And standing there in the morning light, with the future uncertain but somehow less terrifying than it had been an hour ago, I let myself feel something I'd almost forgotten existed.
Hope.
10
STASH HOUSE
TYLER
The deadline was tomorrow. I'd burned Cross's envelope at dawn, watched the photograph curl and blacken in the fire pit while the sun rose over the compound walls. Seven days since that envelope had arrived. Seven days of fear and sleeplessness and the slow poison of anticipation. Whatever Cross had planned for that date—whatever violence or revelation or twisted game—it was coming whether I was ready or not.
Which was why we were here, twelve hours later, crouched in the darkness outside the Wolves' Henderson operation.
The old Miller warehouse. The same location Hawk had told us about in that first emergency church meeting, when the Iron Wolves had rolled into town and claimed neutral territory as their own.We'd known where they were operating from the beginning—what we hadn't known was what they were protecting inside.
The pharmaceutical evidence from the ambush had changed that.
Axel and I had spent most of the day tracing batch numbers, cross-referencing shipment codes, building a picture of the supply chain. The drugs we'd intercepted weren't coming from the Wolves' Montana operation. They were being stored locally, processed through Henderson, distributed across the western states. This warehouse wasn't just a clubhouse for visiting bikers—it was a distribution hub. A nerve center. And somewhere inside were the records that would tell us exactly how deep the corruption ran.
"We can't wait." That had been my argument in the emergency church Hawk had called after I'd presented my findings. "Cross's deadline is tomorrow. Whatever he's planning, this is our last chance to get ahead of it. We hit the warehouse tonight, we find out what we're really dealing with."
Hawk had agreed. And now here we were.
The warehouse sat at the edge of Henderson's industrial district like a sleeping predator—corrugated metal walls, loading docks facing the desert, a single security light casting a pale circle near the main entrance. From our position in the shadow of an abandoned grain silo, I could see two guards at the front, one more doing lazy circuits around the perimeter.
Three visible. Axel's contacts had reportedsomething strange earlier—a group of Wolves had mobilized tonight and ridden out, destination unknown. That left only a skeleton crew at the distribution hub. Bad news in terms of finding Cross, but good news for the raid. Fewer guns to worry about.
"Security rotation every twelve minutes." Axel's voice was barely audible through my earpiece, a whisper of sound that my mind translated without conscious effort. "Next pass in four."
Four minutes to cross sixty yards of open ground, breach the side entrance, and establish position before the patrol came back around. Tight, but doable.
Tank crouched beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his body even through our tactical gear. We'd talked this morning—really talked, for the first time since the kiss, since the sparring session, since all of it. Agreed to figure this out together. But there hadn't been time to explore what that meant, not with the deadline looming and a raid to plan. The conversation hung between us, unfinished, a promise waiting to be kept.
If we survived the night.
I pushed the awareness aside and studied the warehouse through the night vision scope Blade had pressed into my hands before we'd left the compound. The building was older than it looked, the metal siding patched in places where rust had eaten through. No visible cameras on the exterior, which either meant the Wolves were overconfident or they had other security measures I couldn't see.
My money was on overconfident.
"Tyler." Hawk's voice in my ear, low and steady. "You're on point. This is your world."
He wasn't wrong. Warehouse raids, tactical entries, the precise choreography of clearing rooms and neutralizing threats—I'd done this dozens of times with the Bureau. The muscle memory lived in my bones, waiting to be called up like an old song I'd never quite forgotten.
"Copy. Positions confirmed?" I kept my voice flat, professional. "Tank and I breach through the side door, northeast corner. Blade and Irish take the loading dock. Everyone else holds perimeter."
"West is locked down." Declan's voice was steady through the earpiece. The ex-Navy in him showed in moments like this—calm, professional, no wasted words. "Cruz and Diesel are in position."
"East covered." Axel confirmed. "Marco and Santos have eyes on the back."
"North is secure." Hawk's voice. He'd insisted on being part of the perimeter despite my suggestion that he coordinate from the compound.My men, my risk, he'd said.
"South?" I asked.
"Reno's got it." That was a prospect I'd only met twice—young, eager, filling the gap that Ghost's injury had left. Three days wasn't enough time to heal a bullet wound, no matter how much the kid had argued. Rosa had put her foot down, and Hawk had backed her.
"Good. Tank and I clear the offices first—that's where they'll keep the records. Blade, Irish—yousecure the main floor. Anyone inside who isn't us gets put down or restrained. Questions?"
Silence on the line. Everyone knew their jobs.
