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

Getting out of the room is a lot easier than getting into it.

We run through corridors that seem to be collapsing in slow motion around us.

The overhead lights flicker and die in sequence, leaving us stumbling through patches of emergency lighting that cast everything in hellish red shadows.

Smoke pours through the ventilation system, bringing with it the acrid smell of burning electronics and something else—something organic that I don’t want to identify.

Behind us, the sounds of chaos grow louder. Boots on grating, men shouting orders in rapid Spanish, the distinctive crack of assault rifle fire. Someone’s screaming about data corruption and system failures, while another voice keeps repeating “?Dónde está la chica? ” Where is the girl?

Mina leads me down a stairwell that shudders with each new explosion. The handrail vibrates under my palm like a tuning fork. She moves with the confidence of someone who’s planned for this exact scenario, taking stairs three at a time while I struggle to keep up.

“How did you know your bosses found your virus?” I shout over the noise.

“They’ve been monitoring my access for weeks,” she calls back without slowing down. “I got sloppy tonight and made a mistake during the auction.”

We reach the bottom of the stairwell, and she pushes through a door. The corridor beyond is filling with smoke, and the emergency lighting has failed completely. She pulls out her phone and activates its flashlight, revealing a narrow hallway lined with supply closets and maintenance equipment.

“Dead end,” I point out.

“Is it?” She kneels next to what looks like a standard floor grate and produces a multi-tool from somewhere in her hoodie. The grate comes up with practiced ease, revealing a crawlspace that disappears into darkness. “You wanted into my world, hacker boy. Hope you brought your boots.”

The sound of pursuing footsteps echoes from the stairwell behind us.

Mina swings her legs into the opening and drops from sight.

I follow, landing hard on what feels like a concrete drainage pipe.

The space is tight, barely large enough for crawling, and smells so musty I’m sure I’ll never get the smell out of my lungs.

“This way,” her voice drifts from ahead, muffled by the confined space.

We crawl through the darkness, guided only by the dim glow of our phone lights.

The building continues to shake above us, and I can hear the groaning of stressed metal and concrete.

Something explodes close enough to rain debris through the grate we entered, and the sound of sirens begins to filter through from outside.

After what feels like minutes but was probably only seconds, Mina stops. “Exit’s above us,” she whispers.

I look up to see another grate, this one showing a slice of star-filled sky. She pushes it aside and pulls herself through, then reaches back to help me up. Her grip is stronger than I expected, and she hauls me out of the crawlspace with surprising ease.

We emerge behind the warehouse, in a narrow alley lined with industrial dumpsters and abandoned pallets.

The main building looms behind us, smoke pouring from its windows while emergency lights paint the surrounding area in strobing reds and blues.

In the distance, the sound of approaching sirens grows louder.

Mina wipes sweat from her face with the back of her hand, leaving a streak of soot that makes her look like a warrior returning from battle. She holds up the baggie with the flash drive.

“By the way,” she says, her voice carrying that same musical accent that made her earlier insults sting. “Try not to die before you get to use it.”

“ What is it?”

“ Everything you need to destroy the cartel.”

The comment hangs between us as a promise and a challenge.

I’m covered in dust and concrete powder, my glasses are cracked, and my cheap suit will never recover from our crawl through the drainage system.

But I’m alive, and so is she, and that feels like a victory worth celebrating.

That said, I still don ’ t know if I can trust her.

Heat builds in my chest again, but this time it’s not guilt or anger. It’s something more complex—frustration mixed with admiration; irritation seasoned with genuine respect.

“This had better be worth it,” I growl.

“ It is.” Her smile transforms her face completely, adding warmth to features that had seemed carved from ice. “Keep up, hacker boy.”

The sound of engines roars from the direction of the warehouse—big vehicles moving fast, probably cartel reinforcements responding to the chaos.

Mina starts running into the desert, her movements fluid despite the rough terrain.

I follow, my dress shoes sliding on loose gravel while her boots find purchase with each step.

Behind us, the warehouse burns against the star-filled sky, sending a column of smoke toward the heavens like a signal fire. The sound of pursuit grows louder—vehicles, voices, the distant bark of search dogs. But ahead of us stretches the vast darkness of the desert, empty and welcoming.

