Page 7 of Fang (Underground Vengeance MC, NOLA Chapter #3)

She tilts her head slightly, a single strand of jet-black hair falling across her face. “If I had that kind of control over the cartel’s operations from in here,” she says, her voice raspy from thirst but steady, “do you really think I’d still be sitting in your concrete box?”

The logic isn’t flawless, but it’s solid enough to make me hesitate.

She’s right—if she could communicate with the outside world, she’d have called for extraction, not a cyber-attack that would only increase my suspicion.

Besides, there ’ s nothing in here but her and the clothes on her back, which I thoroughly searched before I left her in here.

“I can help you,” Mina says, breaking the silence. “I know their systems. I designed half of them. I can stop the attack, close the backdoors they’ve opened, make sure they never get in again.”

I narrow my eyes, suspicion a bitter taste at the back of my throat. “And why would you do that?”

“Because I want something in return.” Her eyes meet mine without flinching, intense enough that I can almost feel the heat of them across the small room. “My brother. I need your help to get him away from them.”

The word “brother” hits me like a sucker punch, unexpected and devastating.

My grip on the Glock falters for just a moment, memories flooding in that I’ve spent years keeping compartmentalized—a basketball bouncing on asphalt, Tommy’s voice calling that he was going home, the empty years that followed filled with search parties and false leads and eventually nothing but silence.

“Your brother?” I repeat, hating how the question comes out softer than I intended.

Something in my tone must betray me because Mina’s eyes narrow slightly, reassessing me like I’m code with an unexpected function.

“Yes. My brother. He’s why I work for them.

He’s sick—has been since he was a kid. Needs constant medical care.

As long as I do what they want, they pay for his treatments. They own me.”

The words are simple, matter-of-fact, stripped of emotional manipulation.

That makes them more believable than any tearful plea could ever be.

Still, I’ve been in this game long enough to know that the most effective lies are the ones that target your specific vulnerabilities. What if she knows about Tommy?

“And I’m supposed to just believe that?” I keep my voice flat, professional, even as something in my chest twists uncomfortably.

Mina shrugs, a small movement that seems to cost her more effort than it should. “Believe what you want. But your network is currently being stripped bare.”

“ I pulled the plug.”

“ But you can ’ t turn it back on until you fix this. You ’ re defenseless. Every second we waste in here is another second you don ’ t have eyes around the perimeter of this compound. They can strike and you ’ ll never see them coming. You need me. I need you. Seems like a simple equation to me.”

My mind races through possibilities like a processor evaluating conditional branches. She could be lying. This could be an elaborate scheme to gain access to our remaining secure systems. But if she’s telling the truth, she represents our best chance at securing our systems.

And if her brother really is being held as leverage…

I make my decision, lowering the gun slightly but keeping it visible. “If—and that’s a big if—you can stop their attack when I turn shit back on, I’ll consider helping you. But if you’re playing me, if this is some kind of trap, you won’t live long enough to regret it.”

For the first time since I’ve met her, something like hope flickers across Mina’s face. It’s gone almost instantly, but it was there—genuine enough that I find myself wanting to believe her story despite every instinct warning me against it.

“Come with me,” I say, gesturing toward the door with my free hand. “And don’t try anything stupid.”

She rises slowly, unfolding from her seated position with the careful movements of someone whose muscles have stiffened from immobility.

When she’s upright, I notice again how petite she is, the top of her head barely reaching my shoulder.

It’s easy to forget the physical reality of her when faced with the sharp intelligence in those green eyes.

I press the gun against her back as she walks ahead of me, close enough that she can feel the pressure but not so hard that it would bruise.

“Try anything,” I warn, “and I won’t hesitate.”

We move through the clubhouse yard, the air hot against my skin. Mina takes slow, deep breaths as we walk, savoring her first taste of freedom after confinement. I guide her through the back entrance of the main building, keeping her away from common areas where other club members might see her.

The hallway leading to my office is deserted.

When we reach the door, I pause, suddenly aware of how vulnerable I’m making myself by bringing her into my technological sanctuary.

If this is a trap, I’m walking right into it.

But the alternative is watching our entire digital infrastructure crumble, and that’s not an option I can accept.

I push the door open, revealing my office transformed by the emergency shutdown.

The usual blue glow of monitors has been replaced by the blood-red pulse of backup systems, casting everything in a crimson light that makes the familiar space feel alien and threatening.

The servers stand like silent sentinels along the walls.

Their status lights are dark for the first time since I built them.

Mina steps inside, her silhouette sharp against the red glow, and for a moment, she looks less like a prisoner and more like what she truly is—a digital weapon about to be unleashed.

Whether that weapon is pointed at our enemies or at our heart remains to be seen.