Page 49

Dex

T he chapel table groaned under the weight of intelligence, every inch covered in Vanessa's meticulous documentation.

I spread the warehouse blueprints like battle plans, my fingers tracing guard positions and entry points while twelve brothers leaned in close enough that I could smell gun oil and leather and anticipation.

"Six guards on rotation," I said, tapping the tactical diagrams with precision. "Two at the main entrance, one roving the perimeter, three inside with the package."

The detail in Vanessa's work bordered on obsessive.

Red ink marked camera positions, blue showed blind spots.

She'd noted which guards carried keys, their likely smoke break schedules, even which ones favored their left side due to old injuries.

Three years of watching had produced intelligence that would make federal agencies jealous.

"Northeast corner, second floor." I pointed to a room marked with an X, the holding cell for Jessie.

"Guard changes happen every four hours, except—" I checked the notation, "—except at 2 AM when the overnight shift gets lazy.

They stretch it to six hours, leave one man watching while the others play cards in the break room. "

Thor leaned over the blueprints, his massive frame casting shadows across the paper. His finger traced the building's skeleton like he was already there, already moving through those corridors.

"Single exit from that room," he noted, voice rumbling with tactical assessment. "Could be a bottleneck if things go sideways, but it also means predictable movement patterns. They can only come at us one way."

"Windows?" Tyson asked from his position against the wall, always thinking three moves ahead.

I flipped to the exterior elevation drawings. "Barred from the inside. Jessie's not getting out that way. This is a front door operation."

Duke sat back in his presidential chair, the leather creaking under his weight. His eyes moved across the assembled brothers—not the wild energy of thugs planning violence, but the focused calm of soldiers preparing for necessary action. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of command.

"Let me be clear," he said, each word deliberate. "This is not a raid. This is a surgical extraction. We go in quiet, we get the girl, we get out clean. No unnecessary violence, no collateral damage that brings heat we don't need."

His gaze found each man in turn, ensuring the message landed. "These guards are hired muscle, not blood enemies. They go down quiet and wake up with headaches, nothing more. First man who goes cowboy on this answers to me."

The distinction mattered. In our world, violence was currency, and Duke had always insisted on spending it wisely.

Dead bodies brought federal attention, turned extraction into massacre.

Unconscious guards told a different story—professional operators who knew the difference between necessary force and needless slaughter.

"Three teams," I decided, pulling out a red marker to sketch positions. "Alpha team takes the perimeter first, eliminates the roving guard. Can't have him raising alarm or calling for backup."

Archer nodded from his spot near the door, already mentally reviewing the stealth approach. Former Army Ranger, he could move through darkness like smoke when needed.

"Bravo secures the main entrance." I marked the positions with X's. "Two guards there, but Vanessa's notes say they're lazy. More interested in their phones than their jobs. Flash-bang alternative—something loud but non-lethal to disorient. Zip-tie them before they know what hit them."

"I'll take that," Wiz volunteered, his background in security making him perfect for rapid takedowns.

"Charlie team comes with me for the extraction." I drew the interior route we'd take, every turn memorized. "Thor on point, Tyson covering our six. We move fast but careful, get to Jessie before anyone realizes the perimeter's compromised."

The room hummed with the energy of preparation—not the chaotic excitement of street thugs, but the controlled focus of trained operators.

Hands checked weapons with mechanical precision, ensuring slides moved smooth, magazines seated properly.

Radio earpieces were tested with quiet efficiency, channels confirmed, backup frequencies noted.

"Comms stay tight," I continued, watching them work. "No chatter, no commentary. You see something that needs reporting, you report it. Otherwise, radio silence until extraction complete."

Mac looked up from field-stripping his Glock, movements automatic after years of practice. "Rules of engagement if things go hot?"

"Defend yourselves, defend the package, but remember the mission." I met his eyes steadily. "We're not there to wage war. We're there to save an innocent girl who got caught in crossfire she didn't deserve. Minimum force necessary to complete the objective."

Duke stood, his presence immediately commanding the room's attention. "Questions?"

