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I head down the hall toward the main club room, the distant thump of music and rising voices pulling me in. The compound feels different tonight—lighter, like the heavy cloud of yesterday’s attack has finally broken. Prospects bustle past with cases of beer and stacks of food, their faces split with grins that say the debrief went well. I catch small snippets of chatter.

“Did you see Switch drop that big bastard?”

“Fire lit up half the sky, man.”

It brings a real smirk to my lips. My part from behind the screens wasn’t flashy, but it mattered. No runners. No immediate blowback. We hit back harder, smarter. Everyone is hanging out in the main room when I push through the doors. Music pounds from the speakers—raw, gritty tracks with bass that vibrates up through my boots. The air smells like leather, spilled beer, and that unmistakable tang of gun oil still clinging to vests. Lennox holds up the wall closest to the bar with Barbie trying to drape herself over him as he recounts everything he saw on my feeds.

Diesel leans against the wall, quiet but with a rare half-smile, nursing a drink. Fuse is exaggerating the raid into something epic, drawing chuckles from the prospects hanging on every word. Judge sits at a table, an expression carved from stone but with underlying satisfaction in his eyes. I weave through the crowd, grabbing a cold beer from a member who nods at me with respect. “Your feeds saved our asses out there, Tatum. Clean as hell.”

“Damn right,” I quip, clinking bottles with him. “You boys just remember who keeps the ghosts out of the machine.”

Inside, though, my mind churns. The adrenaline from monitoring the op hasn’t fully faded. I watched every move through the cameras and thermals—Switch leading with that military precision, voice steady in my ear even as the blood flowed.

Lennox spots me and waves me over, pulling me into a solid side hug. “Tate! Get over here. Your info was fucking good. I admit, I’m pissed how you got it. But the Vipers are done sniffing around.”

I laugh, punching his arm lightly. “Told you the thermal overlays would pay off. You owe me big—new monitors for the office, at least. Those all-nighters don’t fuel themselves on shitty energy drinks alone.” The banter flows easy, but my eyes keep drifting toward the door.

Where the fuck is he?

I scan the crowd again to see where he is as Ledger approaches me. “Solid support, Tatum. Kept us one step ahead the whole time. Minimal cost for maximum message.”

The room gets louder as more brothers fill in the space. I weave in and out of the waves, getting caught in conversation on and off as I down my beer. Corbin enters twenty minutes later with the final group. Our gazes lock across the crowded room for a second—and all I see is fire in his eyes.

Victory looks good on him.

He sits with Judge, talking in hushed tones, before joining the circle with Fuse. Voices rise in celebration as he shares the key beats: clean infiltration, the grapples, the bombs going off. Brothers toast the prospect we lost, a somber beat before the mood lifts again into rowdy decompression. The music cranks louder. The sound of pool balls clack. The prospects keep the drinks flowing.

I drift between groups, bantering with Fuse about tightening perimeter algorithms, teasing Ledger about his post-op energy drink crash. This win feels earned. A hard-fought breath for just a moment in the uncertainty of what’s to come—Redline proxies handled. The compound is secure for now. I just can’t shake the doubt that lingers in the back of my head. The silence and lack of response feel more menacing than the idea of retaliation. Nicholas hasn’t messaged me since we executed the hit. But I know better than to think he’ll stay gone for long.

Lennox pulls me into another round of stories, his laugh booming. Being able to just hang out and see him in the same role as our dad is so surreal, but it fits him. He’s king of his domain, and most of the time, I just lean back and watch him interact with everyone. The front door swings open with a bang that stops everything.

When the music stops and the laughter dies, I turn around and my blood runs cold. Nicholas strides in like the room belongs to him, grinning ear to ear with that calculated calm. The mask of a predator. I remember it way too fucking well.

Tension snaps taut. Hands hover near holsters. Judge rises slowly. Lennox goes stone-still beside me. Switch shifts position with lethal grace, closer without it looking deliberate. The air turns thick enough to choke on. All eyes lock on the intruder who just walked into the heart of our sanctuary.

Nicholas’s gaze finds me immediately, that chilling smirk curling his lips. “Did you miss me, baby? You know I missed my girl, and while I like the challenge in your little games, that time is over. You’re mine, and it’s time to come home.” The word lands like a physical blow. Mine. Whispers erupt. My stomach twists—old fear, new rage. The fighter in me wants to draw my knife right there, but shock holds me.

Lennox steps up first, his voice a dangerous rumble that fills the silence. “The fuck did you just say to my sister?” Sister. The revelation slams into everyone around us as the words shock them all. But the look on Lennox's face tells me the only thing he cares about is that Nicholas called me his and that his rival is standing in his clubhouse.

His fists clench, body coiled like he is ready to tear Nicholas apart bare handed, but there is another edge of silence. He just let it slip that I'm his sister. I wait for the whispers, but everyone is too preoccupied with the fucker that just walked in here.

At the exact same moment, Corbin’s voice cuts through, low and absolute, stepping forward with that military steel. “She’s not yours anymore. She’s mine, and she’s not going anywhere with you.”

Lennox’s eyes dart over to Corbin, rage simmering in his gaze, but turns his attention back to the problem at hand—but it’s clear that will be dealt with later. Brother's shift, murmurs turning to growls. My heart hammers wildly against my chest, begging to leave me.

Nicholas laughs, low and unconcerned, hands slightly raised as if placating. “Yours? I doubt that, Switch. She might have had her little fun with you, but judging by the look on your Pres—her older brother’s—face, you were never going to keep her.”

Lennox surges half a step, eyes blazing between us. “You stay the hell away from her. She’s my sister. Iron Wraith runs in her blood as much as it does everyone else in this room. If you think you can take her, you’ll be dead before you take a step.”

Corbin stands like a wall at my side, not touching but radiating lethal energy, like a bomb ready to level the building. “Leave. You’re trespassing.” His voice carries lethal promise, stoic but edged with the possessiveness that unravels me in private.

I force my voice steady, stepping forward despite the whirlwind in my chest. Past memories flood: Nicholas’s control, the family cage I escaped through code and courage, the gaslighting that made me doubt every move. “What the hell do you want, Nicholas? You think you can stroll into our compound after everything—after I buried you—and demand I come back? Fuck you.”

He smiles wider, eyes cold. “Everything? You mean how you walked away from a club you helped me build, and then rolled on us to the DEA. You are mine until you stop fucking breathing. Which is going to be soon if you don’t come with me. However, I’m feeling nice. If you need time to say your goodbyes, I’ll give you twenty-four hours to come to me willingly. Refuse, and it’s full war. So far, I’ve played nice with these fuckers. I will rain blood and hell on this club until there is nothing else. You know I have reach. Money. Connections that make your little club look quaint.”

The threat lands. War. Brothers bristle, guns half-drawn. Judge’s voice booms for order, but the tension holds. Nicholas taps his chest casually, jacket parting to reveal the wires and blinking digital display of a vest. “Insurance policy. Dead-man’s switch. Sophisticated enough that even you couldn’t jam it fast enough, baby. Shoot me, and we all go up. The compound with us if the signal trips. Twenty-four hours. Choose wisely.”

Shock ripples through me. A bomb. Here. My hacker brain races—frequencies, overrides, exploits—but he’s planned for it. Nicholas always does. The audacity fuels my rage. I’m no one’s to claim or cage. Lennox looks murderous, held back only by Judge’s sharp command. “Stand down. Not with that on him. We handle this smart.”