Page 14

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Ruger

Blood stains the gravel as brothers carry Sarah to a waiting truck.

Porter hovers beside the makeshift stretcher, his face carved from stone, eyes never leaving his wife's pale form.

I don’t want to say this out loud, but she doesn’t look good.

"Easy," he growls when someone jostles her. "Fuckin’ watch it."

Sarah's blood has soaked through the bandages, but she's still breathing, still fighting, and that’s something.

I organize the brothers into groups—some to secure the perimeter, others to track Marco's escape route, the rest to assess everyone else in the club.

Three prospects are down with injuries. None dead, thank fuck.

Coin returns with his daughters, the relief on his face damn near heartbreaking as he gathers his girls close.

"Thank you," he tells Tildie, voice rough with emotion, now looking at Kinsey too. "Girls said you both got them to safety."

Tildie nods, exhaustion evident in the slump of her shoulders. "They were brave."

I keep her tucked against my side, unwilling to let her out of my reach after coming so close to losing her.

My hand traces constant circles on her lower back, needing a reminder that she's here, she's safe.

For now.

But Marco's still out there, Striker too.

This isn't over.

Bloodhound approaches, holding up a phone. "Found this on one of Marco's men. Striker's been feeding him information for months. Almost everything is on here—how we operate security wise, how our shifts work, tunnel locations, our safehouses. He’s told them everything."

I grit, “Slimy, betraying bastard.”

Bloodhound's expression goes grim. "That's not all. Check the messages."

He hands me the phone, where a string of texts details our every move for the past six months.

Meeting times. Warehouse locations. My fucking schedule.

All sent from a contact listed simply as "B."

"Bailey," I mutter, rage building in my chest. "Fucking clubwhore's been selling us out."

Bloodhound nods grimly. "Looks that way."

"Round up everyone at the club. Church in one hour." I glance at Porter, still hovering protectively over Sarah. "Tell Porter to stay with his ol' lady. We'll catch him up later."

We all head back to the club—or what's left of it.

The main gate hangs off its hinges. Windows are shattered. Bullet holes peppering the walls.

It looks like a damn war happened here, because it did.

Brothers move through the wreckage with grim faces, assessing damage, collecting shell casings, trying to get started on cleaning up.

Normally, I’d make the prospects clean shit up, but this isn’t just the prospects job right now—the entire club will pitch in, because that’s what family does.

Kinsey follows Tildie closely, uncertain of her place in this chaos.

Her eyes track every movement, almost as if she’s making notes of the destruction her father helped orchestrate.

"Your father's work," I tell her when our eyes meet. "You still think this is all my fault?"

She shakes her head slowly. "I saw him for what he really is the moment he hit me. Even saw what he's capable of more tonight."

I study her face—Callahan eyes, but none of Striker's cruelty in them. At least not yet.

"We need to talk about what happens next," I tell her. "Church in an hour. You should be there."

Surprise flashes across her face. "I thought church was members only."

"Circumstances change. You helped save my aunt, helped protect Coin's kids. That counts for something."

I leave her to process that, following Bloodhound toward the clubhouse main room where Bailey sits surrounded by brothers, trying like hell to keep her face stoic, but I can see the fear in her eyes.

She sees me and straightens, chin lifting. "Ruger, thank God. These assholes won't let me?—"

I slap her hard enough that she reels back, eyes wide with shock.

"Don't say another fuckin’ word," I growl, leaning into her space. "Not one word until church."

To her credit, she doesn't cry.

Just presses her hand to her reddening cheek, hatred burning in her gaze.

She has to know what I fucking know.

Maddox appears at my side. "Found her trying to leave when we got back. Had a bag packed and everything."

I look right into her deceptive eyes. "Going to meet Striker?"

He nods. "That'd be my guess."

"Put her in the storage room. Post a guard." I straighten, scanning the room. "Where's Rookie?"

"Supply run. We're low on ammo after tonight. Ounce went with him."

I turn to Bloodhound. "Get everyone here. Every patched member, every prospect. Aunt Ellie too."

"What about the Vultures?"

