Page 16

Rebel

The doors slammed open with a bang that echoed through the compound. Samurai and Ripper burst in, their faces streaked with sweat and grime, carrying Java between them on what looked like a piece of corrugated metal torn from a shed wall. Blood dripped steadily onto the concrete floor, marking their path with crimson droplets. I froze, my breath catching as I took in Java’s mangled body, barely recognizable beneath the layers of dried blood and fresh wounds.

“Doc!” Samurai’s voice cut through the sudden silence. “We need you now!”

I stepped closer, drawn by some morbid need to see, to understand what had been done to one of our own. Java’s chest rose and fell in shallow, irregular movements. His shirt hung in tatters, revealing deep lacerations that crisscrossed his torso like a grotesque roadmap.

“Get him on the bar,” Doc ordered, already pulling on latex gloves with practiced efficiency.

They laid Java down, and the metal stretcher scraped against the wood surface. The sound made my teeth ache. Java’s body jerked, and a low moan escaped his split lips. He was conscious. Christ. After everything they’d done to him, he was still conscious.

“What happened?” I asked, my voice sounding strangely distant to my own ears.

Samurai’s eyes met mine briefly. “Vata’s crew tried to get information from him on our club. He held out.”

I counted the visible injuries -- fingers bent at unnatural angles, burns that peeled back skin to reveal raw flesh beneath, what looked like drill holes in his right arm. Days of that. My stomach twisted.

Doc moved methodically, cutting away what remained of Java’s clothes. Each new inch of exposed skin revealed another horror. Cigarette burns dotted his chest, and purple bruises bloomed across his ribs. Someone had carved something into his thigh -- letters that spelled out a message I couldn’t read through the dried blood.

“Is he going to make it?” The question came from somewhere behind me -- one of the Prospects, his voice cracking.

Doc didn’t look up from his work. His hands moved with practiced precision as he cleaned a particularly nasty wound near Java’s collarbone. “If his will is strong enough, he can pull through.”

Java’s eye -- the one that could still open -- focused suddenly, finding mine. Recognition flashed there, followed by something else. Pride, maybe. Or relief. His lips moved, trying to form words.

I leaned closer.

“Didn’t… tell them… shit.” The words were barely audible, each one clearly causing pain.

“Save your strength,” I told him, my throat tight. “You’re home now.”

Around us, the compound had erupted into controlled chaos. Prospects ran for supplies, fetching clean water and more bandages. The air filled with the sharp tang of antiseptic as Doc cleaned wound after wound. The rustling of fabric and the shifting weight of club members as they steadied themselves heightened my own unsettled energy.

“Rebel.” Samurai’s hand landed on my shoulder, solid and warm. “We need to talk.”

I nodded, following him to a corner of the room, though my gaze kept drifting back to Java. Doc had started an IV, the clear liquid in the bag a stark contrast to the red-soaked gauze piling up beside the table.

“We hit them hard,” Samurai said, his voice low. “But this isn’t over.”

“They’ll retaliate.”

“Maybe. But they’re hurting. We took out eight of their men, burned their stash house to the ground.” A grim smile crossed his face. “And we got what we went for, and then some.”

He held up a flash drive, small enough to hide between two fingers. I wondered how he’d walked out with that. The Bratva would have surely snatched it if they’d known it was in his possession.

“What’s on it?”

“Everything. Their distribution routes, client lists, dirty cops on the payroll. Enough to cripple their operation if we play it right.”

“He was bait?” I asked, the anger rising hot and fast in my chest.

Samurai shook his head. “No. They bargained with the Morettis for him. Thought he knew enough about club business to take us down. He didn’t tell them a damn thing.” His eyes darkened. “But he held out long enough for us to track him down.”

We both looked back at Java. Doc had sedated him now, and his face had relaxed into unconsciousness. Small mercy.

“The things they did to him…” I couldn’t finish the thought.

“I know.” Samurai’s voice hardened. “They’ll pay for every mark on his body. That’s a promise.”

