“Mount up, we’re hauling ass the second the sun drops beneath the horizon. That prick’s midnight delivery is gonna come in awholedifferent package,” Riptide rumbles, a dark, lethal chuckle escaping him.
“Be careful,” Jersey orders as she watches me check my ammo and dress in black. She stands by the bedroom door, her eyes wide with the same fear she’s carried since her childhood, but there’s a new layer of strength there too. I can see the worry etched into her face, the quiet teacher struggling with the violent reality of the man she’s chosen to love. I stop what I’m doing and cross the room, pulling her into my arms for one last moment of peace before all hell breaks loose.
“I always am, baby,” I promise, my voice dropping to a low rumble as I press a kiss to her forehead. I need her to stay tucked inside, away from the windows and the noise of the bikes when we roll out. Boston and Carolina are already settled in their room, oblivious to the mission at hand, and I need Jersey to be the backbone for them while I’m gone. The thought of her parents and the threats Booker is handling flashes through my mind, reinforcing the need to end the Dragons so I can focus entirely on her safety. I give her one last squeeze, a silent vow that I’m coming back to the home we’ve built, before I grab my cut and head out into the night.
I don’t look back, but I feel her gaze stuck on me as I trek across the yard toward the clubhouse. The Texas night is thick with a heavy humidity that clings to my skin, mirroring the lethal anticipation coiling through the air of the compound. Every shadow seems to stretch longer under the yard lights, charged with the weight of the endgame we’ve finally set in motion. When I reach the line of parked bikes, the chrome of the pipes glow in the darkness making me smile. I stow my gear in my saddlebags while I wait for my brothers to assemble.
The quiet of the compound is shattered by the percussionistic thud of heavy boots on the gravel and the low, metallic clinking of hardware being checked. Icer and Shade emerge from the shadows first, their expressions carved from granite, looking every bit like the lethal enforcers they are. One wears the title, but the other is just as dangerous as he is. Behind them, Hazard and Serpent follow, their faces tight and focused. We aren’t just a club tonight, we’re a surgical strike team prepared to excise the rot that has plagued our town for far too long. As Riptide steps out onto the clubhouse porch, his presence signaling the start of the hunt, the air fills with the primal roar of engines—a symphony of retribution that echoes my own lethal intent.
“Let’s ride!” Rip shouts as he makes his way to his bike and tosses his leg over the saddle. The roar of engines as they rev causes the ground beneath our feet to vibrate. Our play tonight will kick the war into high gear, which has been a long damn time coming.
I kick my stand up, my gaze tracking the line where Icer and Shade are posted, their profiles carved from unyielding stone as they ready themselves to trail us into the Dragons’ lair. Positioned behind them, Hazard and Serpent remain motionless, the gravity of their debut mission as prospects evident in the rigid set of their shoulders. As we roar through the gates and the iron bars hiss shut, locking the world out, the heavy weight of the endgame we’ve ignited settles into my bones. Jerome and Patrick will finally learn that nobody fucks with the Kings. This war has been slow and agonizing, but tonight, we’re going to put a wedge between two men who’ve made our lives a living hell.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
Jersey
A knockon the door has me jumping, the sudden sound echoing through the silence of the trailer like a thunderclap. My heart hammers against my ribs as I freeze in place, my gaze locked on the wood of the door. The roar of the bikes leaving the compound is still a fresh sound in my mind, a haunting reminder that Slayer and the brothers have ridden straight into a living nightmare. The air in the living room feels stagnant, thick with the weight of the secrets I’ve shared and the lethal promises Slayer made before he vanished to join his brothers.
Slowly, I stand from the couch and inch my way toward the blinds, my movements fluid but cautious—a survival tactic I perfected in a house full of sickos. I lower one of the slats with a trembling finger and peer out into the abrasive glare of the yard lights. Relief washes over me like a cold wave when I see the women and kids standing there, a colorful cluster of safety against the gritty backdrop of the compound. “We come in peace,” Letti hollers, her voice bright and full of the trademark sass that usually brings a smile to my face. Kodiak and Scriptureare standing behind them, providing a wall of silent protection. One is rolling his eyes at Letti’s antics, and the other is looking up toward the dark sky, where I presume he’s praying for patience with the lot of us.
I fumble with the locks, my fingers clumsy in my haste to let the world in and drown out the suffocating quiet of my own thoughts. As the door swings open, the humid night air rushes in, carrying the scent of leather and a mix of perfumes. Letti is the first one across the threshold, her presence an immediate grounding force that makes the trailer feel less like a fortress and more like a home again. Behind her, Van, Zoey, and Britton follow, their faces etched with a mirroring blend of worry and resolve. We aren’t just neighbors tonight, we’re a unit of old ladies, hunkered down to wait out the crusade that’s currently being waged at the councilwoman’s estate.
“We figured nobody should be alone tonight,” Britton says, reaching out to squeeze my hand as she passes me. Her touch is warm, a silent acknowledgement of the shared history that makes us sisters. She knows I’m still navigating the uncertainty of my parents’ threats, just as she’s navigating the uncertainty of her impending motherhood. I watch as Elodie scrambles toward the back of the trailer with little man crawling fast to get to her, their laughter a beautiful contrast to the mission the men are on. In this cramped space, surrounded by the women who have become my sisters, the isolation that once defined my life feels like a distant memory.