Silence. Not because they were afraid to speak, but because the plan was solid, the objectives clear. Every man knew his role, understood his part in the larger machine.

"Gear up," Duke ordered. "We roll in thirty."

The chapel erupted into controlled chaos—brothers moving with purpose toward the armory, double-checking equipment, running through mental checklists.

I watched them work, pride and worry warring in my chest. These men were professionals, trained and tested.

But operations like this could go sideways fast, turn extraction into bloodbath with one wrong move.

Thor appeared at my shoulder, already wearing his tactical vest. "Good plan," he said simply. "Clean, efficient. Vanessa did solid work."

"She did." The admission tasted strange, praising the woman who'd betrayed us. But credit where it was due—her intelligence would save Jessie's life tonight.

"You trust her?" Thor asked, the real question underneath his words.

I thought about Vanessa's eyes in that coffee shop, the bitter anger that had replaced desperate need. The meticulous documentation, the patient planning, the careful orchestration that had brought us here.

"I trust that she hates them more than she ever hated us," I said finally. "Sometimes that's enough."

Thor nodded, understanding the complexity of it. In our world, alliances shifted like desert sand. Today's enemy became tomorrow's asset when interests aligned. Vanessa wanted the Serpents destroyed, and she'd given us the tools to start that process.

"Let's go get that girl," Thor said, checking his weapon one final time.

Then, after we retrieved Jessie, I would be bringing Rhett to justice.

Time to put Vanessa's intelligence to the test.

T he hardest part wasn't the tactical planning or the danger waiting in that warehouse—it was the woman sitting on the clubhouse couch, hands folded in her lap with the kind of careful stillness that meant she was fighting every instinct in her body.

Cleo looked up when I approached, and the smile she gave me was brave and terrified in equal measure. The common room had emptied as brothers headed to gear up, leaving just us and Duke, who'd settled into his usual chair like a guardian watching over his extended family.

"I have to stay here," she said before I could speak, the words coming out firm despite the tremor underneath. "Let you go into danger while I sit safe. Everything in me says that's wrong."

I sat on the coffee table in front of her, our knees almost touching. This close, I could see the war playing out behind her eyes—the girl who'd learned to run fighting with the woman learning to trust.

"Three weeks ago, I would have been on a bus by now," she continued, voice steadier. "Would have convinced myself I was protecting everyone by disappearing. Or worse, I'd be trying to trade myself for Jessie, thinking I could handle it alone."

"But you're not," I said, catching her hands. They trembled slightly before gripping mine back.

"No. I'm sitting here like a good little girl, letting the big strong men handle the dangerous parts." The sarcasm was gentle, directed more at herself than us. "Do you know how hard that is? My whole life, I've been the one who fixes things. Who handles the crisis. And now..."

Duke shifted in his chair, drawing our attention. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of years spent learning hard truths.

"Part of trusting me and the club means trusting us to handle the dangerous shit while you handle the important shit," he said, leaning forward. "You think sitting here is doing nothing? You're wrong. You're being the reason we come back careful instead of reckless."

Cleo's brow furrowed. "I don't understand."

"Man with nothing to protect, he takes stupid risks.

Doesn't matter if he comes back bloody long as the job gets done.

" Duke's eyes found mine briefly before returning to her.

"Man with someone waiting, someone counting on him?

He thinks twice. Plans better. Fights smarter.

Keeping you safe isn't just about protection—it's about having something worth protecting. "

I watched Cleo process it, seeing her understand that staying safe wasn't weakness but its own kind of strength.

I dropped to my knees in front of her, needing to be at her eye level for this. "This is the test, little one. Not running when things get hard. Not trying to save everyone yourself. Trusting me to come back to you."

Her eyes filled with tears she refused to let fall. "I hate it. Hate feeling helpless while you risk everything."

“I know. You’re a fighter.”

"Come back to me, Daddy," she whispered, the title slipping out raw and honest. "Come back so we can figure out what the key opens together."

"I’ll come back," I promised, pulling back to look at her properly. "No matter what happens out there, I'm coming home to you."