Page 53 of Triplets for the Rival MC

His men look at us, dumbfounded, as we lower our weapons and place them on the ground. I would gladly die to save Tori and our babies. I meet her eyes, trying to silently let her know that it’s okay, that I don’t blame her. Tears slide down her cheeks, but she doesn’t attempt to wipe them away as she looks at us. The Raging Bulls look at her, at the gun her own father holds to her head. At her stomach, full of our babies, babies who will be left fatherless if they obey King’s command.

One of them shifts uncomfortably. “She’s pregnant,” he mutters.

It seems they aren’t willing to murder unarmed men in cold blood, nor do they want to kill us in front of our pregnant old lady.

King snarls. “I said kill them!”

A younger man lowers his weapon slightly. “This wasn’t the plan,” he says under his breath.

King swings the gun toward him for a split second. “You’re gonna question me? She’s my daughter, and these men are our sworn enemies!”

The hesitation spreads like wildfire. I see it ripple through the Raging Bulls—doubt, disgust, recognition of how unhinged their leader truly is.

“You said we were taking her,” another man says. “Not executing everybody.”

King’s face contorts. “They’re our enemies!” he shouts. “They stole my daughter, they deserve to die.”

Tori’s voice cuts clean through the tension. “They might have taken me, but you didn’t want me back, you rejected me, and I chose them.” She’s calm, serene, completely unafraid. Her composure and bravery are awe-inspiring. She looks more beautiful, more powerful, than ever before as she stands there, holding her stomach, eyes steely with resolve as she refuses to back down.

Her words are powerful. Her fearlessness, more so. There’s silence as they hit their mark, sinking in. The wind pushes smoke across the road. Her hair sticks to her face and blood trickles from a small cut near her temple where glass caught her, but she stands tall.

King presses the gun harder against her head. “You think they can protect you?” he sneers. “We’ll kill them where they stand, and you’ll have nothing.”

Tori looks over at the Raging Bulls as she replies to her father, her words intended more for them. “You’re a coward if the only way you can win is to shoot men who aren’t fighting back, men who are willing to die if it means I live.”

He looks at his men again. “What the fuck are you waiting for? I gave you an order, finish it!”

No one raises their gun. A vein in King’s head throbs, his face turning purple with rage and frustration.

“You’re gonna shoot a pregnant woman if they don’t?” Smoke calls out. “Your own fucking daughter?”

That lands hard. King’s threat to shoot her is why the fighting stopped. If things don’t go his way, he has to follow through on his threat or show his weakness. One of King’s men lowers his weapon completely. “This ain’t what we signed up for, Prez. We aren’t shooting unarmed men and a pregnant woman. This ain’t right.”

King’s breathing grows ragged. “You think you’re better than me?” he spits at them. He turns the gun briefly from Tori toward his own men.

That’s the moment he finally loses them.

Flint moves first, running toward King. The Raging Bulls could easily stop him, but they don’t. He slams into King from the side, knocking the gun free. I lunge forward with Smoke and Drifter close behind me.

Cyrus grabs Tori and pulls her down behind the SUV. Gunfire erupts, but it’s scattered now, reluctant and uncoordinated. Some don’t fire at all. The Bulls aren’t unified. Some drop their weapons entirely, unwilling to fight this fight any longer. One of them kicks King’s fallen gun away.

Flint and King crash onto the asphalt in a brutal tangle of fists and fury. Flint’s punch lands square, snapping King’s head back. King swings wildly, blood already soaking through his shirt from an earlier graze. I cover the perimeter, but most of the Bulls are stepping back, backing away, some climb onto their bikes and use the opportunity to flee before the cops arrive. It is over, and they know it.

King tries to reach for the gun again, but Smoke kicks it farther down the road.

Flint pins him hard, fist at his throat. “You lost,” Flint growls.

King’s eyes flick around. His men are lowering their weapons. One removes his cut, tossing it to the floor in defiant disgust.

“We followed you for the club,” he says quietly. “Not this.”

Another nods. “This ain’t leadership. We’re Raging Bulls, not your mercenaries.” King’s empire collapses in a matter of seconds.

Tori steps out from behind the SUV despite Cyrus’s hand trying to hold her back.

“Stay—” I start.

She shakes her head and walks toward King. I watch as Tori, six months pregnant, dusty and shaking, yet unbroken and unafraid, moves to speak to the man who has done her so much wrong.