Chapter 1 - Shadow
The darkness is my home. It always has been.
I crouch in the shadows outside the Iron Eagles' new clubhouse, my breathing slow as I count the guards. Two at the front door, both armed. Three more patrolling the perimeter on a rotating schedule that's so fucking predictable it's almost insulting. Inside, I can make out at least a dozen more through the grimy windows, drinking and laughing like they don't have a care in the world.
Like they don't have a death warrant hanging over their heads.
"Shadow, report." King's voice crackles through my earpiece, calm and commanding even though we're about to wage war.
"Fifteen visible targets," I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. "Guard rotation every twelve minutes. Vulture's bike is parked out front, so the bastard's definitely inside."
"Good. The others are in position. We move in five."
I don't respond. King knows I heard him. Words are wasted energy, and I've learned to conserve everything—breath, movement, and emotion. It's kept me alive through two tours in Afghanistan and a year with the Savage Riders MC.
The wind shifts, carrying the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke from the clubhouse. My fingers flex against the grip of my Glock, muscle memory from countless missions making the weapon feel like an extension of my arm. This isn't so different from the ops I ran overseas. Same objective: eliminate the enemy before they eliminate us.
The only difference is that tonight, there's something else at stake. Intel mentioned that the Eagles grabbed women off thestreets last week. Forcing them to work as waitresses and fuck-toys for the club.
I've done a lot of questionable shit in my life. Killed men who probably had families waiting for them. Left my best friend's body behind in a cave in Helmand Province because the mission came first. Walked away from my parents when they were sentenced to prison and never looked back.
But I don't hurt women. I don't take what isn't freely given.
And I sure as fuck don't stand by while other men do.
"Two minutes," King says.
I change my position, moving so silently that even the crickets don't stop chirping. It's a skill I learned young: how to disappear, how to become nothing more than a shadow on the wall. When your childhood home is a war zone and making noise means becoming a target for your drunk father's fists or your mother's thrown bottles, you learn real quick how to be invisible.
The Savage Riders don't know the full story. They know my parents are in prison. Dear old dad for attempted murder, mom for being his accomplice. They know I don't talk much and that I can move through a room without anyone noticing until I want them to.
They don't know about the nights I spent hiding in closets, holding my breath while my parents tore each other apart. Or the way I learned to slip out my bedroom window and disappear into the night, finding peace in the darkness that terrified other kids my age.
The darkness never hurt me. Only people did.
"One minute."
I can see Tank positioning himself near the side entrance, his massive body somehow finding cover behind a dumpster.Beast is on the opposite side, probably cracking his knuckles and grinning like the psycho he is. Torch will be handling the vehicles, making sure none of these assholes can escape.
And me? I'll be the one they never see coming.
My specialty.
"Thirty seconds."
My heart rate doesn't increase. It never does. That's what made me valuable to my unit overseas and what makes me valuable to the club now. I don't get nervous. Don't second-guess. Don't feel much of anything when it's time to pull the trigger.
Some people might call that a weakness. I call it survival.
"Go."
I move.
The first guard doesn't even have time to register my presence before I'm on him, my knife sliding between his ribs. I lower his body to the ground silently, already moving toward the second guard as gunfire erupts from the front of the building.
The second guard spins toward the sound, and I put a bullet through the back of his skull before he can raise the alarm. Suppressor on my Glock keeps it quiet enough that the chaos at the front door drowns it out completely.
I slip inside through the side entrance, my eyes adjusting instantly to the dim interior. The main room is in chaos. Savage Riders pouring through the front door, Iron Eagles scrambling for weapons. I move along the wall, picking off targets as I go. Three shots, three bodies dropping before anyone notices where the fire is coming from.
