patch of dirt, repurposed by men who think power is about who bleeds first.
John knew what he was doing when he took her there.
He wanted to drag us off our turf. Control the field. Lure us out into his.
But Ghost knew the terrain better. He pulls up satellite maps, outlines roadblocks, fallback routes, old boot trails, and entry points the Wolves won’t know are exposed. Every detail. Every weakness. His voice doesn’t shake once.
The Saints move fast.
No posturing. No yelling. Just weapons checked, radios tested, vests snapped. Men who’ve bled together getting ready to bleed again.
I’m calm. Too calm.
The kind of quiet that used to scare me, because I thought it meant the rage was gone.
It’s not.
It’s tucked in tight. Controlled. Sharpened.
Grace is all that matters.
She’s out there. Terrified. Alone. Maybe hurt. My girl.
She trusted me to keep her safe. And I will.
Whatever it takes.
We roll out soon.
Two vans. Four bikes. Saint, Ghost, Havoc, Blade, Viper. Doc riding backup with medical. Every one of them locked in, eyes hard.
Havoc rides shotgun beside me. “You good?”
“No,” I say. “But I’m ready.”
He nods. That’s all.
We hit the tree line hours later, kill the engines, move in on foot.
