Page 19 of Fang (Underground Vengeance MC, NOLA Chapter #3)

Fang and I exit the ambulance and hop on his bike. As we pull away from the diner and onto the main road, I close my eyes briefly, allowing myself one moment of vulnerability no one can see. Then I open them, focusing on the road ahead and on my brother. After today, he ’ ll be free.

Mercy Memorial Hospital looms before us, a concrete monolith with windows like tired eyes gazing out over a cracked parking lot. After parking near the edge of the lot, Fang and I hurry across it. We enter through the service entrance as planned.

The antiseptic smell hits me immediately—that particular blend that all hospitals share, regardless of their budget or location. I check my watch. The clock is ticking.

“Remember,” Fang murmurs, his voice barely audible over the distant hum of machinery, “twenty minutes. Any longer and the camera loop becomes a liability.”

I nod. “Create your diversion in five minutes. That should give me enough time to reach him and get him into a wheelchair.”

Fang’s expression is unreadable behind his glasses, but there’s a tension in his shoulders that betrays his concern. “If anything feels wrong—”

“I know. Abort and regroup.” My hand flexes at my side. I quell the impulse to reach for him. A hug would be amazing right now, but we ’ re not in a relationship. It would be weird if I tried to touch him. Still, I want to.

A ghost of a smile touches his lips, as if he can read my body language. “Good luck.”

We separate inside the stairwell. Fang heads out into the second floor while I climb to the third. I exit into a dimly lit corridor. My shoes make no sound against the linoleum floor. Working with the cartel taught me a few things, including how to move like a ghost and leave no trace.

The hallways are a mess of hospital staff swapping stations. Shift change means chaos, exactly as we planned.

I scan each face I pass, comparing them against my mental database of known cartel associates. So far, no matches.

Something feels off. The atmosphere ’ s too casual. Security ’ s too lax. The cartel is many things, but careless isn’t one of them. They should have this place locked down tighter, especially given Rory’s value as leverage.

A cold knot forms in my stomach, a warning signal I’ve learned never to ignore. Something’s wrong.

I’m about to head for the nearest stairwell when a hand clamps around my upper arm, yanking me sideways. My body reacts before my mind can process what ’ s happened. But then recognition hits, stopping me mid-motion.

The woman who’s pulled me into an empty patient room is familiar. Her dark hair ’ s pulled into a severe bun and her eyes are lined with exhaustion. She ’ s wearing scrubs that hang from her thin frame like clothes on a wire hanger. Nurse Chen. Rory’s primary nurse for the past three years.

She closes the door behind us with trembling hands, then turns to face me. “What are you doing here?” she whispers.

“Where’s my brother?” I counter, not bothering with pretense.

Fear flashes across her face, quickly suppressed, but unmistakable. “You shouldn’t be here, Mina. It’s not safe.”

“Where is Rory?” I repeat, each word precise and hard-edged.

Her eyes dart to the door, then back to me. “They moved him,” she admits. “Three hours ago.”

The information hits me like a system crash, momentarily freezing all processes. “Three hours?” I manage to ask, my voice sounding distant to my own ears. “Where?”

Nurse Chen glances at the door again, her entire body radiating nervous energy. “I’m not supposed to know, but I overheard them talking. They mentioned Mexico City.”

Mexico City. Cartel headquarters. Home to the most heavily fortified locations in their entire network. My carefully constructed extraction plan shatters.

“Show me his transfer records,” I demand, my mind already recalibrating, searching for alternatives.

She hesitates, then nods sharply. There’s a small laptop attached to a table near the empty bed. Her login gives her access to patient records, her fingers flying across the keyboard with practiced efficiency.

“Here,” she says, turning the screen slightly so I can see.

The transfer form is sparse, lacking the detailed documentation that should accompany a patient with Rory’s complex needs. Destination: Private Facility, Mexico City. Authorizing Physician: Dr. J. Vasquez.

Not a doctor. Juan Vasquez. The missing and possibly dead cartel leader whose organization I’m betraying by working with the MC.

“They brought specialized equipment.” Nurse Chen ’ s gaze darts to the door. “And a medical team. It wasn’t a rushed job. They were prepared.”

A cold realization dawns on me. “They know. They know I’ve defected.”

Nurse Chen doesn’t confirm or deny, but the fear in her eyes speaks volumes. “You need to leave,” she urges, closing the patient record. “Now.”

“Did he say anything?” I ask, desperation overriding caution. “Before they took him?”

