Page 37 of Fang (Underground Vengeance MC, NOLA Chapter #3)

I watch this wordless exchange with fascination.

Are they together? There’s certainly something there—a current of awareness that makes the air between them seem charged with kinetic energy.

But there’s restraint too, as if they’re holding themselves carefully in check.

I make a mental note to ask Alice about it later, when we’re alone.

She’s been friendly to me since we first met last week, offering quiet support while we waited for Rory to stabilize.

“Back to what we were discussing earlier,” Fang steps slightly away from me but keeps one hand at the small of my back, “the club will foot the bill on the treatment, but it’s ultimately Rory’s decision to undertake it.”

Rory’s expression sobers as he processes Fang’s words. “What are the risks?” he asks, looking at Scalpel. “I’m guessing experimental treatments come with a few.”

Scalpel nods, his focus returning fully to the medical discussion.

“The main risks are immune rejection of the gene therapy vector and potential liver stress from the enzyme components. There’s also the standard risks of any medical procedure—infection, adverse drug reactions.

” He pauses, then adds, “But the benefit-to-risk ratio is exceptional for a condition with so few treatment options.”

Alice moves to Rory’s side, beginning to check his IV site with gentle efficiency. “From what I’ve read of the protocol, the monitoring is intensive,” she adds. “Any adverse reactions would be caught early and addressed.”

Rory watches her hands as she works, then looks up at me. His eyes—so like mine—hold a determination I recognize from our childhood, from all the times he faced painful procedures with so much courage it humbled me.

“How long have I been sick?” he asks rhetorically. “Ten years? Almost eleven? I’ve spent most of my existence hooked up to machines, watching life pass me by.” He shifts, sitting up straighter against his pillows. “I’m sick of being stuck in a hospital bed. I want to try the treatment.”

The certainty in his voice sends a wave of both pride and fear through me. This is my little brother, facing the unknown with more bravery than I could ever muster.

“Are you sure?” I ask, needing to hear it again.

His jaw sets in that stubborn way I know too well. “I’m sure. If there’s even a chance I could get off dialysis, live something close to a normal life—” he glances around the room, at the machines that has defined his existence for too long, “—then it’s worth the risk.”

I look to Fang, who nods slightly, his expression telling me he understands both my hope and my fear. Then to Scalpel, whose clinical gaze holds rare warmth as he regards my brother’s conviction. Finally to Alice, whose gentle smile offers reassurance born of medical knowledge.

For the first time in years, I allow myself to imagine a future where Rory isn’t defined by his illness—where both of us are free from the chains that have bound us for so long.

“ Well, that settles it.” Scalpel nods and tucks the tablet under his arm.

“I’ll make the arrangements. The treatment protocol is administered at a specialized research facility in Baltimore.

They’ve been pioneering this approach for the past three years.

” His fingers tap against the tablet’s edge, the only outward sign of his barely contained excitement.

“Baltimore?” I repeat, mentally calculating the distance. “That’s what, a thousand miles from here?”

“Just under,” Scalpel confirms. “But it ’ s only a two and a half hour flight.

This hospital is partnering with the biotech company that developed the therapy.

They have the specialized equipment and expertise necessary for this particular protocol.

” He glances at Rory. “I’ve already reached out to a colleague there.

Given your case history and current status, I believe they’ll accept you into the program immediately. ”

The thought of Rory being so far away sends a spike of anxiety through me. After weeks of not knowing where he was, of fighting to get him back, the idea of separation—even for legitimate medical reasons—makes my stomach clench.

“Can I go with him?” I ask, trying to keep the desperation from my voice. “I could stay nearby, be there for his treatments.”

Scalpel’s expression softens slightly, the doctor momentarily giving way to the man.

“You can certainly visit,” he says carefully.

“But the treatment process is intensive. The initial gene therapy administration requires isolation protocols to prevent infection while his immune system is compromised. After that, there’s a series of enzyme treatments, physiotherapy, and constant monitoring.

