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My fault. Should have seen it. Should have known Eddie's pride wouldn't let those public humiliations stand. Should have protected her better.

Should have, should have, should have.

But should-haves wouldn't bring her back. Only violence would do that now. The kind of violence I'd trained for, fought with, lived through. The kind that left men in pieces and questions unasked.

They wanted war? They'd get it. But first, I'd get her back.

No matter who stood in the way.

Twentyminutes.That'swhatI gave them. Twenty minutes to mobilize while I turned the office table into a warroom. Maps spread across carved wood like battle plans, marked with every Serpent stronghold we knew, every safe house we'd identified, every corner where they did business. My hands moved with purpose even as my mind screamed her name.

"Last signal was here." My finger stabbed the intersection where the tracker died. Industrial district, old warehouses and abandoned factories. Perfect for what Cruz would need—privacy, soundproofing, multiple exits. "Three possible locations within a mile radius."

Thor leaned over my shoulder, his good arm braced on the table. "Old Bracken facility, Crockett's abandoned processing plant, or that complex near the river."

"We hit all three." The words came out clipped, tactical. "We’ll start at the river complex—most likely based on defensive positions, and move to the others after."

"What about the fire?" A younger brother—Dominic—gestured toward the window where smoke still darkened the sky. "Cops will be crawling all over this area. Emergency vehicles blocking roads."

"Exactly." Duke's smile held no humor. "Perfect distraction. Every cop in the district is playing firefighter. Eddie might be a rat, but he's smart."

Tank still looked like someone had gutted him. Twenty years of brotherhood didn't die easy. "I sponsored him. Brought him to his first church. He knows our playbooks, our protocols, how we think."

"Then we go off-book." I straightened, meeting every eye in the room. "Military tactics, not MC. Urban warfare, not biker brawl. They're expecting Heavy Kings. We give them something else."

"Hooah," someone muttered, and others picked it up. Half these men had served. They understood what I was asking.

"ROE?" Thor asked, all business now.

"Weapons free on combatants. Cruz lives—he's mine. Anyone sees Eddie . . ." I let that hang. Everyone understood what happened to traitors.

"Speaking of." Duke pulled out a burner phone. "Got a text from our guy at the fire. They found three bodies so far. Too burned for visual ID."

Three bodies. I processed that, mind calculating. "Eddie lived alone."

"Yeah." Duke's expression said he'd done the same math. "Vagrants, probably. Wrong place, wrong time."

Or bodies placed there. Eddie covering his tracks with corpses that would take weeks to identify through dental records. By then he'd be ghosts and shadows, counting money somewhere warm.

"Remember, we need different tactics.” I rolled up the maps, decision made. "Flash-bangs instead of rushing. Suppressing fire instead of charging. We've gotten comfortable being the biggest dogs. Time to remember how to be wolves."

Duke checked his weapon, movements sharp with barely controlled violence. "Five minutes to mount up. Full combat load. Anyone not ready stays behind."

The tavern emptied with purpose. Brothers who'd been drowning in grief transformed into soldiers. The kind of transformation that happened when you gave men a mission, a target for their rage.

I stayed behind, staring at the dark phone screen where her tracker had been. One last attempt to reach her—straight to voicemail again. Her recorded voice cheerful and bright: "This is Lena! Leave me something fun!"

"I'm coming, baby," I told the recording. "Hold on. Just hold on."

Tank appeared in the doorway, tactical vest over his cut. "Ready?"

"Yeah." I strapped on my own gear, each piece of equipment a promise. Knife for close work. Pistol for precision. Rifle for sending messages. "Let's go get her."

Thefirstlocationreekedof failure and methamphetamine. We breached hard and fast—flash-bangs turning the dawn into white fire, brothers flowing through doors and windows like violent water. But the Bracken facility was a ghost, abandoned in haste. Cooking equipment still warm, chemicals puddle on concrete, but no Serpents. No Lena.

"Clear," Thor reported, disgust thick in his voice. "Recent activity. Maybe six hours old."

Six hours. When she was still safe in my bed, dreaming whatever dreams brave girls dream. Before she made a choice that might get her killed.