Across the room, Charming walked in, assessing the situation with a sweeping glance. His eyes lingered on Java, then found Samurai and me in our corner. He’d intended to go with them, but for whatever reason, had pulled back at the last minute.

“Report,” he said simply, joining us.

Samurai filled him in, his words clipped and precise. I watched Charming’s face, the subtle shifts in his expression as he absorbed the severity of what had happened. His jaw tightened when Samurai described finding Java chained to a pipe in the basement of the Albanian compound.

“And the flash drive I saw you with just now?” Charming asked.

Samurai handed it over. “It has a lot of intel we can use, stuff we didn’t know before, but they know we have it.”

“Then we move fast.” Charming pocketed the drive. “Shade needs to start working on this tonight. Before they can relocate their operations.”

I glanced at the clock on the wall. Nearly midnight. Not that it mattered. Sleep wasn’t an option, not after this.

Doc called out, his voice cutting through my thoughts. “Need another pair of hands here.”

I moved before I could think about it, crossing the room and stepping up to the bar. “Tell me what to do.”

“Hold this.” He pressed a thick wad of gauze against a wound that was bleeding freely again. “Pressure, steady.”

Blood seeped through immediately, warm against my fingers. I pressed harder, feeling the heat of Java’s skin beneath the gauze. He was already running a fever. Infection setting in.

“We got antibiotics in him?” I asked.

Doc nodded, busy with another wound. “Triple dose. His system’s going to be fighting on multiple fronts.”

Around us, the club members moved with purpose. Some stood guard outside, weapons visible. Others helped Doc or spoke in low, urgent tones about security and next steps. The air felt charged, like the moment before a thunderstorm breaks.

I looked down at Java’s face. Beneath the swelling and bruises, I could see the man I’d shared drinks with in what felt like just days ago but had sadly been longer. Who’d laughed at Samurai’s terrible jokes and arm-wrestled Ripper for the last beer. Who’d once given me his jacket when we got caught in a sudden downpour during a supply run.

A surge of rage washed through me, so intense I had to focus on my breathing to control it. The Morettis had made this personal in a way that couldn’t be forgiven or forgotten. And now the Albanians had put a target on their backs.

“BP’s dropping,” Doc announced, his voice tight. “Need O-neg now.”

On the off chance we found Java and he’d be in rough shape, Doc had been preparing. Meds. Any equipment he may need. And a few bags of blood.

A Prospect ran forward with a blood bag. Doc worked quickly to set up the transfusion, his movements precise despite the pressure.

“Is he going to make it?” I asked again, softly this time.

Doc met my eyes across Java’s broken body. “He’s fighting. That’s all I can tell you right now. Doing all this in a non-sterile environment isn’t helping, but I know we can’t take him to the hospital. Too many questions.”

“Should have set up one of the rooms. You’d clearly known to expect all this,” I said.

Doc grunted but didn’t comment.

Fighting. That’s what we did. Fought for our brothers, fought for our territory, fought for justice when the law failed us. Java had fought for days in that hellhole, refusing to break. Now we’d fight for him.

“The Morettis and Vata are going to regret this,” I said, not caring who heard me. “Every single one of them.”

Samurai appeared at my side, relieving me of my position holding the gauze. His fingers brushed mine, a brief moment of connection.

“Yes,” he said simply. “They will.”

Outside, I heard the rumble of more motorcycles arriving. Reinforcements coming in from nearby clubs, no doubt. Even though I wasn’t privy to any calls Charming may have placed, it wouldn’t surprise me at all if he had. An attack on one was an attack on all. Especially when you had family ties to other clubs. But in our case, the same could be said with the Bratva since both Stripes and Charming had ties to them.

Doc continued his methodical work, stitching, cleaning, assessing. I stepped back, giving him space, but couldn’t make myself leave the room. Java was family. We stayed for family.

Hours passed. Java stabilized enough for Doc to pronounce him “not actively dying,” which passed for good news on a night like this. I found myself on a worn couch against the wall, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of Java’s chest from across the room. Proof of life. Small comfort, but I’d take it.

