Page 34 of My Wild Biker

"I promise, darlin'. I'm coming back to you."

He kisses me hard and thorough and then he's walking out with the other brothers. Engines roar to life. They pull out in formation and disappear into the gray dawn.

The women and I stand there in the clubhouse watching them go.

Sydney touches my shoulder. "They'll be back. They always come back."

But I can hear the uncertainty under her confidence and I know she's as scared as I am.

All we can do now is wait.

Chapter 8 — Chuck

The ride to Crane's location takes ninety minutes. Six of us in formation on Route 9 heading east into dawn that breaks slow and red behind the trees.

Clint leads, Tate on his right, me on his left. Cain behind with Roan and Diesel flanking.

Nobody talks. Just the engine rumble and wind and the highway disappearing under our wheels.

I keep my mind on the job. Location confirmed, two-story rental property, three Marrow members inside. Crane, plus two loyal soldiers who stayed when everyone else scattered.

We've got layout from Cain's intel, approach mapped, contingencies planned. Fast and clean. In and out before neighbors notice.

But part of my brain keeps sliding back to Isla.

Her face when I left. The split on her lip from where that piece of shit hit her. The way she made me promise to come back like promises mean anything when you're riding into a situation that could go six different ways wrong.

I push it down. Focus on the road, the job, the brothers around me. This is what I do. What I've been doing for twenty-five years. Ride out, handle threats, ride back. Simple as that.

Except this time someone's waiting for me and the stakes feel different than they ever have before.

Around six-forty-five we exit Route 9 onto back roads that get progressively worse. Asphalt gives way to gravel, gravel to dirt. Trees close in on both sides. The rental property is isolated, which works for us and against us. No civilians to worry about, but also no cover story if anything goes loud.

We kill engines half a mile out and walk the rest. Dawn is full up now, light filtering through trees, birds starting. Everything peaceful and normal while we move through undergrowth carrying enough firepower to start a small war.

The property appears through the trees. Two-story house, white paint peeling, wraparound porch, detached garage. One motorcycle visible near the front door. Crane's, based on the distinctive custom work. Two more bikes around back according to Cain's drone footage from yesterday.

Three bikes, three men.

Clint gestures and we split. Him, Tate, and me take the front. Cain, Roan, and Diesel circle to the back. We communicate through earpieces, voices low and controlled.

"Back approach in position," Cain says in my ear.

Clint looks at me and Tate. We nod. He keys his mic. "On three. One. Two. Three."

Front door goes down with one kick from Tate. Military training, efficient and brutal. We flow inside weapons up, clearing rooms like we've done this a hundred times before because we have.

Living room empty. Kitchen empty. Stairs leading up, hallway leading back.

Gunfire from the back of the house. Multiple shots, someone shouting. Roan's voice in my ear: "Contact, one down, one running."

The one running comes around the corner into the hallway and sees me. Young, maybe twenty-five, shaved head, Marrow patches. He's got a gun but panic makes him slow. Raises it toward me and I fire twice before his barrel clears ninety degrees. Center mass both times. He drops and doesn't move.

More gunfire upstairs. Tate's already moving, taking stairs three at a time. I follow.

The second floor is three bedrooms and a bathroom. Sounds of a struggle in the back bedroom. We approach tactical, Tate goes left, I go right through the door.

The second Marrow soldier is on the floor with Diesel's knee in his back. Looks like he tried to jump from the window, didn't make it. Diesel has him controlled, arms behind his back, gun to his head.