Page 42 of Fang (Underground Vengeance MC, NOLA Chapter #3)

Fang sinks onto the edge of the bed with a barely suppressed groan, his good arm cradling his ribs. “Not exactly how I planned to come home to you,” he says, attempting a smile that turns into a wince.

“Stay put,” I order, though he clearly has no intention of moving. “Let me get you into some fresh clothes.”

After grabbing a clean T-shirt and boxers, I help him remove his cut. He lifts his arms with a hiss of pain, allowing me to pull his T-shirt over his head.

The sight of his bare chest makes my breath catch.

I didn’t see it earlier because Scalpel had me leave the room for a minute while they did the X-ray.

Purple bruises bloom across his right side, spreading from sternum to back in a violent watercolor.

Cuts of various sizes mark his arms and shoulders, some superficial, others deep.

A particularly angry gash runs across his left bicep.

I strip his jeans and boxers before replacing the latter.

“What happened out there?” I ask, glancing at a cut above his eyebrow.

His eyes close briefly. “Vasquez was gone. The whole place was a trap. We made it out just before the main charge detonated, but the blast wave caught us. I got thrown about twenty feet into a drainage ditch. Knocked me out cold. Don’t worry.

Scalpel checked to make sure I didn’t have a concussion. ”

My heart squeezes as the reality of how close I came to losing him hits me. “And Vasquez, where ’ s he?”

“Vapor thinks he’s fled to Mexico.” Fang’s eyes open, finding mine. “ He can run, but we ’ ll get him. I know we will.”

“ And I ’ ll help.”

“ Of course.”

“How are the others? I saw them get out of the van on their own, but I also know how stubborn you guys can be.”

“Banged up but intact. Ice took some shrapnel to the arm. Tank sprained his ankle. Nothing time won’t heal.” He groans as he tries to lay down.

“Here, let me help.” With careful movements, I prop him against the pillows, arranging them to support his injured side. Only when he’s settled do I sit beside him on the edge of the bed, taking his hand in both of mine.

“I need to get you a sexy nurse outfit. Alice might have an extra.”

“Don’t you dare ask her for one.” I grin. “Also, I doubt Scalpel will want her to share any of her sexy outfits.”

“Did she tell you something about what’s up with them?” he asks.

“No. But something’s going on.”

“Or not, and that’s the problem.”

“You saw it too?”

“How could anyone miss it? If they’re not banging already, they should be. There’s enough tension in the room when they’re together to ignite a fire.”

“Maybe so, but they’ve got nothing on us, babe.” I lean to kiss him softly.

When I pull back to catch my breath, he sighs. “Even though I wasn’t gone that long, I missed you so much.”

“Me too. I can’t believe I almost lost you,” I whisper, my voice catching on the words. I lift his hand to my cheek, holding it there as if to reassure myself that he ’ s alive.

“Told you I’d come back,” he reminds me, his thumb tracing my cheekbone.

I turn my face to press a kiss against his palm.

“I’ve spent so many years alone,” I say, the words tumbling out.

“Just me and Rory against the world. Never trusting anyone, never letting anyone close enough to see the real me.” My eyes find his, holding his gaze steadily despite the vulnerability of what I’m about to say. “And then there was you.”

His expression softens, the pain in his eyes momentarily eclipsed by something warmer, more intense.

“I love you, Fang.” Once spoken, the words seem to hang in the air between us, perfect and true.

“I love your brilliant mind and how you see patterns no one else can see. I love how you protect people, not just with your body but with your skills. How you helped me find Rory when no one else wanted to step up. How you never once judged me for the things I did to survive.”

My voice trembles but I push on, needing him to hear everything. “I love how you make me feel safe for the first time in years. Not because you’re strong, though you are, but because you’re steady. Because when you say something will happen, it does. Because you keep your promises.”

A smile spreads across his battered face, transforming it despite the bruises and cuts. “I love you too, Mina.” His voice is rough with emotion. “The minute I saw the elegance of your code, I was a goner. The woman behind all that perfection just made me fall harder.”

I laugh through sudden tears, the tension of the past day breaking like a fever. “Only you would fall in love with someone because of their programming skills.”

“What can I say? Beautiful syntax is my weakness.” He tugs gently on my hand, pulling me down beside him on the bed. “Come here.”

