Page 18 of Racer (Iron Rogues MC #15)

RACER

T hey didn’t beg when we snatched them off the street.

But then, I never gave them the chance.

Dez Franklin and his two pit bulls just sat in silent arrogance, even when we had them bound, gagged, and covered in hoods in the back of the transport van.

The Redline Kings didn’t waste time. After the race, Kane gave a single nod, and that was all it took. The three men were yanked off the asphalt and tossed into a cage on wheels. Then we drove them straight to hell.

Two levels beneath the Redline Kings’ garage was the hidden underbelly that Edge had mentioned, but few ever got to see.

Like the garage bays, the rooms were reinforced concrete, industrial-grade steel, and had tile floors that were easy to clean.

But down here, there was also a security system that could rival any federal lockup.

No cell signal. No cameras. No chance of anyone screaming loud enough for the outside world to hear.

This wasn’t a place for mercy. It was for monsters to meet the men who hunted them.

The door thudded shut behind us as I followed Kane, Edge, and Nitro down the stairs. With each step, the air grew cooler, but remained damp from the humidity, causing the walls to sweat with condensation. The faint scent of bleach lingered in the air.

The Iron Rogues, the Redline Kings, Hounds of Hellfire…

we all had blood on our hands. We were outlaw clubs.

Not fucking choirboys. The world liked black and white, but we lived in gray.

The place no one without a patch ever wanted to admit was necessary to humanity.

Some of us leaned closer to the shadows than others, but there were always lines.

Limits. A code. And when that code was broken—when someone fucked with our people—that was when the hunters got unleashed.

And tonight, I was the executioner.

Franklin and his boys weren’t in the cells for slinging cheap parts or screwing up a race. They were here because they’d rigged cars to fucking explode, buried drivers in twisted metal, and tried to kill me to cover it up.

And worse—they targeted Emily.

That was what sealed their fate. There’d be no trial. No lawyer. No redemption arc.

Nothing but judgment. They weren’t going to rot in some prison. They were going to pay in blood. Drop by drop.

Kane nodded to one of his enforcers, and the door to the first room swung open.

Dez sat chained to a steel chair, hood pulled off, wrists cut and bruised from the zip ties we’d replaced with shackles.

He looked up at me through one swollen eye, sneering as if he thought he was the smartest guy in the room.

His delusions of grandeur would quickly be shattered.

“About time,” he grunted. “You wanna get on with your little show so I can get back to my blow and pussy?”

I rolled my shoulders and stepped into the room. His words had no effect on me.

Most of the time, I was a laid-back guy with a ready smile. But here? And in The Room back in Old Bridge? They were the only places that knew this side of me. Calm, solid as the walls, unmovable. I lacked emotion. Only the icy need for justice trickled through my veins.

The fluorescent lighting flickered above me, casting shadows on the walls that were streaked with rust, sweat, and old stains that would never fully fade.

“You seem to misunderstand what’s happening here,” I deadpanned. “You’re here to do penance.”

Dez’s smirk twitched. “You some kinda priest now?”

“Nope,” I murmured, slowly circling his chair. “But I’m the one who’s going to make sure no one else ends up in a hospital or a coffin because you got greedy.”

“Business is business,” he spat. “You’re in the game, you know that. Collateral damage happens.”

“Business?” I stopped in front of him and knelt so we were eye to eye.

“You almost killed my friend. Put my woman’s brother in a coma.

Had your goons try to scare her off, to run her over with a car.

You tried to blow up my car on the track, with her in the pit.

” I smoothly stood back up and walked toward the stainless-steel table against the back wall that was covered in tools.

Despite listing out his sins, I remained detached and unemotional.

“That wasn’t business. That was personal. And so is this.”

“What the fuck do you want from me?” he snapped.

Once I reached the table, I slid my hand across the row of tools, making them clink together.

“I’m giving you the chance to pay reparations,” I told him honestly.

He snickered, then taunted, “You think you can get a fucking dime outta me?”

“I don’t want payment in money.” My fingers settled on a double-edged, fixed-blade combat knife. Clean. Sharp. I turned around, dagger in hand, and walked back over to him.

When he saw the blade, he swallowed hard. “You–you can’t just?—"

“I can,” I replied. “And after I’m done, I’ll sleep just fine.”

