As he hauled Salis outside, Nitro caught sight of Aurora across the lot. Ghost had her, and he knew that his club’s Enforcer would make sure that she stayed safe. For now, she was standing, breathing, and alive. That was all that mattered.Everything else was just cleanup, and Salis—well, Salis was finished. He just didn’t know it yet.
Salis didn’t fightwhen they dragged him into the circle back at the Iron Vipers. That worried Nitro more than resistance ever would have.
The Iron Vipers’ secondary compound sat miles from anywhere that mattered. The building was made out of concrete and steel, and silence surrounded them for miles. Bikes lined the perimeter like sentries, engines idling low, growling a warning into the night. Floodlights snapped on as Salis was shoved to his knees in the center of the yard.
He looked smaller here than he did back at the abandoned mill. He didn't seem weak—but exposed.
Ghost stood off to one side, arms crossed over his massive chest. He had taken Aurora back to the clubhouse and left her there with a few of the guys. They were ordered to keep her there and keep her safe so that Nitro and the rest of the club could take the trash out. Torque was there too, his jaw tight, and his eyes hard as he stared down Salis. Brothers ringed the space with their cuts hanging heavy on their shoulders, their faces unreadable. This wasn’t chaos; it was an order, and the way things worked in the Iron Vipers. Justice was justice, and Salis was about to find out just how ruthless his club could be.
Ghost stepped forward. “Name,” he said flatly.
Salis laughed, blood crusted at the corner of his mouth. “You know my name, asshole.”
“Say it,” Ghost shouted.
“Salis,” he said. “I’m President of the Saints. This is all pointless,” he insisted. A murmur rippled through the crowd—low and dangerous.
Nitro stopped directly in front of him. “You traffic women.” He wasn’t asking him a question, more like telling him about his crime.
Salis lifted his chin. “We offer them protection.”
Nitro backhanded him hard enough to snap his head sideways. “Wrong answer,” he growled.
Salis spat blood into the dirt and smiled. “You think this is justice? You’re just another club pretending you’re better than the rest of us.”
Nitro crouched so they were eye level. His voice was calm—dead calm. “We’re not pretending. We are better than you.” Ghost stepped in, tossing a folder at Salis’s feet. Photos spilled out along with names and locations of the girls whose faces now littered the ground around them. They were the faces of girls that the Saints had trafficked over the years. Some were rescued, but most were not.
“You recognize those girls?” Ghost asked. “Because we do, and so do a few guys on the federal task force we talked to. They’ve finally found their missing pieces, and they lead right to the Saints.”
Salis’s smile finally faltered. “You sold these girls,” Nitro said quietly. “They were just kids, but you kept them imprisoned until they were sold at auction, and if they tried to leave, you hunted them down. Just like you hunted Aurora. You sent men into her home.” His jaw tightened. “That was your mistake, because that made this personal.”
Salis sneered. “You think she’ll thank you when this is over? Girls like her don’t stay. She’ll run from you, too.”
Nitro stood. “Maybe,” he said. “But you won’t be around to see that.” He nodded at Ghost, and two Vipers hauled Salis to hisfeet and marched him toward the far building—the one without windows. The one everyone understood was the last place that they’d ever see, and Salis was no exception. He twisted, panic finally bleeding through the arrogance. “You can’t just make me disappear! I’m too important. My guys will come looking for me.”
Ghost glanced back at Nitro and smiled. “Then we’ll be ready for them.” He shoved Salis into the shack and let the door slam shut behind them.
What followed wasn’t loud. That was the worst part. Nitro didn’t go inside because he didn’t need to. Club justice wasn’t about rage—it was about certainty and finality. It was about making sure that men like Salis never had the power to hurt anyone again.
Minutes passed, and then the door opened. Ghost stepped out, wiping his hands. “The Saints are done. Salis gave up everything. We were able to seize their money and burn their routes. The ones who weren’t here tonight?” He shrugged. “They’ll be hunted.”
Nitro nodded. “And Salis?”
Ghost’s expression was flat. “He won’t ever touch another woman. Or run another club.” That was enough for Nitro. Just knowing that he wouldn’t be coming for Aurora again was enough. He didn’t need the gory details.
Nitro turned away, the sound of engines rising behind him as the Iron Vipers dispersed into the night after justice was delivered without spectacle. Across the yard, Aurora stood near one of the bikes, arms wrapped around herself, eyes fixed on him. Shit—she was supposed to be back at the clubhouse, but he should have known that his girl wouldn’t stay put, even when ordered to.
Nitro walked to her. “It’s over,” he said.
She searched his face—not for details, not for blood—but for truth. “Really?” she asked softly.
“For Salis,” Nitro replied. “Yes.” Her shoulders sagged, the tension bleeding out of her like she’d been holding her breath for years. She stepped into him, forehead pressing against his chest, and Nitro wrapped his arms around her and held on.
Salis was gone. The Saints were broken, and for the first time since Aurora had learned what fear felt like, the man who’d owned her no longer existed in the world. That was club justice—fair and final.
AURORA
Aurora wasn’tsure how she was supposed to act now that Salis was gone. If Nitro was correct, the Saints had been dismantled, but something gnawed at her—something that Salis always said. When she used to lie awake at night and hope that Salis would disappear from the world, he’d tell her that if he disappeared, someone else would take his place. He liked to say that his guys would never allow the Saints to die, and she believed him. The club was bigger than just Salis, and the guys who had shown up at the abandoned mill only made up a small percentage of the Saints, and he was right—they’d find a way to keep going without him.