"Viper's been as played as we have. He’s not a threat. After this shit is done, he and I will have a chat about an alliance… but post extra guards out front anyway. Prospects will man the gate while we’re in church."

He nods, already moving to carry out orders.

I find Tildie in our apartment, standing under the shower spray fully clothed, watching dirt and blood swirl down the drain.

Stepping into the bathroom, I strip off my cut and shirt, joining her under the hot water.

She doesn't resist when I peel off her soaked clothes, doesn't speak as I gently wash away the evidence of tonight's violence.

"You're okay," I murmur, more to myself than to her. "You're safe now."

"Am I?" Her voice sounds hollow. "Marco found me. Again. He'll just keep coming, Ruger."

"Not after tonight." I cup her face, forcing her to meet my eyes. "This ends now."

Something shifts in her expression. "Yes, it does."

She pulls me down for a kiss that's all teeth and need, her nails digging into my shoulders, practically slicing my skin.

I lift her against the shower wall, her legs wrapping around my waist as water cascades over us both.

There's no time for gentleness, no space for anything but this raw, primal need to feel alive after coming so close to death.

"Please," she gasps against my mouth. "I need you. Now."

I push into her in one hard thrust, swallowing her cry with another punishing kiss.

Her body yields to mine, tight and perfect as she clings to me like I'm her only anchor in a storm.

We move together with desperation, chasing that dive over the edge like it's salvation.

Her head falls back against the tiles, exposing the long line of her throat as she arches into each thrust.

"Mine," I growl, marking her neck with my teeth. "No one takes you from me. No one."

"Yours," she agrees, her inner walls clenching around me as she shatters. "Only yours."

Her release triggers my own, pleasure crashing through me.

I hold her against me as we both come down, our ragged breathing echoing in the small space.

When I finally set her down, her legs trembling, she looks up at me with clear eyes for the first time since the cabin.

"I love you," she says simply, the words hanging between us.

My heart damn near stops. "Say that again."

"I love you, Ryan Callahan." Her voice grows stronger. "I don't know when it happened, but I do."

I pull her against my chest, crushing her to me. "I love you too, darlin'. More than anything."

We finish showering in silence, but it's different now—calmer, centered.

The raw edge of panic has faded, replaced by something else.

The two of us put fresh clothes on and try to relax a little bit before we head into church.

When we enter the church almost an hour later, every eye tracks our movement—Tildie's hand rests in mine, her head held high.

Kinsey sits alone near the back, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out she’s scared.

Bailey's been brought in, flanked by Maddox and Krypto, her hands bound behind her.

I take my place at the head of the table, Tildie standing behind my right shoulder—right where my ol' lady belongs.

"Church is in session," I announce, bringing the gavel down, immediately silencing the room.

Ounce speaks first. "We've got two matters to handle tonight. First—" he nods toward Bailey, "—the traitor in our midst. Secondly, our response to Striker and Marco's attack."

Maddox drawls, his massive arms crossed over his chest, "We all know they're connected."

Decorum clears his throat. "Before we begin, there's the matter of... outsiders." His eyes flick to Kinsey. "Church is for members only."

I waste no time speaking up. "Kinsey's earned a place at this table tonight, especially since she’s something we’re going to be discussing."

Satyr objects. "She's Striker's daughter."

"She's the reason we knew the attack was coming," Bloodhound interjects, surprising everyone with his defense. "Warned us at great risk to herself."

Wraith shakes his head. "Blood tells. Can't trust a snake's offspring not to bite."

"She had my daughters in her care," Coin says quietly, his voice carrying more weight than any shout. "Could have handed them over to Marco's men. Instead, she helped hide them, protected them."

The room falls silent, each brother weighing this information.

"I say we put it to a vote," I decide. "All in favor of allowing Kinsey to stay for this meeting, raise your hand."

Hands go up—Bloodhound, Coin, Ounce, about half the table.

"Those opposed?"

The other half raises their hands.

A tie. My vote will decide.

I look at Kinsey, seeing something of myself in her stubborn jaw, in the way she holds herself against judgment.

"Kinsey stays," I announce. "By President's decision. But—" I hold up a hand to silence protests, "—she speaks only when spoken to. Understood?"

