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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE NIGHT WAS perfect for making a statement, the kind of suffocating heat that made tempers short and a moonless sky that swallowed everything whole. I leaned against my bike on the side of the highway, the glow of my cigarette the only light around, except for the approaching headlights cutting through the dark.

“There they are,” Fang muttered, his voice laced with anticipation.

I smirked, flicking the ash off my cigarette. “Right on time. Devil’s little errand boys.”

The truck rumbled closer, and I straightened, feeling the adrenaline kick in. This wasn’t about the cargo, it was about sending a message. A statement. Nobody crosses me and lives to forget it.

They had my ol’ lady locked up in that clubhouse, and I wanted her returned. As for Lucy? Fang’s obsession with her was his own mess, but she’d be dead before he could have her. And Zeynep? She’d cry for her friend when I killed the bitch in front of her. A perfect punishment.

Zeynep brought this on herself by running away.

The truck slowed as it neared, the driver clearly spotting us. By the time it rolled to a stop, my crew and I had already surrounded it, our engines growling low and threatening, like a pack of wolves closing in.

I stepped forward, my boots crunching on the gravel, the crowbar heavy in my hand. The truck’s windows were down, and I could see the driver—a prospect, barely old enough to grow a beard. His face was pale, tight with fear. Perfect.

“Evening,” I called, letting the smirk stretch across my face. “Nice night for a drive.”

The kid gripped the wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. “Drago,” he stammered, his voice shaky. “Look, we’re just—”

“I know exactly what you’re doing,” I interrupted, stepping closer. “Running Devil’s errands. Moving club business on my roads.” I slammed the crowbar against the truck’s grill, making the kid jump. “See, that’s the problem. You Devils think you own everything. But you’re wrong. These roads? They belong to Dragon Fire now.”

The passenger door opened, and out stepped an older guy, one of Devil’s lifers, Flick. His hands went up, his voice calm but cautious. “You don’t wanna make trouble, Drago. You’ll sure as hell regret it.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth, but my eyes stayed cold. “Regret?” I let out a short, humorless breath, shaking my head. “You think your pussy club scares me?”

Before Flick could go for his gun, Fang moved. One second he was leaning casually against his bike, and the next, he had the man pinned against the truck, a gun pressed to his temple.

“You’re not goin’ anywhere,” Fang said, his voice soft and deadly.

Flick hit the truck hard, his breath coming in short gasps. “Just kill me and get it over with. I ain’t talkin’.”

I shook my head slowly, stepping around to the back of the truck. “See, it’s not about talking. It’s about sending a message.” I grinned, slamming the crowbar against the truck’s rear lock, breaking it in one hard swing.

With a nod to one of my men, we yanked the doors open to reveal the load, boxes stacked high with crates of supplies and cases of liquor. The kind of goods that were meant to stock the clubhouse.

“Unload it,” I ordered, and my crew jumped into action, dragging the boxes out and smashing them open.

The prospect flinched as Fang shoved a case of whiskey off the side of the truck, glass shattering across the pavement. One of the guys ripped into the supplies, tossing the contents into the dirt.

“Tell Devil,” I said, my voice deliberate and cold, “that the road up to the north is mine now. If he wants to move anything through here, he’s gonna pay for it. And while you’re at it...”

I stepped closer, leaning into the open window. The kid’s eyes were wide, his breathing rapid. “Tell Devil I want my ol’ lady returned, or he’s a fucking dead man. And tell Lucy...” I chuckled darkly, straightening up. “Well, tell Lucy Fang sends his regards.”

Fang grinned, his teeth flashing in the single headlight still burning. “That’s right. Kiss her real hard for me.”

I waved a hand, stepping back from the truck. “Now run along and deliver my message before I change my mind.”

Fang shoved Flick away, and he stumbled back into the truck, his face still combative. The engine roared to life, and the truck peeled out, kicking up dirt and gravel as it sped down the highway.

The supplies we’d destroyed lay scattered across the road, the remnants of whiskey soaking into the gravel, mixing with the shards of glass. A perfect calling card.

I watched the taillights fade into the darkness, adrenaline still thrumming through my veins. Fang stepped up beside me, his smirk sharp as ever.

“Devil’s gonna be so pissed,” he said, satisfaction dripping from every word.

“That’s the point,” I said, lighting another cigarette. The smoke curled around me as I exhaled, a grin tugging at my lips. “Let him know the game’s started. By the time we’re done, The Devil’s House MC won’t know what hit them.”

Fang chuckled softly. “You think those bastards will give our women back?”

I took a long drag from the cigarette, the ember glowing bright against the dark. “They’ll give them back. Those bastards won’t lose money over bitches that aren’t theirs.”

The rest of the crew laughed as they mounted their bikes, engines roaring to life. I climbed onto mine, the smirk never leaving my face.

This was just the beginning. With the special shipments we were running for the cartel, we’d have the money and numbers to take on The Devil’s House MC.

It had been a risky merger, but I didn’t have a choice—not after what happened up north.

So get ready, Devil. I’m coming for you.