“The drive,” I call after her as we run. “What’s really on it?”

“Everything,” she shouts back without slowing. “Names, locations, financial records. Enough to bring down their entire trafficking operation.”

“And you’re just going to give it to me?”

She stops so suddenly that I almost run into her. When she turns, her eyes catch the starlight, and I see something in them that might be hope.

“I’m going to help you use it,” she says. “That is, if you think your motorcycle club friends can handle a real fight.”

The sound of cartel trucks grows louder behind us, their engines growling like mechanical predators. If we don ’ t find transportation or a place to hide quickly, we won ’ t live long enough to do anything with that drive.

“ Please tell me you have a ride stashed somewhere?” I yell.

“ See those rocks?” She points to an outcropping of giant boulders a hundred yards away. “ Got a dirt bike stashed behind them.”

I ’ m not surprised at all. Something about the way she speaks and moves makes me think she ’ s been planning this for a while. But why tonight? Why now?

Glancing over my shoulder, I spot headlights careening toward us. They haven ’ t located us yet, but it ’ s going to be a close call.

After reaching the rocks, we circle behind them. The bike ’ s exactly where she said it would be, propped against a smaller boulder.

“ I ’ m driving,” I snap, grabbing it up and straddling it. “ Get on and hold on.”

She does, jumping behind me and pressing every inch of her slight body against mine. A rush of heat floods my core, but there ’ s no time to deal with that bullshit. I kick down the starter along with my surging desire and focus on getting the fuck out of here.

The engine rumbles to life. It ’ s not my Hog, not by a long shot, but it ’ s what I ’ ve got to work with. I’ll need to get mine back at some point, but I can’t think about that right now.

The bike lurches but Mina manages to hold on, gripping me even more tightly, pressing her breasts against my back. It ’ s distracting as fuck, but when a bullet whizzes past my face, I snap out of the haze of desire.

The wind howls past my ears, dry and biting. My knuckles are white on the handlebars, throttle twisted hard as the dirt bike eats the cracked earth beneath us. Behind me, Mina clings tight, her arms locked around my ribs, her breath hot against the back of my neck.

I don’t dare look back, but I don ’ t have to. The roar of engines and the staccato pop of rifle fire echo across the desert. They’re close. Too close.

“ Hang on!” I shout, and veer hard left, kicking up a plume of dust and gravel. The rear tire skids then finds traction, and we tear off across an arroyo, bouncing over ridges like a rock skipping water.

The cartel trucks aren ’ t built for this.

Big tires and horsepower don ’ t mean shit when the land turns mean.

I spot a cut in the hills ahead—a dry wash snaking between two rises of jagged rock.

The walls are tight enough to allow us to pass, but they ’ ll cut off anyone pursuing us that isn ’ t on a bike. That ’ s our shot.

I gun it, engine screaming. Bullets chew up the ground behind us, one whining past my ear like a warning from death itself. I duck instinctively, heart slamming. Mina scrunches down behind me, trying to make herself a smaller target.

We hit the wash at full speed, the suspension rattling, my spine jolting with every bump. But the canyon walls rise like sanctuary, the sound of pursuit muffled as the trail winds tighter. There ’ s no way they ’ ll be able to follow us.

We ’ re not out of danger. Not yet. But we ’ ve got distance now. I ease off the throttle just enough to breathe.

“ Are we safe?” she asks, voice raw.

I glance over my shoulder. Empty trail.

“ For now,” I say. “ But they won ’ t stop. Do you know the area?”

“ There ’ s a road on the other side of the canyon. If we can get to it, we ’ re only a few minutes away from the highway.”

“ Straight ahead?”

“ Yeah.”

We make it to the road and then to the highway without any more bullets flying. For now, we ’ ve escaped. But once the cartel realizes what she did, there ’ s going to be hell to pay. Unless…

Unless this entire situation was bullshit to begin with. I can ’ t risk trusting her until I know more about who she is and why she ’ s really working for the cartel. Unfortunately, that means there ’ s only one place I can take her—the Quiet Room—and believe me, there ’ s nothing quiet about it.