Samurai sat beside me, our shoulders touching. He smelled like smoke and blood and the night air. Neither of us spoke. Words seemed inadequate for what we’d seen tonight, for what still lay ahead.

The Morettis and Vata had opened a door they couldn’t close. I had a feeling this was going to be a long, drawn-out war between us and them.

I looked around the room at the hardened faces of my brothers, at the weapons being cleaned and checked, at the grim determination in every set of shoulders. They thought they knew what they were dealing with. They had no idea.

“Get some rest,” Samurai said, his voice rough with fatigue. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

I nodded, but didn’t move. Rest could wait. Right now, I needed to be here, needed to witness Java’s fight, needed to feed the cold fury building in my chest.

The Morettis and Vata had made their move. Now it was our turn -- again.

I knew Shade had been trying to track the men who had hurt Rio. After she’d found them, he’d tried to keep tabs on them, only for them to vanish overnight. Now he’d have even more work to do. Never a dull moment at the Devil’s Boneyard.

* * *

Two Days Later

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a harsh glare across the wooden table where we’d gathered. I shifted in my seat, the hard chair digging into my back as I watched Charming pace at the head of the room. The air felt thick with anticipation and something darker -- a current of rage that had been building since we’d discovered who had hurt Rio. Faces around the table were set in grim lines, jaws tight, eyes focused. This wasn’t just another strategy session. This was personal.

Charming slapped a manila folder onto the table. The sound cracked like a gunshot in the tense silence.

“Shade,” he said, nodding toward the club’s hacker who sat with his laptop open, fingers hovering over the keys.

Shade cleared his throat. “Got confirmation on the targets. The two men who hurt Rio have been found once more. Private Ellis and Sergeant Denton. As of three days ago, both were dishonorably discharged. But considering they escaped the custody of MPs, this should have gone down a lot different. They definitely have higher ups behind them.”

“So they turned themselves in?” I asked.

Shade rubbed a hand along his jaw. “That’s the thing. The reports are all a bit… off. Nothing is clear on this one. All I know is that they’re in the wind.”

I studied their faces. Ordinary. Unremarkable. The kind you’d pass on the street without a second glance. Hard to reconcile these bland features with the monsters who’d drugged and raped Rio, leaving scars that went deeper than skin. Even when I’d seen them in person I’d had the same thought. Completely unremarkable in every way.

Rio, sitting directly across from me, leaned forward. Her strawberry-blonde hair fell in waves around her face but couldn’t hide the steel in her blue eyes as she memorized every detail on the screen.

“Current location?” she asked, her Georgia drawl more pronounced than usual. A tell that she was affected, despite the calm veneer.

“Working as private security in the next town,” Shade replied. “They live in an apartment complex three blocks away from their job location. Separate units, but same floor. I’ve got work schedules, regular haunts, the whole package.”

“That seems fast,” I said.

Shade snorted. “Remember what I said? It looks like they have help.”

Charming nodded. “Good work.” He turned to the group. “We need to decide how to approach this. Clean, quiet, and permanent. These fuckers hurt one of ours.”

“I’m handling them myself.” Rio’s voice cut through the room, firm and unyielding. All eyes turned to her.

“Like hell you are,” Ashes snapped from the end of the table. His fist came down hard enough to make his coffee mug jump. “This isn’t a solo operation.”

“Didn’t ask for your permission,” Rio replied, her tone flat.

Ashes leaned forward, scarred forearms pressed against the table. “We need caution -- acting alone could end badly. These aren’t just some random assholes. They’re trained. Military.”

“So am I,” Rio shot back.

“Yeah, and look how well that worked out for you,” Ashes retorted, then immediately clamped his mouth shut, as if he knew he’d crossed a line. He cleared his throat. “I just meant because they’re back now.”

The room went deadly quiet. Rio’s face drained of color before flushing bright red. I tensed, ready to intervene if she went for his throat.

Renegade broke the silence. “That was out of line.” His voice was low, dangerous. “She’s earned the right to get closure on her terms.”

