But this? This is different.
This isn't club business or territory disputes or teaching lessons. This is my woman. My Cami. The girl who falls asleep in my arms trusting me to keep her safe.
And I failed her.
"Wrath." Steel's hand on my shoulder. "Stay with me, brother. I need you here."
I meet his eyes, and whatever he sees there makes him flinch. Good. He should be afraid. Everyone should be afraid. Because every bit of control that keeps me leashed, every scrap of humanity that separates me from the true psychopaths—it's gone. Burned away in the image of Cami scared and hurting while some sick fuck puts his hands on her.
"I'm going to kill every single one of them." My voice doesn't sound like mine. It's the voice I use right before I do things that give prospects nightmares. "Every. Single. One. And Viper?" I smile a sinister grin when I think of what I'm going to do with the president of the Iron Serpents. "He dies slow. So slow he'll beg me for death long before I grant it."
"Understood." Steel doesn't try to talk me down, doesn't preach restraint. He knows better. "But first we get her back alive. That's priority one. Everything else comes after." He addresses the room. "This is a recovery mission first, revenge second. We go in smart—two teams. First team locates and extracts Cami. Second team provides cover and handles any Serpents who try to stop us."
"Their compound is in the old industrial district," Diesel adds, pulling up a map on his phone. "Converted factory. Multiple buildings, good sight lines, secure perimeter. It's a fucking fortress."
"Then we bring overwhelming force." Steel's expression could cut glass. "Every patched member rides. Call in every favor we have—Phoenix charter, Tucson, even the boys fromFlagstaff. By the time we hit that compound, we outnumber them three to one and outgun them ten to one."
The planning continues around me—entry points, weapons distribution, extraction routes, contingency plans. I absorb the details with the part of my brain that's an expert at strategizing.
But the rest of me is somewhere else. I'm remembering every moment with Cami. Her shy smile when I first saw her, soaking wet and terrified. The way she flinched from kindness like it might be a trap. How she slowly opened up, trusting me with pieces of her broken soul. My broken angel.
The Iron Serpents made a fatal mistake when they touched what's mine.
Hold on, baby. I'm coming. And God have mercy on anyone who stands between me and you.
Because I sure as fuck won't.
Chapter 11
Cami
My head throbs like something's trying to claw its way out of my skull from the inside. Each pulse of pain brings a wave of nausea that makes my stomach lurch. I try to move, but my limbs feel like they're filled with wet sand—heavy, uncooperative, disconnected from my brain.
Where am I?
The thought surfaces slowly through the fog. Everything feels muffled, like my head's wrapped in cotton. My mouth tastes like chemicals and copper, and when I try to swallow, my throat burns.
Think. What's the last thing you remember?
The party. Oh God, the party. Rhett's cut settling on my shoulders. Dancing with him while he whispered promises that made me blush. Being so deliriously happy I thought my heart might actually burst from it.
Going outside for fresh air.
Then hands grabbing me from behind. Something pressed over my mouth. Sweet chemical smell choking me while I fought and kicked and?—
Oh God. Oh God, no.
Panic claws up my throat, but I force it down. Freaking out won't help. I need to think. Need to figure out where I am and how to get back to the Hellbound Compound.
I crack my eyes open just a sliver. A single bare bulb hangs from the ceiling, casting harsh shadows. The room is small. I’m lying on a narrow bed. There’s a metal chair in the corner. No windows.
Voices drift from somewhere close by. Male. Unfamiliar. I keep my eyes mostly shut and force my breathing to stay slow and steady. If they think I'm still unconscious, maybe I can learn something useful.
"We got a problem, Viper.” The voice carries an edge of worry that makes my stomach clench tighter.
"What kind of problem?" Another voice responds—deeper, with a tone of authority. A leader, maybe?
“She's wearing a property patch."
