Page 25 of Fang (Underground Vengeance MC, NOLA Chapter #3)

The air conditioner in the window rattles to life when I flip the switch, but it produces more noise than cool air.

Sweat trickles down my spine as I pace the small room, four steps from door to bathroom, six steps from window to bed.

My nerves jangle like live wires, the adrenaline crash from our escape leaving me jittery and unfocused.

“What are you doing?” I ask, pausing to peer through a gap in the blinds. The parking lot remains empty except for the stolen truck and a stray dog sniffing around a overflowing trash can.

“Cartel’s network security is better than last time, but I ’ m almost in,” Fang replies, eyes never leaving the screen as his fingers fly across the keyboard.

I resume pacing, unable to keep still. My thoughts keep circling back to Rory, lying in a hospital bed, presumably surrounded by cartel guards. Does he know I’m coming? Is he scared?

“Stop,” Fang says suddenly. “You’re making me nervous.”

“Sorry,” I mutter, forcing myself to sit on the edge of the bed. The springs creak in protest, another noise added to the symphony of the rattling air conditioner and Fang’s relentless typing.

Silence settles between us, broken only by occasional muttered curses from Fang as he navigates digital barricades.

I study him covertly—the furrow between his brows as he concentrates, the way his glasses slide down his nose when he leans forward, the tension in his shoulders betraying his concern despite his composed expression.

Last night feels like a fever dream, something that happened to different people in a different lifetime.

“I’m in,” he announces after twenty minutes that feel like twenty hours. “Intercepting their communications now.”

I move to stand behind him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body but careful not to touch. The screen displays a cascade of text messages, emails, and internal communications, all in Spanish. Fang translates in real-time, scrolling through the data with increasing grimness.

“They know,” he says finally, pointing to a message from someone identified only as Jefe. “They know we’re in Puerto Escondido.”

My stomach drops as I read the translated text: *American woman and man arrived via AeroMexico flight 2217. Believed to be Mina Bishop and unidentified accomplice. All units on alert. Shoot to kill the man. The woman is wanted alive.*

“How did they know which flight?” I whisper, fear crawling up my spine like ice water.

“They have people everywhere,” Fang replies, scrolling to another message. “Airport security, customs, rental agencies. We never stood a chance at staying under the radar.”

My legs suddenly feel unable to support my weight. I sink onto the bed, hands trembling slightly as the reality of our situation crystallizes. The cartel’s reach is even more extensive than I’d feared—a web of eyes and ears covering every inch of this small coastal town.

“There’s more,” Fang says, his voice tight. He turns the laptop so I can better see the screen. “You’re on their most wanted list now. Top five.”

My face stares back at me from an internal bulletin—a recent photo they took without my knowledge. Beneath it, there ’ s a substantial bounty figure that makes my blood run cold. Fang’s face appears as well, grainy and captured from security footage, marked as a “Underground Vengeance MC member.”

“They’ve doubled security at the clinic,” Fang continues, scrolling through more intercepted communications. “Added armed guards at all entrances, restricted all visitor access, implemented additional identity verification protocols.”

My face feels bloodless, hands cold despite the room’s oppressive heat. “They’re expecting us.”

“They’re counting on it,” Fang corrects, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “They want you to try. They’re using Rory as bait.”

The words hit me like physical blows. I’ve walked into traps before, diffused them, turned them back on my enemies. But this —this is different. The stakes aren’t just my life anymore; they’re Rory’s too.

“I can’t leave him there,” I say, voice cracking despite my efforts to keep it steady.

“No one’s suggesting that,” Fang replies, turning to face me fully. His expression softens slightly when he sees my face. “But we need to be smart about this. We can’t do it alone, Mina. Not anymore.”

I know what’s coming before he says it. The logical next step is to try to get his club on board.

“We need the club,” Fang states, leaving no room for argument. “We need manpower, resources, tactical support. We need Vapor.”

“How?” I ask automatically. “He doesn ’ t trust me, and he certainly doesn ’ t believe in me.”

“He ’ ll believe me once I send him copies of the cartel ’ s communications,” Fang counters.

My mind races, looking for alternatives that don’t exist. “The more people involved, the more variables, the more potential failure points.”

“And the more guns on our side,” Fang says firmly. “Look at this.” He gestures to the screen, to the messages detailing the cartel’s preparations. “This isn’t just a few guards anymore. This is a full tactical response. They’re treating this like a war.”

“Because it is,” I whisper, the truth of it settling into my bones.

He stands and crosses to where I ’ m standing.

Gently grasping my shoulders, he gazes into my eyes.

“I ’ m going to get him to help us. Vapor can get the team here within twelve hours.

With the club’s resources, we have a fighting chance.

Without them…” He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t need to.

“Fine.” I sigh. “Call Vapor.”

Fang nods once, releases my shoulders, and moves back to the desk. He pulls a secure phone out of his go bag—not the burner we’ve been using, but something more sophisticated, designed specifically for communication with the club.

“He’s not going to like this,” Fang warns as he punches in a number. “But he’ll come.”

I watch him press the phone to his ear, anxiety coiling in my stomach like a venomous snake.

So much rides on this call—Rory’s life, our lives, whatever fragile thing has been building between Fang and me since that first night at the clubhouse.

If Vapor doesn ’ t come through, I don ’ t know what we ’ ll do.

I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the heat.

In all my years working for the cartel, I never imagined I’d be standing in a shabby motel room, praying for a motorcycle club president to save my brother’s life.

Yet here I am, watching Fang’s face as he begins explaining our situation, knowing that whatever comes next will either save us or destroy us completely.

And there’s nothing I can do but wait.