"Check your targets!" Prez roars over the thunder of the bikes. "Anyone with a patch or a gun is fair game. We find the ledgers, we clear the rooms, and we find the bastard in charge."
The Sons of Destruction weren't expecting a frontal assault. They’re used to operating in the shadows, hurting people who can’t fight back. They aren't ready for the Wicked Riders. I slidemy bike into a controlled skid, drawing my sidearm before my boots even hit the gravel.
It’s chaos, but it’s organized. We move like a single organism. Shadow is taking out the comms tower; Wraith is kicking in doors with the force of a small explosion. I head straight for the main office, the place where Melodie said the safe is.
A prospect from the Sons of Destruction lunges at me from behind a pillar, a jagged blade in his hand. I don't waste a second. I block the blow with the muzzle of my gun and drop him with a single shot to the shoulder - enough to put him down, not enough to end him. I want them alive for the authorities we have on speed dial. Except maybe for Vance. I haven’t decided yet.
I reach the heavy mahogany doors of the study. I don't knock. I kick them off the hinges pleasantly surprised to see the old fucker himself looking like I caught him with his pants down, so to speak.
Vance is standing behind a desk that probably costs more than my house. He’s reaching for a safe, his face pale and sweating. He looks small. Without his guards and his money, he’s just a pathetic man who built a kingdom on the broken spirits of women like my Melodie.
"Rogue, is it?" he sneers, trying to find his bravado. "Wicked Riders. Y’all have been a thorne in my fucking side for a long time now. You realize the vacuum this will create? You’re a biker, not a saint. Think of the profit?—"
I don't let him finish. I’m across the room in three strides, my hand closing around his throat. I lift him until his toes are dangling off the plush carpet.
"I'm not here for profit," I growl, the rage in my chest finally turning cold and precise. "I'm here because you're a plague, and I'm the cure."
I don't kill him. Not because I don't want to, but because death is too easy. I drop him and zip-tie his hands with enoughforce to cut off the circulation. I toss him toward Prez, who has just walked in with a stack of ledgers that will put every name on those lists behind bars for life.
"The house is cleared, Rogue," Prez says, his voice edged with finality. "The Sons’ president is in the back of a van, crying like a bitch."
I take a deep breath, the adrenaline starting to ebb, replaced by a desperate, pulling need to be back at my house. “What should we do with the auction house itself?” I ask.
"Burn it," Prez growls, looking around the opulent room. "Burn everything but the evidence."
My brothers and I follow his orders, going room by room and dousing everything in gasoline. Reaper grabs a bottle of top-shelf liquor on his way outside, motioning for the rest of us to follow.
Once we’re in a line in front of the cursed estate and the horrors that it used to hold, Reaper takes a swig from the bottle of Vodka before stuffing a cloth half way inside. “Ready, boys?”
We holler and chant in approval as our Prez lights the molotov cocktail and throws the flaming bottle of alcohol into the mansion. Within moments, the bottom floor is ablaze. Soon, the internal structure will collapse, but we’ll be long gone.
The ride home is slower.The sun is high now, baking the asphalt. I’m covered in soot, grease, and a few splatters of blood that aren't mine. I feel like a monster returning to a sanctuary.
As I pull into the driveway, I see her.
Melodie is standing on the porch, her arms wrapped tight around her middle. She looks fragile in the daylight, but themoment she sees my bike, she moves. She doesn't run, sheboltsdown the stairs, her bare feet hitting the grass.
I barely have time to kick the kickstand down before she’s in my arms. She’s sobbing, her face buried in my dusty leather vest. "You're okay. You're okay," she whimpers over and over.
"I'm okay, sweet girl," I murmur, holding her so tight I’m afraid I’ll bruise her, but she only clings harder. "It’s over. Vance, the warehouse, the Sons... they’re gone. They can’t ever hurt you again."
She looks up at me, her eyes red-rimmed but shining with a light I haven't seen before. "You did it?"
"We did it."
I lead her inside, feeling the grime of the day heavy on my skin. I don't want to bring the smell of that place into our home. I lead her straight to the master bathroom and turn the shower on, letting the steam fill the room.
We don't say much as we shed our clothes. I’m careful with her, and she’s careful with me, checking for wounds I might have hidden. Under the spray of the warm water, I wash her bright red hair and rub the tension from her shoulders. I lather her up with soap, loving that she’s going to smell like me after this.
Melodie takes the cloth from me and starts to wash my chest, her small hands moving over my tattoos, lingering on the patch-work of scars I’ve collected over the years. She stops over my heart, her eyes meeting mine.
"I was so scared," she whispers, the water cascading over us. "I thought if I lost you, I’d lose the only real thing I’ve ever had."
I cup her face, my thumbs wiping away the mixture of tears and shower water. "You’re never going to lose me, Melodie. I’ve spent my whole life being a ghost, just drifting from one fight to the next. You gave me a reason to stay."
I lean down, pressing my forehead to hers. The air in the shower is thick, intimate, and safe. "I love you, Melodie," I say,the words feeling more natural than anything I’ve ever uttered. "More than I knew I was capable of. You’re my beautiful, strong, resilient treasure, and I can’t believe you’re mine.”
She lets out a broken little laugh and pulls me closer. "I love you too, Rogue. My big, burly, teddy bear biker. You make me feel safe and confident to do pretty much anything.”