Her expression softens momentarily. “He asked for you. Said to tell you he’d be fine, that you shouldn’t worry.” She swallows hard. “He’s so brave.”

The simple statement pierces me like a knife between ribs—precise and devastating. I’ve failed him. All these years of servitude to the cartel, all the compromises and crimes committed in his name, and I’ve still failed to protect him.

“Thank you,” I say to Nurse Chen, the words inadequate for the risk she’s taking. “If they contact you about him—”

“They won ’ t,” she says, heading for the door. “Now go. Please.”

I follow her, already calculating my next move.

The extraction plan is obsolete, but perhaps Scalpel still has value—medical knowledge that could help me plan a new operation in Mexico City.

Fang’s hacking skills could provide intelligence on the facility where they’re keeping Rory. It’s not over. Just recalibrated.

As I step into the hallway, movement at the far end catches my eye.

A man in orderly scrubs stands with his back to me, but his broad shoulders are unmistakable.

It ’ s Emilio, one of Vasquez’s personal security details.

He turns slightly, reaching for something at the nurses’ station.

I duck my head immediately, using a passing group of staff as cover.

My heart pounds against my ribs, adrenaline flooding my system. I resist the urge to run, forcing myself to walk at a normal pace toward the nearest exit. Each step feels like an eternity. Each passing face, a potential threat.

I push through the exit door into the humid night air, immediately veering away toward the ambulance bay. The vehicle waits exactly where planned, its engine idling softly. I approach from the side, staying in the shadows until I’m certain no one has followed me.

I rap my knuckles three times, the signal for Scalpel to open the rear doors. He does. I slip in.

“ Text Fang. Tell him we need to go. Now!”

Scalpel types a quick message and hits send. “ No brother?”

“ He ’ s gone.”

Scalpel’s phone pings. “ He ’ ll grab his bike and meet us down the road.”

I climb into the front and take the passenger seat while Scalpel pulls out of the bay. A few minutes later, we ’ re parked behind a dilapidated gas station. Fang rolls up as I get out of the ambulance. The moment his eyes reach mine, his expression shifts from expectation to concern.

“They moved him,” I say. “Three hours ago. To Mexico City.”

Scalpel joins us. “They took him to cartel headquarters?”

I nod once, my fingers curling into fists so tight my nails bite into my palms. “They know I’ve defected.”

“ Probably,” Fang says.

“You sure Vapor ’ s not willing to back you on this?” Scalpel asks. “ If the cartel thinks she ’ s valuable enough to drag her brother all the way to Mexico City, then maybe she ’ s exactly what you need to finally do these fuckers in.”

“ He won ’ t budge,” Fang growls. “ Doesn ’ t trust her.”

“ Because I worked for the cartel,” I mutter.

“ Sounds like a shit show.” Scalpel rubs his beard.

“ Look, I ’ m happy to offer my services to another brother in need, but if you ’ re going to Mexico City, you have to tell Vapor.

I can ’ t cross into Mexico without his blessing.

He ’ s not my pres., but I ’ m not going to go behind his back for that. This was different.”

“ How so?” I demand.

“ Thought this would be a fast extraction without a bunch of shit going down. Mexico City ’ s a whole nother can o ’ worms,” he says, letting his Texas drawl through for the first time.

Guess he does that when he gets agitated.

“ If you get Rory back, call me. Otherwise, I can ’ t help you without your pres. blessin ’ .”

“ Thanks for coming out,” Fang says, slapping Scalpel on the back. “ I ’ ll be in touch.”

“ So long.” Scalpel gets into the ambulance and drives away.

“ Now what?” I ask.

“ Vapor ’ s not going to agree to Mexico City.”

“ Then we go without him.” I cross my arms over my chest.

“ Yeah.” His gaze slides off into the distance.

After a few seconds, he shakes his head.

“ We ’ ll stay the night at a safe house where we can pick up supplies, then leave in the morning.

Don ’ t want to go back to the clubhouse and risk running into Vapor.

The less he knows, the better. As long as we get Rory back, Vapor won ’ t kick my ass. ”

“ We ’ re going to Mexico?” I perk up, dropping my arms to my sides.

“ ?Viva México! ” He gives me a wry smile, and I can ’ t help but return it.

I’ve lost this round, but the game isn’t over.

The cartel has taken the only person I care about.

Now, with nothing left to lose, I’m more dangerous than they can possibly imagine.

They ’ d better start watching their backs in Mexico because I ’ m coming, and I ’ m going to rain hellfire down on them until I can bring my brother home.