Page 1 of My End (Iron Fiends #10)

Three weeks before the phone call from Tilly

Stretch

They told me the address was in the suburbs of Dallas, but this wasn’t the kind of suburb that had block parties and cul-de-sacs full of tricycles and seasonal yard flags.

No, this was the kind of suburb where money dripped off rooftops and fences were ten feet high. Just low enough to not raise suspicion, but tall enough to say “don’t fucking look in here.”

Every house had space, big lots, winding driveways, gates with security booths, and camera poles disguised as decorative light fixtures.

It was like the homeowners wanted to flaunt their money, but not the messy part of having a life.

No neighbors peeking over hedges or borrowing sugar here. Just secrets and silence.

I pulled up to the gate on a crotch rocket that had cost me more than I wanted to admit.

It was sleek, fast, and just anonymous enough to keep questions at bay.

It killed me to ditch the Harley, but there was no way in hell I could pull up to this place on an Iron Fiends bike.

Not when it had taken everything in me to convince the people surrounding Boone and Gibbs that I was legit.

They thought I was here to protect them.

Far from the fucking truth.

I was here to end them.

The gatehouse sat just to the right and was tucked in like an afterthought. The guy who stepped out wasn’t anyone’s afterthought. He was built like a vending machine and wore mirrored sunglasses despite the overcast sky.

He walked toward me like I’d insulted his mother.

I turned off the engine, kicked the stand, and swung my leg off the bike slowly.

“Hands where I can see ‘em,” the guy barked.

I lifted both hands without a word, with my palms out, and didn’t even flinch when he ran them down the inside of my thighs and around my waist. He was thorough.

Didn’t bother me.

“Name?”

“Jake Style,” I said like I’d been answering to it my whole life.

He grunted, satisfied but not impressed. “Go through the gate and to the front door. Jim’ll meet you there.”

I nodded once. That was the first obstacle.

Every person I got past, every locked door, and every fake name that rolled off my tongue was one step closer to taking them down.

I straddled the bike again, fired it up, and eased through the gate as it slid open.

The driveway curled like a snake through trimmed hedges and trees. Every inch of it was manicured. Even the gravel shoulder. No security cameras were visible, but I knew they were there. The whole property was probably rigged tighter than the White House.

Then the mansion came into view.

White stone with a wide wraparound porch, two turrets flanking the sides like old watchtowers, and more windows than a hotel.

The house wasn’t showy in the flashy way; it was intimidating.

Designed to blend in just enough, but once you looked at it, you couldn’t stop seeing how out of place it really was.

Like its owner.

I parked the bike in the circle drive and took a breath. My boots hit the pavement, and I pushed my sunglasses up onto my head. The air smelled like money and lies.

Then I looked up.

Someone was standing in an upstairs window.

I narrowed my eyes. I couldn’t make out details, but the silhouette was definitely female, tall, with long hair and a posture that said curiosity more than fear.

Not one of the staff.

And not part of the game I’d planned to play.

But something about her stuck.

I turned my head when I heard the front door open.

Jim stepped out and buttoned his jacket like I’d shown up five minutes early and ruined his groove. “Jake,” he called and walked toward me with measured steps. “You made it.”

Jim was all angles in his suit tailored within an inch of his life. He had a military stance and a jaw so sharp he could’ve cut drywall with it.

“Right on time,” I replied and shook his hand like I was grateful to be here.

“Yes, you are. Things are starting to brew with Boone and Gibbs; they want everything locked down. Tightened up. No surprises.”

I nodded. “Glad to be here. I’m ready to help however I can.”

He gave me a once-over. “You come recommended by Max.”

Max.

The only reason I was standing here.

We’d gone to high school together.

Max had a hate for the government. Just politicians in general. He wanted to see them all taken down.

I wasn’t going to screw it up.

“Come inside,” Jim said, already turning. “I’ll give you the tour. You’ll be staying on-site.”

I nodded again, but my eyes flicked up.

She was still at the window.

Watching.

Unmoving.

