Page 49 of Total Carnage

"Raven," I acknowledged with a nod, the corners of my mouth ticking up despite the gravity of the showdown. "Glad you could join the party."

She gave me a brief, intense look, full of things unsaid, before turning back to her father. "We're not done here, Daddy. Not by a long shot."

And hell, if that didn't feel like the beginning of the end for ol' Senator Stansfield.

"Raven, my child," Stansfield crooned, stretching his hands out like he wasn't the monster who'd locked her away. Like hewasn’t the man that had given the kill order on her. "I did what I had to for our—"

"Save it." Raven's voice was harsh, and I almost felt sorry for the bastard. Almost. Her eyes were two chips of obsidian, cold and unyielding. "You don't get to play the concerned father now."

Stansfield leaned back, attempting to regain composure, but his hands betrayed him, fidgeting with the pen on his desk. "Vin has poisoned you against me. You have to understand—"

"Understand?" she cut him off, stepping closer, so all he could see was the daughter he'd underestimated. "I understand perfectly. Vin hasn't poisoned anything. If there's poison here, Daddy, it’s been your doing."

I stood beside her, feeling the charge between us, a current strong enough to bring down empires. We were a united front, an impenetrable fortress of leather and resolve, and it damn near made me grin to see Stansfield squirm. Like most politicians in their pursuit of power, he’d lost his family. Money could buy power, but it couldn’t buy blood.

"Seems like you're running out of moves, Stansfield," I drawled, my voice laced with contempt.

"Threats won't get you anywhere," Stansfield blustered, desperation seeping into his tone. "You think you've won? You’re delusional. You'll never be safe. Not you or your precious club. The Royal Bastards will go down in flames just like Hell’s Justice did." He made a soft explosion sound and smiled.

"Threats?" I chuckled darkly. "That's not a threat, old man. It's a promise. And unlike you, I keep mine."

Raven's hand found mine, the grip tight and fierce. We shared a glance, saying more in that silent exchange than a thousand words ever could. Whatever lay ahead, we would face it together.

"Remember this moment, Daddy," Raven said, her voice resolute. "This is where your world starts to crumble."

The stillness in the room was suffocating, like the calm before a storm that promised nothing but devastation. There Raven stood, her silhouette outlined by the dim light filtering through the cracked window, a goddess of vengeance deciding the fate of the man who sired her. Stansfield's eyes flicked to his daughter, and I could almost hear the cogs turning in his head, desperate for any sign of mercy.

"Raven," came my voice, rough as sandpaper, "whatever you choose, I'm with you. This is your call." She didn't look at me, but I felt the weight of her decision, anchoring us to this pivotal moment.

"Vin," she finally said, each word deliberate, "my father's spent his life pulling strings, thinking we're all just puppets in his grand design." She turned to face Stansfield, her gaze sharp enough to cut through steel. "But here, now, I pull the strings."

Stansfield's lips twisted into a sneer, but it was brittle, like thin ice over a winter lake. "You don't have the guts," he spat, the last resort of a cornered rat.

"Guess you never really knew me then," she shot back, cool as the barrel of a gun.

With a grace that belied the chaos of our world, Raven moved closer to Stansfield, her every step measured, a slow dance with destiny. Her hand reached out, hovering above the pistol laid on the desk—the unspoken question lingering between them.

"Life or death, Daddy," she said, the name tasting like poison on her tongue. "I can grant you one. But remember this—choose life, and it's not yours anymore. You'll live but under the shadow of what you've done, forever owing a debt to the daughter you betrayed. Choose death," her voice dipped lower, a dark melody that resonated with finality, "and it ends here. No more plays, no more schemes. Just the void staring back at you."

Time seemed to stop, the seconds stretching into eternity as Stansfield struggled with the knowledge that his life hung bya thread—a thread his own flesh and blood held taut between her fingers. "Life," he croaked, the word barely a whisper, but it filled the room like a thunderclap.

"Smart choice," Raven breathed, her decision slicing through the tension. She took the pistol, tucking it into the back of her jeans with a nonchalance that belied the monumental shift that had just occurred.

In that moment, I saw Raven in a new light, her strength forging a new path out of the wreckage of the past. She walked back to me, and without a word, we shared a look that sealed a thousand unspoken promises. Her actions spoke volumes—of loyalty, courage, of a woman who'd shed the shackles of her lineage to stand tall beside me, me beside her.

"Let's get the hell out of here," I said, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins. We left Stansfield, a broken king in his empty castle, while we stepped out into the night, the darkness welcoming us like old friends. As the door shut behind us, sealing away the rot of lies and betrayal, I knew that together, Raven and I—we were unstoppable. "Shit," I muttered, taking in the sight of her—warrior and woman, fire and ice all rolled into one. "You really are something else, you know that?"

She gave me that look, the one that could either mean I was about to get hit or kissed—sometimes both. "I could say the same about you, Vin Reed."

There was no time for soft words or gentle touches; we were still standing in the eye of the storm. But in that moment, our bond was solidified in something deeper than blood or bone. It was carved out of shared darkness and the kind of gritty resolve that can't be faked.

"Come on," I said, jerking my head towards the door. "We've got roads to ride and scores to settle."

Raven fell into step beside me, her silhouette against the night sharp enough to cut through the bullshit of the world. We stepped over the threshold, leaving behind the opulence that had once been her prison—walking away from the wreckage without a single backward glance.

"Where to?" she asked, her voice steady as a lifeline in rough seas.

"Forward," I replied because that was all we had left—the open road, our freedom, and each other. "Just forward."

My bike was waiting like loyal beasts, chrome glinting under the crescent moon. The engine roared to life, a symphony of raw power and unapologetic existence. As we tore down the winding driveway, gravel spitting out behind us like shrapnel, it felt like we were shedding our old skins, reborn in the chaos of our defiance.

"Fuck the past," I hollered over the wind, the speed fueling my veins with a rush better than any high.

"Fuck it," Raven echoed back, her laughter ringing out like a battle cry.

We rode through the night, side by side, the road ahead unfurling like a promise—every mile put distance between us and the ghosts that had haunted our steps. In the rearview, I caught glimpses of dawn tinged with the colors of reckoning—a new day rising for the Royal Bastards and the fierce woman who'd chosen to ride at my side.

This wasn't an end—it was the beginning of a legend. And damn if we weren't ready to write it in tire smoke and spilled ink.