I emerge into the main room just as the front doors burst open. Three Vultures MC charge in, firing wildly. I drop to one knee, squeezing off two precise shots. Two men fall. The third dives behind the bar.
Blade appears from the side hallway, moving with the silent efficiency that earned him his road name. The enemy never sees him coming. There's a flash of steel, a gurgling sound, and then silence.
"Clear," Blade announces, wiping his blade on the dead man's shirt.
Outside, the gunfire intensifies. I move to the window, assessing the situation. At least eight Vultures MC are down, but the others have regrouped behind their vehicles, maintaining a steady barrage.
"They're better trained than the usual thugs," Ghost observes, appearing at my side.
"Ex-military, some of them," I agree. "But not as good as us."
I tap my comm. "Ace, status?"
"Two trying to flank through the garage," comes the immediate response. "Won't be trying much of anything anymore."
"Viper?"
"Three down by the east fence. One wounded, talking a lot of shit."
I smile grimly. "Keep him alive if you can. We need information."
The leader emerges from behind the SUV, shouting orders, trying to rally his remaining men. His left arm hangs useless at his side where my bullet found him, but he's still dangerous, still in command.
"I want him," I tell Ghost. "Cover me."
Ghost nods, moving to position by the shattered front window. "On your go."
I count to three, then burst through the front door as Ghost lays down suppressing fire. The Vultures MC scatter, diving for cover, momentarily distracted from my charge across the courtyard.
The leader sees me coming too late. I tackle him to the ground, driving the air from his lungs. His good arm comes up, a pistol gleaming in the sunlight. I catch his wrist, slamming it against the ground until the gun falls from his grasp.
"Call them off," I growl, pressing my forearm against his throat. "Now."
He spits in my face, eyes blazing with hatred. "Fuck you."
I increase the pressure on his windpipe. "Last chance."
For a moment, I think he'll comply. Then his free hand moves to his waist—reaching for a hidden weapon. I react instinctively, driving my knife up under his ribcage.
His eyes widen in shock, then understanding. He knows he's dying.
"You think... this ends here?" he gasps, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth. "Charles is coming... for all of you. Your club... your families..."
The threat against my family—against Emma—ignites something primal in me. I twist the knife, watching the light fade from his eyes.
"Tell Charles I'll be waiting," I whisper as his body goes slack.
The remaining Vultures MC, seeing their leader fall, begin a disorganized retreat. Some make it to the vehicles. Others don't. Within minutes, the courtyard falls silent except for the moans of the wounded.
I stand, surveying the carnage. At least twelve Vultures MC dead. On our side, minor injuries—a graze on Ace's arm, a cut on Viper's forehead, one prospect with a bullet through the meat of his thigh.
Nothing that won't heal.
"Secure the perimeter," I order, wiping my blade clean. "Check the wounded. Gather the prisoners in the shed."
My brothers move quickly, securing weapons, checking bodies, dragging prisoners away for questioning. I stand motionless in the center of it all, the final threat echoing in my mind.
Your families.
