Trixie stood just behind him—close enough that he sensed her, but far enough away that he could tell that she was bracing herself for the worst-case scenario. She wasn’t trembling anymore. She wasn’t hesitating. She wasn’t looking for a window to run through or a knife to hide behind. She stood like she belonged here with them. Like she belonged beside him.
He clicked off the monitor and stood. “Brothers, saddle up.” Ink nodded, and Venom grabbed his shotgun. Razor slapped amag into his rifle with the kind of practiced violence that said he was ready to tear the world apart.
But Cyclops held up a hand. “Not yet.” Heads turned, and they looked at him as though he had lost his mind.
Ink frowned. “What? They’re gearing up to breach. Now’s the time.”
Cyclops took a slow breath, his hand brushing the hilt of the knife at his hip. “They came to do a kidnapping—a snatch-and-run. They’re expecting panic. They’re expecting us to look vulnerable.”
Venom’s eyes narrowed. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Yeah,” Cyclops breathed.
Trixie stepped forward. “What are you going to do?”
He turned to her, and the room fell away for a moment. The noise and chaos seemed to die off around them. The stink of gun oil and fresh adrenaline hung in the air around them. None of it mattered with her standing there, waiting for the truth he’d been circling for days.
He cupped her face, tilting her chin up. “We don’t wait for an attack.”
Her breath hitched. “Cyclops,” she whispered.
“We take the fight to them,” he said. The room was completely silent—deadly, electric silence.
Ink grinned slowly. “Hell yeah.”
Venom cracked his knuckles. “About damn time.”
But Trixie grabbed Cyclops’s wrist. “No, you don’t understand. He’s expecting you to do this. He’s ready. He’s prepared for ambushes, roadblocks, traps?—”
He leaned in, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “Good. I’m ready too.”
She shook her head, panic flickering in her eyes. “Cyclops, you can’t go out there. He’ll kill you. Or worse, he’ll?—”
He stepped closer, pressing his forehead to hers. “Trixie. Look at me.” She did—slowly and warily. With all the trust she didn’t want to admit she had in him. “You’re safe here,” he said quietly. “You stay in the panic room until I get back.”
“No,” she whispered. “Cyclops?—”
“I told you I’d come back when you needed me.” His thumb brushed her cheek. “And I keep my promises.”
Her hands fisted in his shirt. “I don’t want you to go.”
“I know.” His voice softened. “That’s how I know I have to.” She swallowed hard, and he could see every emotion she’d fought for years tugging at her all at once. Fear, anger, and yeah, even love. Maybe she wasn’t ready to admit that, but he saw it in her eyes, staring back at him.
“Cyclops, please. Don’t go alone,” she begged.
He shook his head softly. “I’m never alone.” Ink cleared his throat, Venom smirked, and Razor raised his rifle in a silent salute. The Road Reapers were already standing behind him—ready to bleed for him, for each other, for Trixie. But there was one more thing he needed to say before he walked into hell.
He tilted Trixie’s chin up with a finger. “I’d choose you. Every time. Remember that.”
Her eyes glistened. “I don’t deserve that.” He kissed her forehead—the softest touch he’d given anyone in years.
“You do,” he whispered.
“Come back to me,” she squeaked. “I’ll be waiting for you.” His breath stilled. He’d been called many things—brother, killer, sinner, and even monster. But never someone worth waiting for.
He nodded once. “Count on it.” He turned and strode out before she could see how much her words shook him. Right now, Cyclops needed to keep his mind in the fight because he planned on keeping his damn promise to Trixie.
The Reapers roared out of the compound like demons unleashed—engines growling, headlights cutting through the morning haze. Cyclops led the pack, the wind whipping the edges of his cut, the weight of his knife and pistol grounding him in the moment.