I carefully arrange myself against his good side, my head nestled in the crook of his shoulder, my palm resting lightly over his heart. Its steady beat beneath my fingers is the most reassuring thing I’ve felt in days.

“I was so afraid,” I confess against his skin. “When Vapor said there had been an explosion, that you were injured… I thought of all the things I hadn’t told you.”

His lips press against my forehead, lingering there. “I’m harder to get rid of than that,” he murmurs. “Especially now that I have something—someone—to come back to.”

I lift my face to his, our lips meeting in a kiss that’s gentle out of necessity but no less intense. His hand cradles the back of my neck, holding me close as if I might disappear if he lets go. When we part, his eyes are dark with a mix of pain and desire.

“I’ve never believed in fate,” I whisper, tracing the uninjured side of his face with my fingertips. “But finding you in the middle of all this chaos… makes me wonder.”

He captures my wandering hand, bringing it back to his lips for another kiss. “Not fate,” he says. “Choice. Every day, I choose you. Even before I met you, I was choosing paths that led to you.”

The simple truth of it steals my breath. In a world where choice has so often been an illusion, where survival dictated my every move, the idea of choosing love—of being chosen—feels revolutionary.

I settle back against him, careful not to jostle his injuries, and listen to the steady rhythm of his breathing as it gradually slows toward sleep.

The outside world—the cartel, the danger, even Rory’s treatment—all seems distant compared to this moment of quiet connection, of wounds tended and truths spoken.

Night deepens outside the window, the dim glow of security lights filtering through the blinds to cast striped shadows across Fang’s bed.

We lie in comfortable silence, his fingers trailing lazy patterns through my hair, my head resting in the hollow of his uninjured shoulder.

The rhythm of his breathing has slowed but not to sleep.

I trace the edge of a bandage on his chest, marveling at how quickly this man has become essential to me, how the thought of his absence now feels like contemplating the loss of a limb.

“You know,” Fang says finally, his voice a soft rumble against my ear, “club life isn’t for everyone.”

I tilt my head to look at his face, finding his eyes serious in the half-light. “What do you mean?”

His fingers continue their gentle journey through my hair, but his expression remains solemn.

“After Rory’s treatment is complete, you have a choice.

” He pauses, picking his words carefully.

“You can stay with me, or you can go into hiding with your brother. Start fresh somewhere the cartel can’t find you. ”

The suggestion catches me off guard. After everything we’ve been through—the rescue mission in Mexico, the hunt for Vasquez, these past weeks of building something between us—he’s offering me an exit strategy. An honorable discharge from the war we’ve been fighting.

“You want me to leave?” My voice emerges smaller than intended.

“God, no.” His arm tightens around me, his certainty immediate and reassuring.

“That’s the last thing I want. But I need you to know that you have options.

” He shifts slightly, wincing as the movement jostles his ribs, but his eyes never leave mine.

“The cartel won’t forget what we’ve done.

Dismantling their operation will take time. There will be danger, retaliation.”

I prop myself up on one elbow, studying his face in the shadows. “What about Rory? Would he have to leave too?”

Fang shakes his head, his hand finding mine in the darkness. “Rory’s welcome to stay as long as he wants. Once his treatment is complete, he’ll have options too. College, maybe. A normal life.” His thumb traces circles on my palm. “The club protects its own, and that includes both of you now.”

I consider his words, the future they present.

A choice—something I haven’t truly had in years.

Since the cartel first pulled me into their world, my decisions have always been made under duress, with Rory’s life hanging in the balance.

Now, with that pressure potentially lifting, what would I choose freely?

“I’ve spent my entire adult life living in the shadows,” I say slowly, the realization crystallizing as I speak. “I ’ m done living that way.”

Fang watches me intently, waiting for me to continue.

“I choose you,” I say simply. “I choose this life, complicated as it is. I choose to stay and fight rather than run and hide. The cartel took enough years from me. I won’t let them take this too.”

Something shifts in his expression—relief mingled with joy, tempered by the gravity of what I’m choosing. His hand comes up to cradle my face, eyes searching mine in the dim light.

“Are you sure? This won’t be easy.”

“Nothing worth having ever is,” I reply, the certainty in my chest expanding with each breath. “Besides, you’ve seen my code. You know I don’t back down from a challenge.”