She nods, relief flashing briefly across her face.

"Now, to the first order of business." I turn my attention to Bailey, who glares back defiantly. "We have proof you've been feeding information to Striker for months. Club schedules, security protocols, even the location of emergency tunnels that have been secret for decades."

"You don't have shit," she spits.

I hold up the phone Bloodhound found. "Text messages, honey. Time-stamped, detailed. Your contact is even saved under 'B.' Not exactly covering your tracks."

Her expression falters.

"Why?" Aunt Ellie asks from where she stands near the wall. "Why betray people who protected you?"

Bailey laughs, the sound ugly and bitter. "Protected me? I've been club property for years. Passed around, used, discarded. Then she shows up—" her eyes burn into Tildie "—and suddenly she's precious? Untouchable? She gets to be an ol' lady while I'm still just a convenient hole?"

The crude words hit their mark. Several brothers shift uncomfortably, unable to deny the truth in her assessment.

"So you sold us out because you were jealous?" Bloodhound asks, disbelief coloring his voice.

"Striker reached out six months ago. Said he needed someone on the inside, someone overlooked but with access. Promised me protection, money, respect." Her chin lifts. "Everything I never got here. It was before that dumb bitch came in, but I’d still do it again."

"And our brothers who got hurt tonight?" I ask coldly. "That worth it to you?"

Doubt flickers across her face for the first time. "That wasn't supposed to happen. He just wanted information."

"Bullshit. You knew exactly what he was planning. You let Marco's men into our home."

Her silence confirms it.

"The penalty for betraying the club is death," Decorum states flatly. "The code the old bucks made is pretty fuckin’ clear."

"She'll be more useful alive," Bloodhound counters. "She knows Striker's hideouts, his contacts."

The debate splits the table—half arguing for immediately handling her, the other half wanting information.

I ask Bailey directly, "Where is Striker now?"

She swallows hard. "I don't know."

"Bullshit," Maddox growls.

"I don't! He never told me where he stays. We always met at O'Malley's or the diner off Route 19."

"And Marco?" Tildie speaks for the first time, her voice steady.

Bailey's eyes narrow. "Your ex? Striker brought him in three months ago. Marco's been looking for you since you ran from Pittsburgh. Probably would have found you without my help."

"But you made it easier," Tildie says coldly. "You told him where I worked, where I lived. You put Ellie in danger too."

Bailey looks away, the first sign of shame cracking through her.

"I say we use her," Ounce suggests. "Set a trap for Striker."

"He'll see that coming," Bloodhound argues. "He's expecting us to retaliate."

"What about Marco?" Tildie asks. "Bailey, where would he go after the attack failed?"

Bailey hesitates, then sighs. "There's a hunting cabin Striker uses sometimes. About twenty miles north, near Cooper's Ridge. Marco mentioned staying there if things went sideways."

"That's our play," I decide. "We hit the cabin tonight. End this."

"Could be another trap," Coin warns.

"Could be. That's why we go in prepared." I look around the table. "Bloodhound, Maddox, Ounce, you're with me. Four-man team, quick strike."

"I'm coming too," Tildie says, but there’s no way in hell I’m letting that happen.

The room falls silent, brothers exchanging looks of surprise.

"This isn't up for discussion," I tell her, keeping my voice low.

"Marco is my demon to face, Ruger. Not yours." Her eyes hold mine, unwavering. "You promised me I wouldn't have to run anymore. That means I get to end this myself."

Fuck.

I did promise her that… and now it’s going to bite me in the ass.

"That's not how this works," Maddox objects. "Ol' ladies don't go on hits."

"She's not going on a hit," I clarify, knowing what I’ll do. It’s risky, but it’s not worth having her furious at me because I didn’t stick to my word. "She's going as bait."

Bloodhound raises an eyebrow. "You're using your ol' lady as bait? That's a new one."

"Marco wants her. Let him think he's getting what he wants." I turn to Tildie. "You stay in the car until we've secured the area. Then you draw him out while we take position. Understood?"

She nods, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Perfectly."

"What about her?" Coin asks, nodding toward Bailey.

"Lock her in the basement until we return," I decide. "We'll deal with her after Striker and Marco."