There was something about the stillness, like she wasn’t just watching me. Like she was trying to figure out what I was doing here.

I followed Jim up the steps and into the mansion. The heavy door shut behind me like the lid on a coffin.

I was in.

And now, it was only a matter of time before the whole house of cards came crashing down.

The scent of polished wood, cold marble, and old money hit me all at once.

The foyer was straight out of some kind of glossy architecture spread, with double-height ceilings, a staircase that split halfway up like a forked tongue, and a chandelier so massive it looked like it needed its own support system.

The walls were creamy white with gold accents, and the floors were smooth stone. Everything gleamed like someone had been through with a toothbrush and a damn laser level.

“This way,” Jim said and turned left.

I followed as my boots thudded softly on the tile.

We passed through an archway into a sitting room the size of a school gym, with couch clusters arranged with military precision. There was a baby grand piano and a fireplace that looked like it had never been lit.

“All of this is open access,” Jim said. “You’ll see other staff around, housekeeper, grounds, chef, a couple of floaters. You don’t answer to them, and they don’t answer to you.”

“Understood,” I said as my eyes scanned every door and every camera dome hidden in the corners.

We moved past a library with built-in shelves that stretched floor to ceiling. There was a formal dining room that could seat twenty, and a sunroom with high glass windows that looked out over a yard so big it had to be five acres minimum.

“Don’t ever go into the east wing alone.”

I stopped walking. “Say again?”

Jim turned, his face unreadable. “East wing. Double doors. Past the arch on the right.” He pointed back behind us. “That’s off-limits unless Boone or Gibbs are physically with you. Not just a pass. Not a radio call. With you.”

I didn’t nod. Just met his eyes. “Got it.”

“They keep their private files, business records, and... other materials in there.”

“Copy that.”

He kept walking like that hadn’t just been a red flag flapping in the wind.

We passed a hallway of framed photographs. Boone shaking hands with politicians. It was staged legacy. The kind of crap that was meant to say, I’m a respectable man.

Bullshit.

“You’ll be on the lower level,” Jim said and paused at a thick oak door beside the door to the garage. “We call it the staff level, but don’t let that get to your head. You’re still private security.”

He opened the door and started down a narrow staircase. The air cooled as we descended, and there was no marble here. Just sealed concrete floors, exposed beams, and low lighting.

Three doors lined the hallway at the bottom. Jim stopped at the far one and pushed it open.

“Here’s yours.”

I stepped inside.

The room was bigger than I expected, with a queen bed, a desk, a mounted TV, and a closet. No windows. The walls were painted gray, and there was a single industrial-looking light fixture overhead. Clean. Sparse. Efficient.

There was also a small keypad panel on the inside of the door.

Security ran both ways here.

Jim leaned in the doorway. “Dinner’s at six. Kitchen’s upstairs. Boone and Gibbs want to meet you when they get in town.”

I nodded. “Sounds good.”

He looked at me one more time. “You made it in. That’s not easy. Just keep your head down, follow orders, and you’ll do fine.”

“I’m not here to cause trouble.”

He grunted like he didn’t believe me. “See you at six.”

The door closed behind him.

I was alone.

I sank onto the edge of the bed and scrubbed my hands over my face. The concrete chill of the floor seeped up into the room, and the silence was heavy.

I’d made it inside.

Every instinct screamed that I was in deep. Maybe deeper than I was ready for.

Boone and Gibbs didn’t just play dirty. They built empires on blood and smoke. Hid behind politics and boardrooms while smiling in suits as they buried people like me in unmarked graves.

I didn’t have a full plan. No playbook. No mapped exit route.

But I had time.

I had access.

And I had something I hadn’t had since they started tearing the club apart: a second chance to burn them down from the inside.

I leaned back on the bed, stared at the ceiling, and the echo of Jim’s warning bounced in my head.

Don’t go into the east wing alone.

Noted.

But eventually?

I’d be going in there.

And when I did, I’d make damn sure I didn’t walk out empty-handed.