“Bullshit,” Ashes countered. “I want these fuckers dead as much as anyone but sending her in alone is suicide. Or worse -- she gets caught. I understand she’s tough and can handle herself, but there’s an entire club here ready to lend a hand.”

“I didn’t survive what I did to sit on the sidelines now.” Rio’s voice had dropped to a near whisper, which somehow carried more weight than if she’d shouted. “I’m the one who suffered. The one whose life they destroyed. They’re mine.”

I watched her hands -- steady, not a tremor in sight. That controlled rage was more frightening than any outburst.

“You were drugged at the time,” Samurai interjected, his tone measured. “Against two men with combat training. The odds weren’t in your favor.”

“And now they will be,” Rio replied, meeting his gaze without flinching. “Because I know exactly what I’m walking into. I hurt those fuckers when I saw them in the warehouse. This time, I’ll make sure they can’t walk away. I’m not playing by civilian or military rules anymore. I’ve learned my lesson. It’s time to handle this the way the Devil’s Boneyard would do it.”

The argument exploded around the table. Raised voices bounced off concrete walls as members took sides. I caught fragments of heated exchanges -- safety concerns versus Rio’s right to vengeance, tactical discussions about surveillance and extraction plans, debates over club involvement versus personal vendetta.

My jaw tightened as I watched the scene unfold. I understood both sides. Rio deserved her revenge -- needed it, probably, to ever move forward. But Ashes wasn’t wrong about the risks. These men had hurt her once. Given the chance, they’d do worse.

A sharp whistle cut through the chaos. Charming stood, his expression thunderous.

“Enough,” he ordered. “This isn’t a fucking democracy. Rio, what exactly do you have in mind?”

She straightened in her chair. “I approach the first target at his apartment. They’re both arrogant, and they’ll want revenge for me kicking their asses.” Her lip curled with contempt. “I get inside, I handle him. Then I move to the second target before word can spread.”

“And if something goes wrong?” Charming pressed. “What if there are repercussions?”

“It won’t.”

“Not good enough,” Samurai cut in. “We need contingencies.”

Rio’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not asking for help.”

“You don’t have to ask,” I found myself saying, surprising even myself. All eyes turned to me. “We’re offering it anyway.”

Rio studied me, weighing my words. I met her gaze steadily. This wasn’t about questioning her capabilities. This was about having her back, the way we always did for family. And the simple fact I didn’t like my woman walking into this situation on her own. Didn’t matter if she could handle herself or not.

“Surveillance,” Renegade suggested, breaking the tension. “We keep our distance, but we’re there if shit goes sideways. Your play, your way, but with backup.”

Rio considered this, then gave a tight nod. “I can live with that.”

“I still think --” Ashes began.

“It’s decided,” Charming interrupted. “Rio takes point. Renegade and Rebel on surveillance. Samurai coordinates from here with Shade monitoring communications.” He looked around the table. “Anyone got a problem with that?”

No one spoke, though Ashes’ scowl deepened.

“Right.” Charming nodded to Shade. “Walk us through the details.”

For the next twenty minutes, Shade outlined everything we needed to know -- building layouts, security systems, daily routines of the targets. As he spoke, Rio began methodically checking her gear on the table beside her. A hunting knife with a serrated edge. A gun with a silencer. Zip ties. Duct tape. Each item placed with deliberate care, like a surgeon arranging instruments before an operation. I hadn’t questioned her when she’d brought it with her today. She’d noticed me grabbing weapons and had done the same. We’d both wanted to be prepared for anything.

I watched her hands move with practiced efficiency, and a chill ran down my spine. This wasn’t just revenge. This was justice. She’d made up her mind and now she was ready to act.

“You’ll need this,” Shade said, passing Rio a small electronic device. “Jams any cameras in a thirty-foot radius. Gives you a fifteen-minute window before the system registers a malfunction. I have reason to believe they’ve installed some around the complex.”

She pocketed it without comment.

“When?” I asked.