It didn’t take long to get the name of the tech guy who helped him with the digital logs, the one who built the explosive device in my car, and a list of all the crooked racers and team owners he’d worked with.

After that, the pain wasn’t about information. Like I told him, it was about penance.

For every driver forced off a track.

For every man who was damaged or broken.

For every man they killed.

And for every drop of fear they instilled in Emily.

I didn’t gut him. Didn’t turn into a monster and rip him to shreds. This wasn’t about splatter and carnage. It was about control. Consequence. And that required precision.

When it was done, with his head lolling to the side and blood seeping from the slash across his neck, I leaned in one last time before the lights went out.

“That was for Axle,” I said quietly. “And for every racer you left bleeding in a wreck you caused.”

I stood and wiped the blade on his shirt.

“And that was for looking at my woman like she was prey.”

Kane stepped into the doorway, his eyes steady. He glanced at Franklin, whose eyes had finally gone blank.

“You done?” he asked.

I nodded.

He jerked his chin up, then tilted his head toward the hallway. “Go on and get cleaned up. Edge will handle the disposal.”

I passed him the knife and walked out, not sparing a glance for the two bodies in the other rooms. They were already dead. Edge had seen to that, though it looked like he’d let his crazy side out to play a little.

There was a bathroom at the far end of the corridor, something Kane had installed for this exact reason. It was sterile and tiled in industrial gray, featuring a deep shower stall, a heavy-duty sink, an industrial dishwasher, and a wall-mounted cabinet stocked with cleaning supplies and bandages.

I peeled off my shirt first, tossing it in the bin marked “burn.” My cut had stayed outside the room. I never brought that symbol near blood unless it was in a fight worth honoring. And this hadn’t even been close to that.

The shower roared on as I stepped inside, letting the near-scalding water sear away the traces of death.

Blood swirled in pink ribbons down the drain, and I scrubbed my skin until the water ran clear.

But even then, I stayed under the spray for a while longer, letting the heat melt the tension from my stiff muscles.

Slowly, I began to thaw inside as well.

When I emerged, I dried off with a clean towel and pulled on a fresh shirt from a cabinet where they kept extra clothes.

Out in the hallway, it was quiet and still. The men were gone.

Edge would handle the mess. I didn’t need to know how.

As I made my way up the stairs, my boots echoed against concrete and steel. With every step, I felt the last of the ice inside me melting away.

It was nearly three in the morning when I arrived back at the clubhouse. The halls were silent except for the low hum of the AC buzzing faintly above me as I made my way to our room. When I opened the door, moonlight spilled in across the floorboards and over the bed.

Emily was curled beneath the blankets, her hair a golden halo against the dark blue sheets and pillow. One arm was tucked beneath her head, the other flung out as though she’d been reaching for me.

I kicked off my boots, stripped out of my clothes, and slid onto the mattress behind her, wrapping my arm around her waist and pulling her close. She stirred when I pressed a kiss to her shoulder, sighing softly before she snuggled in closer.

She was safe. Warm. Alive.

Knowing that the morning would bring a new chapter in my life, I felt free and at peace as I closed my eyes and slept.

The smell of steam and soap filled my nose as I slowly came awake.

I rolled over, muscles sore but loose, and caught the sound of water running from the en suite. The bathroom door was cracked just enough to let in the glow.

A smile slowly crawled across my face as I realized Emily was in the shower.

I reached into the drawer beside the bed and pulled out the little black box I’d tucked there a few days ago—for when we made it through the storm.

Now, all the bullshit was behind us, and I couldn’t wait to put my physical claim on Emily so everyone knew she belonged to me. I set the box on the dresser, then completed one more task before stripping and stepping into the bathroom.

She was rinsing shampoo from her hair, eyes closed, face tilted toward the spray. Her body was slick and glistening in the soft light, every soft curve and tight line a siren’s call straight to my dick.

I stepped in behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist. She jumped, then relaxed into me instantly.

“You’re awake,” she whispered. “I’m so glad you're back.”

“Me too, angel,” I murmured against her neck. “It’s over.”

Her hands slid over mine. “What do you mean?”

“I mean we’re done here. We can go home now.”

She turned in my arms, eyes wide and searching. “Home?”

“Yeah, angel,” I said, brushing a wet strand from her cheek with a crooked smile. “You’re mine. I’m keeping you. Not gonna leave without you. Where I go, you go. Because home is wherever you are.”