"I was so scared you wouldn't come back," she confesses in a whisper.
"Nothing could keep me from you," I promise, stroking her hair. "Nothing in this world or the next."
We stay like that for a while, holding each other in the quiet of the garage, surrounded by tools of war and signs of brotherhood. When I finally lead her back to our quarters, carrying her half-asleep form in my arms, my resolve has hardened like steel.
The Nighthawks think they've found my weakness. They don't understand they've only given me something worth fighting for. Something worth winning for.
And I always win.
eleven
. . .
Vance
The first shotscome at dawn. I'm already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, watching Wynter sleep. Somehow I knew they'd come today—animal instinct, maybe, or just years of living on high alert. The sound of gunfire has me moving before my brain fully processes what's happening. In one fluid motion, I grab my gun from the nightstand, shove my feet into boots, and reach for Wynter. Her eyes fly open as I haul her against my chest, confusion quickly giving way to fear as more shots ring out, followed by the distant roar of engines.
"Nighthawks?" she asks, voice tight with fear but remarkably steady.
"Yes." No point in lying. "I need to get you somewhere safe."
I carry her to the closet, pulling aside the hanging clothes to reveal a hidden door—a panic room we installed years ago for situations exactly like this. Inside is a steel-reinforced space just big enough for one person, with water, a gun, and a secure phone line to the main building.
"Stay here," I tell her, setting her on her feet inside the small space. "No matter what you hear, don't come out until I or Diesel come for you. Understand?"
She nods, her face pale but determined. "Be careful," she whispers, reaching up to touch my face. "Come back to me."
I kiss her hard, trying to pour everything I feel into that brief contact. "Always," I promise, then close the heavy door, hearing the automatic lock engage.
The compound is in organized chaos when I emerge, gun drawn. Club members moving with practiced efficiency to defensive positions, the rattle of gunfire punctuated by shouted commands. I find Blade by the main entrance, barking orders into a radio.
"At least twenty of them," he reports when he sees me. "Coming in from the east gate. Looks like they're trying to split us, draw our forces thin."
"They're here for me," I say grimly. "For Wynter."
He nods, understanding without needing explanation. "We'll hold the perimeter. You do what you need to do."
What I need to do is simple: eliminate the threat to my wife. Permanently.
I move through the compound with single-minded purpose, joining the fight at the east entrance where the assault is heaviest. The Nighthawks have breached the outer fence, their motorcycles scattered across the yard like fallen soldiers. Bodies too—not all of them theirs.
The rage that fills me at the sight of my fallen brothers is cold, calculated. No blind fury that might make me sloppy. Just deadly precision fueled by the need to protect what's mine.
I spot their leader—not the president, but his right hand, the same rat-faced bastard whose nose I broke before. He's directing the assault from behind a makeshift barricade, obviously thinking himself safe from return fire.
He's wrong.
I circle wide, using the buildings as cover, until I'm positioned with a clear shot. One bullet would end him. Clean.Simple. But this isn't about clean or simple. This is about sending a message.
I holster my gun and draw my knife instead.
When I emerge from behind the storage shed, he doesn't see me coming until it's too late. I take him down silently, one hand clamped over his mouth, the other pressing the blade to his throat.
"Remember me?" I growl in his ear, dragging him backward into the shadows. "Remember what I promised if you came near my wife?"
His struggles cease as recognition dawns. Fear rolls off him in waves, the acrid stench of it mixing with the gunpowder in the air.
"The others can leave," I tell him, voice deadly calm. "But you? You're my message."
