"For the club!" the brothers roar back.
I help Grace into the truck—passenger seat, protected—and Banshee slides into the driver's seat.
The convoy forms. Trucks and bikes, and plenty of armed brothers.
Toward Houston.
Toward Venom.
Toward the end.
Grace's hand finds mine across the console. "You ready?" she asks.
"No. But we're doing it anyway."
Grace squeezes my hand. "Then let's end this."
I nod, and Banshee starts the engine.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Shadow
Houston looks different in daylight than it does at night.
During the day, it's just another Texas city—sprawling, hot, traffic-choked.
People going about their lives, unaware that tonight, blood will be spilled in their streets.
We pull into an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts around two in the afternoon. The building's been empty for years—broken windows, rusted metal, perfect for what we need.
A place to regroup. To plan. To prepare for war.
The convoy spreads out—trucks parking, bikes lined up.
Brothers from two different clubs, all here for one purpose.
To end Venom.
To end this.
Phantom's already barking orders, getting everyone organized.
Damon's coordinating with his Reapers brothers.
Thunder and Rogue are pulling out maps, marking locations.
I'm standing by my truck, watching Grace through the window.
She's pale, exhausted, but determined.
Her hand keeps going to her ribs where my name is tattooed, like she needs to remind herself I'm coming back.
I will. I have to.
"Shadow." Rogue appears at my elbow with his laptop. "Got eyes on the clubhouse. Drove by twice, got photos."
He shows me the screen.
