Page 32 of Fang (Underground Vengeance MC, NOLA Chapter #3)

We move as quickly as Rory’s condition allows, Mina pushing the wheelchair while Scalpel monitors his patient. I lead the way, weapon ready. The hospital’s layout unfolds in my mind once more—left at the junction, through the supply room, down the service elevator reserved for staff.

My earpiece crackles with constant updates from the front—Diablo reporting he’s running low on ammo, Ice confirming the ambulance is still secure, Vapor coordinating covering fire as they try to create an exit path.

We ’ re way beyond any ticking clock. Time ’ s up. We have to get the hell out of here.

The service elevator opens into a basement corridor lined with pipes and electrical panels. The emergency lights cast everything in an eerie red glow, transforming Rory’s already pale face into something ghostly. His breathing has quickened, the exertion of the move taxing his weakened system.

“How are you holding up?” I ask him as we navigate around a stack of supply crates.

“Been better,” he manages, offering a weak smile that reminds me so much of Mina it’s startling. “But I’ve also been worse.”

Mina squeezes his shoulder, her eyes meeting mine over his head—a silent thank you that makes my chest tighten. She shouldn ’ t be thanking me yet. Not until we ’ re back in the States.

We follow the corridor to a loading dock where deliveries are received. The metal door leading outside is our final barrier. Beyond it, if everything has gone according to plan, the ambulance waits.

“Approaching exit,” I report into my comm. “Status of the ambulance?”

“Still secure,” comes Ice’s immediate reply. “But hurry. We’re hearing vehicles approaching from the north—likely more cartel reinforcements.”

I crack the door open, scanning the loading area beyond. The ambulance sits twenty yards away, its white bulk gleaming under security lights. Ice and Bones stand guard beside it, weapons raised and scanning the perimeter. No immediate threats visible, but the night hums with tension.

“Now,” I say, pushing the door fully open. “Move fast, straight to the ambulance.”

We emerge from the building in tight formation, Mina pushing Rory’s wheelchair as quickly as possible while Scalpel and I provide cover on either side.

The night air hits us like a physical force after the climate-controlled hospital—warm, humid, carrying the distinct scent of gun smoke from the front of the building.

Ice spots us immediately, jogging forward to help with the wheelchair while Bones continues scanning for threats, his massive frame silhouetted against the ambulance lights.

“Vapor’s team is taking heavy fire,” Ice reports as we reach the vehicle. “Cartel’s brought in at least twenty more men. They’re trapped in the lobby.”

The rear doors of the ambulance stand open, revealing a fully equipped medical transport interior. Bones and Ice help lift Rory inside, his frail body seeming to disappear among the equipment. Scalpel climbs in after him, immediately beginning to hook him up to portable monitors and an IV bag.

“They need backup,” Bones says, his deep voice tight with concern for his brothers.

My comm unit crackles to life, Vapor’s voice strained but commanding: “Fang, confirm package secure?”

“Package secure,” I reply. “Preparing for transport.”

“Good.” A burst of gunfire nearly drowns out his next words. “Ice, Bones—we need you at the front. Now.”

Ice and Bones exchange glances, then look to me.

“Go,” I tell them, making a split-second decision. “I’ll drive the ambulance. Get our brothers out.”

They nod in unison, that seamless communication that comes from years of riding together.

“Keep the package safe,” Ice says, already moving toward the front of the building, Bones following like a shadow.

“Can you handle this?” Mina asks as we climb into the front of the ambulance, her in the passenger seat, me behind the wheel.

“I’ve driven worse,” I assure her, starting the engine with a rumble. Through the side mirror, I watch Ice and Bones disappear around the corner of the building, running toward the gunfire instead of away from it. My throat knots—they’re going back into hell for their brothers, for the club.

I put the ambulance in drive and pull away from the hospital, lights off to avoid drawing attention.

In the back, Scalpel works with focused intensity, murmuring reassurances to Rory as he stabilizes him for the journey.

Mina turns in her seat, maintaining contact with her brother through the partition, as if afraid he might disappear again if she looks away.

Through my earpiece, I hear Vapor’s voice rise above the chaos: “Fall back to the vans! Move, move, move!”

In the rearview mirror, I catch a final glimpse of the hospital—flashes of gunfire illuminating the night, dark figures sprinting toward the waiting vans, bullets pinging off metal and concrete.

Vapor brings up the rear, covering his brothers’ retreat, diving into the lead van as it lurches into motion under sustained fire.

Then we turn a corner, and the hospital disappears from view. In the back of the ambulance, Rory’s vital signs beep steadily on Scalpel’s portable monitors. Beside me, Mina exhales slowly, a decade of tension releasing in that single breath.

“We did it,” she whispers, half to herself. “We actually did it.”

I reach across the console and take her hand, squeezing once before returning my focus to the road ahead, to the uncertain future that awaits us all once the adrenaline fades and the real work of keeping Rory safe begins.

“ I ’ m getting in the back,” she says, climbing over the seat so she can sit next to her brother. I glance in the rearview mirror and smile. She ’ s so happy she ’ s crying.

Returning my attention to the highway, I flinch as two black SUVs fly past us. They keep going. For now. I just hope they don ’ t make a U-turn.