” He glances between Rory and me. “He ’ ll need a lot of time to heal and recover. ”

I hear what he’s not saying—that hovering anxiously at my brother’s bedside won’t help either of us.

Rory reaches for my hand, his fingers wrapping around mine with surprising strength.

“Don’t worry,” he says, his eyes holding mine steadily.

“I’m ready for whatever the doctors want to do to me.

” A soft smile spreads across his face. “Besides, isn’t this what we’ve been hoping for? A real chance at being normal?”

I swallow hard against the tightness in my throat. “When did you get so brave?” I ask, my voice wavering despite my efforts to keep it steady. “My little brother, facing experimental gene therapy like it’s just another day.”

“It’s not bravery when you don’t have other options,” he counters, but the squeeze of his hand contradicts his dismissal. “You’re the one who broke me out of a cartel hospital in Mexico. That’s brave.”

My eyes burn with unexpected tears. After everything—the years of sacrifice, the deals with devils, the desperate rescue mission—here we are, finally facing a future with actual hope in it.

The enormity of it hits me all at once, threatening to crack the careful control I’ve maintained.

Tears well in my eyes, threatening to spill. I blink rapidly to try to stop them.

“It’s in our blood,” Rory continues, his voice gentle.

“You’re just as brave as I am. Always have been.

Taking care of me since we were kids, standing up to the cartel, finding these people who actually give a damn about us.

” His gaze flickers to Fang, then back to me. “We Bishops don’t break easily.”

The tears spill over before I can stop them. I lean forward, carefully wrapping my arms around my brother, mindful of the IV lines and monitoring equipment connected to him. His body feels frail against mine, but his embrace is surprisingly strong.

“I’m going to get better,” he whispers against my hair. “And then we’re both going to figure out what normal people do with their lives. No cartels, no dialysis machines.” He pulls back slightly to look at me, his smile crooked but genuine. “Maybe I’ll learn to ride a motorcycle.”

I laugh through my tears, the sound watery but real. “One miracle at a time, okay?” I brush his hair back from his forehead, an old gesture from our childhood. “You rest. Scalpel, Alice, Fang, and I will take care of the arrangements.”

Rory settles back against his pillows, fatigue evident in the slight droop of his eyelids. “Go,” he says, making a shooing motion with his hand. “Plot my miraculous recovery. I’ll be here, counting ceiling tiles.”

I stand, wiping away the last of my tears with the back of my hand. Fang moves to my side, his presence solid and reassuring. Alice is already adjusting Rory’s IV, while Scalpel makes notes on his tablet, probably already coordinating with his Baltimore colleagues.

The ping of an alert cuts through the air. Fang pulls his phone from his pocket, glancing at the screen. His entire demeanor transforms in an instant—shoulders squaring, jaw tightening, eyes sharpening with sudden focus.

“We got a hit on Juan Vasquez,” he says, voice low and urgent as he looks at me.

The name sends electricity through my system, pushing aside the overflow of emotion moments before.

Juan Vasquez—the New Orleans cartel leader who disappeared after Ice shot him.

He ’ s responsible for countless deaths, and he ’ s the shadow that’s been hanging over the club since he disappeared a few months ago.

“I’ll see you later,” I promise Rory, already moving toward the door. He nods, understanding in his eyes—he knows better than anyone what the cartel has taken from us, what finishing this fight means.

I follow Fang into the hallway, our footsteps quickening with purpose as we head toward his office.

The transition is jarring—from the tender hope of medical miracles to the dangerous pursuit of cartel justice—but it’s a duality I’m learning to navigate.

Two missions, equally important: Rory’s healing and the cartel’s downfall.

As we walk, Fang’s hand brushes mine, a brief point of contact that grounds me in this new reality.

Whatever comes next, I’m not facing it alone.

Fang and I are a team now, a small subset of a larger group, all working together to end the cartel ’ s violent reign of terror in New Orleans.

If Juan Vasquez is still alive, it ’ s our job to feed him to the gators.

I hope I get to help toss him into the swamp.