“Tomorrow night,” Charming replied. “Target One gets off work at midnight. Usually stops for a drink, then heads home alone. That’s our window.”

Rio nodded, continuing her preparations.

“I need to know you can keep a clear head,” Samurai said, addressing Rio directly. “These men hurt you. While you handled them last time, you decided to let them go. Couldn’t follow through with ending their lives. Seeing them again…”

“I’ll be the last thing they ever see,” she finished, her voice deadly calm.

I remembered what Java had looked like, broken and bleeding on that makeshift stretcher. The rage I’d felt then. The desire to inflict that same pain tenfold on those responsible. Rio had been carrying that same rage for a while now, letting it burn slow and hot, waiting for this moment.

“This isn’t just about revenge,” she said, as if reading my thoughts. “It’s about making sure they never do to another woman what they did to me. I should have killed them when I had the chance.”

The room fell silent again. Even Ashes couldn’t argue with that.

“We roll out at 2300 hours tomorrow,” Renegade said, breaking the silence. “Full tank of gas, comms checked and double-checked. Rio, you ride with me in a club truck. Rebel follows in the SUV with the extra supplies.”

I nodded my agreement. The practical details helped ground the conversation, pulling us back from the emotional edge where we’d been teetering.

Rio stood, gathering her gear into a black duffel bag. “I need some air.”

No one tried to stop her as she headed for the door. I caught her eye as she passed, trying to convey a silent message of support. Something in her expression softened for just a moment before the steel returned.

After she left, the room erupted again, voices lowered but no less intense.

“She’s not stable enough for this,” Ashes insisted.

“None of us would be,” Samurai countered. “But she’s focused. That’s what matters.”

“And if she decides to make them suffer?” Ashes pressed. “Gets caught up in it, takes too long, misses the window for the second target?”

“Then we adjust,” I said firmly. “That’s what backup is for.”

Charming rubbed a hand over his face. “This isn’t ideal. Honestly, other than Jordan, I’d never let one of our women do something like this. But Rio needs this. And we need her whole, not broken by what those men did.”

The conversation continued, hammering out details, preparing for contingencies. I half listened, my mind already on tomorrow night. On what we might find in those apartments. On what Rio might become in the process of getting her justice.

Eventually, the meeting broke up. Members drifted away in twos and threes, talking in low voices. I remained seated, staring at the empty chair where Rio had been.

Samurai paused beside me. “You good with this?”

I considered the question. Was I? Could anyone be “good” with what we were about to do? But then I thought about Rio’s face when she talked about her attack. The nightmares that still woke her screaming. The way she flinched sometimes when a man moved too quickly near her.

“Yeah,” I finally answered. “I’m good with it.”

He nodded, understanding the weight behind my words. “Keep her safe. From them and from herself.”

“I will.”

He squeezed my shoulder once, then followed the others out. I sat alone in the harsh fluorescent light, mentally preparing for what tomorrow would bring. Not just violence; we’d all seen enough of that to be numb to it. But witnessing Rio confront the men who’d shattered her world. Being there as she either found healing or lost herself completely in revenge.

I thought of her methodical preparations, the steady hands checking weapons, the cold determination in her eyes. Maybe this wasn’t about healing at all. Maybe this was about restoring balance to a universe that had allowed such cruelty to go unpunished.

Outside, I heard the distinctive rumble of Rio’s motorcycle starting up. Likely heading for a long ride to clear her head, to steel herself for tomorrow. I hoped she found whatever peace was possible before the storm broke. Any other man here would be out there telling his woman to get her ass back to the house and sit tight. I couldn’t do that to Rio. Was it a risk? Sure. But I also hoped she’d just ride around the compound. If she did venture out, I had no doubt she was armed.

I gathered my notes from the meeting and stood, switching off the harsh overhead lights. In the sudden darkness, tomorrow’s actions seemed both more real and distant. Twenty-four hours from now, two men would be facing judgment for crimes they thought they’d escaped. And Rio would either be free of their shadow or bound even tighter to the trauma they’d inflicted.

Either way, I’d be there. That’s what family did.