"No arguments. This is non-negotiable." I park and help her off the bike, then pull her close enough that only she can hear me. "I need to know you're safe. Can't focus on the mission if I'm worried about you catching a stray bullet."
She wants to argue, I can see it. But finally she nods. "Okay. But the second it's clear, I want to see him in custody. I need to know it's really over."
"Deal."
We take positions around the airfield, Saints Outlaws coordinating with FBI agents who look less than thrilled about working with an outlaw MC. But Agent Forrister vouches for us, and soon we're integrated into the operation with clear roles and communication.
Twenty minutes later, headlights appear on the access road. A convoy of three vehicles, expensive and armored, approaching the waiting jet. FBI agents tense, weapons ready, and I can feel my own heart rate kicking up.
"That's him," Agent Forrister confirms through the comm. "Victor Castellano, confirmed visual. All units stand by."
The vehicles park near the jet, and men in suits climb out. Private security, heavily armed and clearly expecting trouble. They form a perimeter around the center vehicle, and when the door opens, Victor Castellano emerges.
He's exactly what I expected. Mid-fifties, silver hair, and an expensive suit. He looks like a businessman, not a monster, but I know what he's capable of. I know what he's done to countless women whose only crime was being vulnerable.
"FBI! On the ground, now!" Agent Forrister's voice booms across the tarmac, agents emerging from cover with weapons raised.
Castellano's security reacts immediately, weapons coming up, and suddenly the night explodes into gunfire.
I'm moving before conscious thought, positioning myself between the firefight and where Ava's hidden with the bikes. Rounds ricochet off concrete, agents shouting orders, Castellano's people trying to form a defensive line.
It's chaos. Beautiful, violent chaos.
Zip takes down two security guards with precision shots that would make a sniper jealous. Rook's using the jet itself as cover, firing around the landing gear at targets I can't even see. Falcon's coordinating movement, keeping the club organized while the FBI closes in from multiple angles.
And in the center of it all, Castellano's trying to reach the jet, trying to escape one last time.
Not happening.
I break cover, moving fast and low, closing the distance between us. One of his guards spots me and turns, weapon tracking, but I'm faster. Two rounds center mass, and he's down.
Castellano sees me coming and runs for the jet's stairs, but I tackle him before he reaches them. We hit the tarmac hard, and I feel something in my ribs crack on impact. Pain explodes through my side, but I don't let go.
"It's over," I growl, rolling him onto his stomach and wrenching his arms behind his back. "You're done."
"You have no idea who you're dealing with," he spits, still struggling. "I have connections, lawyers, money. I'll be out in days."
"Maybe, but not before the world knows exactly what you are." I look up to see Ava approaching, phone in hand, recording everything. "Say hello to your public, Castellano."
His face goes white when he sees her. "You."
"Me." She kneels down so the camera catches his face clearly. "Victor Castellano, billionaire real estate developer and human trafficker. How does it feel knowing everything you built is about to come crashing down?"
"You can't use that, it's inadmissible."
"Don't need it for court. Just need it for the article I'm writing, the one that's going to expose every detail of your operation, every person you hurt, every dollar you made offhuman suffering." Her smile is cold. "You wanted me silenced. Congratulations, you failed."
FBI agents swarm in, taking Castellano into custody with the kind of rough handling that suggests they know exactly what he's done. Agent Forrister appears, surveying the scene with grim satisfaction.
"Victor Castellano, you're under arrest for human trafficking, conspiracy to commit murder, and about two dozen other charges that'll keep you in federal prison until you die." She nods to her agents. "Get him out of here."
They haul him away, still protesting his innocence, still insisting his lawyers will fix this. But everyone knows it's over. The evidence is overwhelming, the witnesses are testifying, and there's no amount of money or influence that'll save him now.
The shooting's stopped, Castellano's security are either dead or in custody, and slowly the adrenaline starts to fade. That's when I feel the blood, warm and sticky, soaking through my shirt.
"Mason." Ava's voice is sharp with fear. "You're bleeding."
"Probably caught some shrapnel when I tackled him. I'm fine." But when I try to stand, my legs don't cooperate, and suddenly I'm on my knees with Ava's hands pressed against my side.