As Kodiak and Scripture step inside, they shut the door and lock it, standing in front of it like our personal guards. Kodiak maintains a vigilant watch with his arms crossed over his chest, while Scripture’s eyes remain fixed on the entryway, his lipsmoving in what I can only assume is a silent plea for the safe return of his brothers.
“So we’re going to wait things out here together, huh?” I ask, my voice sounding more steady than I feel as I look around the room.
“That’s the plan,” Van says as she settles down onto the couch, grabbing my throw from the back and tossing it over her legs.
Britton and Zoey plop down on my love seat, Letti taking up the recliner as she pops the cork on a bottle of wine and holds it up, and says, “I brought the bubbly, need you to provide the glasses.” She manages to offer a small, determined grin, her resilience shining through despite the fact that Icer is currently part of a tactical strike into the heart of the Dragons’ territory.
I pivot on my heels, making my way into the cramped kitchen area to snag the stemware. Fortunately, my inventory is sufficient for the rest of us, especially since Zoey and Britton are sitting this round out due to the little ones they’re currently growing. This mundane task of playing hostess, even while the men are off doing their thing, offers a much-needed distraction for my frantic thoughts.
“Zoey. Britton, what would y’all like to drink?” I ask as I open the fridge door, the cool air hitting my face as I scan my limited inventory. “I’ve got water, apple juice, and that’s about all since you can’t have caffeine. I know how picky those little ones can be about their sugar intake even before they get here.” I offer them a shy smile, watching as they settle into the mismatched furniture of my living room that I’ve lovingly put together to make our home feel warm and cozy.
Zoey snorts before saying, “Yeah, all that sugar makes this one dance on my bladder.” She shifts uncomfortably on the love seat, resting a hand on her stomach. “Water is fine for me, Jersey. Any more jostling and I’ll be spending the whole night in your bathroom.”
“What I wouldn’t do for a Coke,” Britton dreamily says. “I’d trade my kidney for a cold can and a straw right about now. But for the sake of the little bean, I’ll settle for the juice,” Britton says, accompanied by a sigh. She leans her head back against the cushion, her eyes reflecting a mix of exhaustion and that familiar pregnancy craving. The way she says it makes it sound like she’s negotiating with a deity for just one sip of that carbonated heaven.
I arrange the glasses along the laminate counter, filling the flutes with the sparkling wine for Letti, Van, and myself, all while ensuring the alcohol-free choices are ready for our pregnant sisters. The chime of the liquid meeting the glass echoes through the cramped kitchen has my mouth watering. This attempt at casual banter feels like a paper-thin barricade, but I’m desperate for any sliver of quiet before the thunder of the motorcycles signals the men’s return. With every groan of the floorboards or gust of wind rattling the metal siding, my pulse spikes with a frantic energy, terrified and hopeful that the takedown at the councilwoman's mansion has finally reached its conclusion.
I snort, catching my sister from another mister’s eye, and huff, “A kidney? Seriously, Brit?” Even with the dread churning in my stomach, I can’t stop the smirk that pulls at my mouth. She’s always had a penchant for being over the top, but this pregnancy has her dialing up the drama to another level altogether. “Pretty sure the little bean would rather you hang onto your organs soyou can process all this juice I’m handing over,” I tease, offering her the glass with a wink.
“One day,” Britton says, rubbing her baby bump, “you’ll understand what this is like.”
“Oh, no, sister,” I hiss. “Don’t put that juju on me. I’m not ready, and I won’t be for a long time coming.”
“Double up on your birth control if you’re not ready to be a momma, because these men’s sperm is potent,” Zoey says, laughing.
“Warning heard,” I say as I sit at Zoey’s feet. “Should the guys have told us what they were up to tonight? Doesn’t that go against club business?” I look around the room, seeing the way the other women have settled in for the long haul. The silence from the clubhouse has been a physical weight all evening, and the curiosity I’ve been trying to suppress finally bubbles over. I know club business is sacred, a vault that rarely opens for the women, but the stakes tonight feel personal for all of us.
Kodiak clears his throat, answering, “Technically, yeah, it’s club business, Jersey. But when it involves a major shift like the one we’re planning for Patrick and the Dragons, Riptide knows that y’all need to be prepared for the fallout. He doesn’t keep you in the dark to be an asshole, he does it because knowing the details puts a target on your back that he’d rather carry himself.”
Scripture adds on to his brother’s explanation, his voice dropping to a low, melodic rumble that carries the weight of a sermon. “If y’all are in the know, then you can react appropriately, but only to a point.” His eyes remain fixed on the entryway, vigilant and unblinking. “There’ll be times you’ll know what they’re up to, but only when it’s necessary for your survival.It’s better for y’all to feign ignorance than to have knowledge of things that can be used against you in a court of law or at the end of an enemy’s barrel. In this life, truth is a heavy burden, and the less of it you carry, the lighter your feet are when you have to run.”
