All I know is my gun is pressed to the skull of the man I once called brother. The man who saved my life. The man whose life I saved. We owed each other blood and I thought that would bind us tighter than family.
Viper's on his knees on the concrete and glass, hands behind his head, spitting blood and teeth and laughter. He looks up at me with the same wolfish smile he wore back in the Marines, when he'd come back from a raid with his gear soaked and a crazy light in his eyes, like he was convinced that the universe owed him something special for the hell it put him through. Even now — with every rib shattered, nose split wide, his right ear nearly gone — he stares at me like he's still the predator, like I'm the one on borrowed time.
Maybe a few hours ago, I would’ve hesitated at what I know I need to do. I would’ve felt that old call of brotherhood. I would have remembered the pact we made, the blood we spilled together.
But then I look at Riley.
She's standing, but barely, with one arm hugging her ribs and the other fisted against the wall so hard her knuckles are white. There's a line of blood down her temple, her lip's split wide, and her whole body is shaking; she's holding herself together bysheer force of will, every muscle locked against the pain and the fear. But when I meet her eyes, all I see is fight; pure, stubborn, impossible fight. She's been through hell, and she's not going back.
Riley’s alive because she fought, because something in her, no matter how many times the world tried to grind it out, refuses to die. She fought, and because I got here in time. That’s all that stood between her and oblivion. Now, both of us battered, nearly broken, but upright and still breathing, still alive, still together. If even one thing had gone differently, she’d be nothing more than another name for a cop to jot down on a clipboard. Another woman whittled down to a cold body in a basement, nothing left of her but bones and the echo of her screams.
My throat tightens so hard it burns.
Motorcycles growl in the distance, scores of engines screaming up the hill from Ironwood Falls, slicing the air open in a way that makes the air vibrate inside my skull. Sirens wail behind them, the reds and blues already painting the trees beyond the shattered window. I know the MC is coming. I know the cops are coming. I don’t have much time to decide.
But the thing is…
There’s nothing to decide. Not anymore.
Viper spits a tooth onto the floor and laughs, the sound wet and broken. "You got the balls, Breaker? You gonna do it?"
I cut him off.
“You were my brother once,” I say, voice shaking, but steady with purpose. “And at one point this choice would’ve wrecked me.” I step closer and press the barrel harder into his skull, forcing his bleeding, busted head to do something close to a bow. “But you’re not the man I knew. And this? This sure as fuck isn’t hard.”
Viper bares his teeth, blood fizzing at the corners of his mouth. I can see it in his eyes—he doesn't believe me. He thinks I'm weak, thinks I won't do it, not when I owe him everything.
I look at Riley again. She's watching me, every ounce of her pain and terror wound tight around a single thread: trust. She doesn't flinch. She doesn't look away. Even with her face streaked with blood, even with her body ruined, she believes in me. That's all I need.
"I choose her," I whisper. "Turn away, Riley."
She doesn't argue. Just shuts her eyes, jaw trembling, and nods once.
Viper laughs, one last time —
I pull the trigger.
Viper's skull jerks forward, and for a split second I see the man he used to be, the brother who danced with death and never blinked. Then he collapses, face-first, and the blood keeps spreading across the floor, and there's no getting up from this one.
Silence slams down in the aftermath, heavy and absolute, broken only by Riley's sharp gasp of breath. I let the gun fall from my hand. My knees go with it. I end up on the floor beside her, gasping, my body finally cashing in every debt I've run up in the last twenty-four hours. Every rib, every bruise, every old injury wakes up and screams.
But it's over.
I reach for Riley, and she stumbles down to join me, pulling my head to her chest. Her heartbeat is wild, out of control, but it's real and it's here and it's going to get us through. She puts a hand on my shoulder. It’s gentle, light, but carries the weight of the world. “We should go, Breaker.”
I nod, rise, and Riley and I lean on each other, and we stagger forward, arm in arm. Every step is a fresh wave of agony, but we help each other up the stairs, limping through the smoke anddust toward the open door. We're both covered in blood, both shaking, but we make it out into the front yard together, where everything is chaos. The air is glassy with the whine of sirens — cop, fire, ambulance — each one crawling up my nerves in different colors and timbres. The MC is here in force, scattered across the drive like a small, armed army. I see bikes pitched sideways in the grass, bodies moving with purpose, the flicker of cigarettes and the hard glint of handguns half-holstered but still at the ready. Some of the MC are already lining up at the tape the cops are trying to throw around the property.
The second we step outside, Rabid and Officer Alvarado rush toward us.
“What the fuck went down in there?” He grabs my vest and jerks me once — hard. “Breaker. Talk to me.”
I swallow hard. “Viper happened. He drugged Riley. Kidnapped her. Torture basement. Planned to kill her.”
Rabid lets out a long, disgusted exhale. “Torture basement? Son of a bitch.”
Officer Alvarado pinches the bridge of her nose, muttering something in Spanish that sounds like a curse and a prayer.
“You both need medical attention,” she says firmly, flagging down the paramedics. “You’re safe now. It’s going to be okay.”
