Every second we’re on the road is a second she’s alone with men who don’t see her as human. Who see her as leverage. As payment. As revenge.
Rage pulses through me, thick and toxic. I don’t push it down. I want it sharp. I want it ready.
The clubhouse appears around the corner, a sprawling concrete garage with rusted metal siding and a faded mural of their emblem. Ten motorcycles line the front. A single dim security light flickers overhead like it’s dying.
Good. Everything here will die tonight.
The SUVs roll to a smooth, silent stop.
No one moves. No one speaks. They’re waiting for me.
I open the door and step out into night air that feels dense, as it’s an omen of something terrible about to happen.
Rik moves to my side, face carved from stone. “We go on your word.”
I nod. He’s thePakhan, the Boss, but it’s my wife that they took. I study the outside of the building. I’ve memorized the blueprints of the inside.
Liza is in there. I feel it like a wire pulled tight through my ribs.
I look at the men, they’re all watching me with alert eyes. “Let’s go,” I say in a low voice.
Two men cut the power at the transformer box. The clubhouse plunges into darkness. The only light now is moonlight and the glow of our SUVs’ headlights illuminating the entrance.
A perfect silhouette for anyone stupid enough to peek out.
Rik signals our men into position.
With one of my men on the flank, I walk straight to the front door and kick. The impact shudders up my leg as the door flies inward, ripping off one hinge and slamming against the wall with a metallic howl.
Shouts erupt from inside.
I step into the darkness and flip down my night vision goggles.
The first man charges from the left, swinging a bat. I duck under the arc, grab his wrist, and twist until bone snaps like dry wood. He screams. I silence him with a quick elbow to the temple. His body drops.
The second man fires blindly from behind a pillar and misses.
I don’t.
A third tries a physical attack, I drive his head against the concrete column once, twice. Blood splatters on the column. How’s that for graffiti?
My vision tunnels and my heart beats like a steady drum, I enter the familiar zone. I don’t feel human in these moments. I am violence wearing skin. A monster.
Hermonster.
More movement, two shapes rushing me from the back room.
I hear Rik’s low command behind me.
My crew opens fire. They’re controlled, precise, shots that send bodies tumbling before they can reach me.
The room falls silent except for groans and the drip of a broken pipe leaking somewhere overhead.
I inhale slowly and stench of gasoline, metal, and sweat assault my nose. And beneath that, I smell her.
I move deeper into the building, stepping over bodies and a scattering of broken beer bottles.
At the far end of the garage, a heavy metal door stands slightly ajar.