"And me?" Kinsey asks quietly from the back.

I study her for a long moment. "Your choice. Stay here under guard or come with us. You know your father better than anyone. Could be useful having you along."

She straightens. "I'll come. He's my mess to clean up too."

"All right then." I bring the gavel down. "Church adjourned. We move out in thirty."

As brothers file out to prepare, Tildie catches my arm. "Thank you for letting me be part of this."

"Don't thank me yet. This is dangerous as fuck, and I'm still not convinced it's the right call."

"It is," she says quietly. "I need to look Marco in the eye one last time. Need him to see I'm not afraid anymore."

I cup her face, searching her eyes for any doubt. "You stay in the car until I give the signal. You follow every instruction to the letter. One wrong move and I pull you out, regardless of what you want. Clear?"

"Clear." She rises on tiptoes to press a kiss to my lips. "I won't let you down."

"You couldn't if you tried, darlin'."

Twenty minutes later, we're geared up and loading into vehicles.

Tildie's changed into dark jeans and a black hoodie, hair pulled back in a ponytail.

There’s something different about her, maybe steel in her spine as she checks the pistol I've given her.

"You remember how to use that?" I ask.

"Point and shoot," she replies, ejecting the magazine to check the load before slapping it back in. "Marco thought it was sexy to take me to the range. One of his few useful lessons."

Kinsey appears, similarly dressed in dark clothes. She eyes Tildie's weapon. "Got another one of those?"

Bloodhound hesitates, then hands her a 9mm from his waistband. "You know how to handle this?"

"My godfather taught me to shoot when I was seven," she says, checking the gun. "Viper's big on self-sufficiency."

Bloodhound nods, almost like he’s impressed.

As we prepare to move out, Ellie approaches, pulling me into a fierce hug.

"Bring my girls back safe," she murmurs. "Both of them."

I glance over at Tildie and Kinsey, already forming an unlikely alliance. "I will. How's Sarah?"

"Stable. Doctor says the bullet missed vital organs, but she lost a lot of blood. Porter's with her."

"Good. We'll be back before dawn."

Ellie steps back, her eyes searching mine. "End this, Ryan. Once and for all."

"That's the plan."

We move out, heading north toward Cooper's Ridge.

In the rearview mirror, the club grows smaller, brothers posted at every entrance with orders to shoot any unfamiliar faces on sight.

Tildie sits beside me in my truck, silent but alert, her hand occasionally brushing against her concealed weapon as if assuring herself it's still there.

In the backseat, Kinsey stares out the window, her expression unreadable. "You ready for this?" I ask her. "Going against your own father?"

Her eyes meet mine in the mirror. "He stopped being my father the moment he put his hands on me. Family doesn't do that."

I nod, thinking of Striker, of the night I exiled him for hurting Ellie. "No, they don't."

The hunting cabin comes into view after twenty minutes of driving, a small structure nestled among dense pines.

Lights burn in the windows, and two vehicles are parked outside—a black SUV and a sleek Mercedes that screams money.

"Marco's car," Tildie confirms, "He's here."

I pull over half a mile back, cutting the engine.

Ounce's truck and Bloodhound's Jeep stop behind us.

"Remember the plan," I tell her, taking her hand. "You don't move until I give the signal. You stay in the truck until we clear the perimeter. Then you approach from the front, draw him out while we take position."

She nods, squeezing my hand. "I remember."

I cup her face, pressing my forehead to hers. "I love you. Don't forget that."

"I love you too." She kisses me quickly. "Now go get this son of a bitch so we can go home."

I step out of the truck, joining my brothers as they gather weapons from their vehicles.

"Maddox, you circle east. Ounce, take west. Bloodhound, you're with me." I check my own weapon. "Marco's mine, but Striker belongs to all of us. No one takes a kill shot on him without my say-so."

They nod, faces grim in the moonlight.

"What about me?" Kinsey asks.

"You stay with Tildie. Keep her safe if anything goes wrong."

She doesn't argue, moving to join Tildie in the truck.

"Let's move," I order, and my brothers disappear into the trees surrounding the cabin.

This ends tonight, one way or another.