Mason shakes his head. “Old freight building on County Road Twelve. We used it last year when we had that issue with the Saints. No cameras. No traffic. Plenty of privacy.”
Switch’s mouth curves slow and mean. “I remember that place.”
Mason’s gaze shifts to Riot. “You can loop his home security?”
Riot’s already typing. “Give me two minutes and his cameras will be on a delay. Long enough to get inside, get him out, and be gone.”
“Good,” Mason says. Then he looks at me, Blade, and Switch. “You three are the grab team.” No argument. No hesitation. “You go in fast, controlled, and quiet,” Mason continues. “No weapons unless he pulls first. You get him cuffed, bag his head, and move him to the van.”
Tank shifts off the wall. “I’ll drive transport.”
Piston nods. “I’ll ride shotgun.”
“Dagger, you and Bones set the perimeter,” Mason says. “Anyone comes near that house, they get redirected.”
Switch cracks his neck. “And if he runs?”
Mason’s eyes go cold then looks to Switch, Blade, and I then smirks. “That won’t be a problem.”
Mason straightens. “The objective is not murder. The objective is to send a message.”
My jaw tightens. “He touched our family.”
“I know,” Mason says, holding my gaze. “And he’ll pay. But he pays in a way that keeps Brooke and her sisters safe. We do this smart, not sloppy.”
Blade nods once. “Understood.”
Switch smirks. “Smart can still hurt.”
Mason’s mouth twitches. “Plenty.”
He pushes off the table. “Mount up. We move in three.”
The room explodes into motion. Men grabbing jackets, helmets, weapons getting checked and tucked away. Riot shuts his laptop and tucks it under his arm, already heading for the door.
As we file out, Mason falls into step beside me, voice low so only I can hear. “You want me to pull you off this if you get too close to the edge, Rev?”
I don’t even look at him. “No.”
He studies me for a second, then nods. “Then I trust you to finish it without crossing lines we can’t uncross.”
“I will,” I say. And I mean it. Not because Whitaker doesn’t deserve worse, but because Brooke deserves better than blood on my hands.
Outside, engines roar to life, the pack forming up fast and tight.
And somewhere across town, Grant Whitaker is about to find out exactly what happens when you touch the Iron Reapers family.
SEVEN
REV
Helmets goon and vests get tugged into place, but nobody’s joking or talking trash. Nobody’s doing anything except getting ready, because this isn’t a bar fight and it isn’t club business over territory or money. This is family.
Blade pulls up next to me with his visor already down, his body tight and coiled like he’s ready to explode out of his skin, while Switch takes the other side, his bike rumbling, headlights cutting across the pavement in hard white lines.
Mason raises his hand, and the pack rolls out smooth and fast, spreading into formation as we hit the road, engines screaming under us, night air tearing past my helmet. The vibration of the bike usually settles me and clears my head, but tonight my thoughts won’t stay where they belong. They keep dragging me back to Brooke.
To the way she felt in my arms, too light and too still, like she’d burned through every ounce of adrenaline just to survive and there was nothing left after that. To the way her voice shook when she said she was cold, and to the way she kept apologizing, like she did something wrong by trusting the wrong man.
