Chapter Forty-Nine
Adriana
Even with the gun at my back, I’m not dead yet.
And what the asshole behind me doesn’t know is that I’ve been in situations like this before.
Like, but not exactly like — because I’ve never loved anyone like I love Reaper; never had anyone care for me the way he does; never had anyone who saw my hard edges or the sharp, jagged parts of my soul, and wanted more.
Never had anyone who made me feel loved and accepted just as I am, because I know that who I am — broken, beaten, deeply and violently flawed — is not easy to love.
I’ve been here. I have a gun. And even if it’s not in my hands right at this moment, I know what to do when there’s a gun at my back and my life on the line.
“You don’t want to do this,” I whisper. It’s a gamble speaking, but it’s a gamble worth taking. Any chance of provoking them to talk is a chance to distract them, to buy myself a window of opportunity to strike back.
The gun taps me in the back again. The raspy voice answers. “You’re right, I don’t.”
“Then why do it?”
“I don’t want to.”
“So why is your gun in my back?”
“Because that’s where I’m pointing it, and I couldn’t see you clearly at first. You can never be too careful.”
“What now? You going to take me prisoner and bring me to your boss?”
“My boss?”
“Volkov.”
“Fuck no.”
“Oh, so you’re going to keep me for yourself?
” I say, inching my hand into position. If I do this right, I can whirl and maybe disarm him.
The odds are shit, but they’re my best shot at turning this situation around.
“Make me your own private prisoner and what, rape me? Big fucking man you are, needing threats and a gun just to get your dick wet.”
“Rape you? What? Ew, gross.”
“Then what the fuck do you want?”
“Literally what I just said: to tell you it’s dangerous here and that if you make even some noise, you could get yourself shot. I’m just trying to look out for you, Adriana.”
“How the fuck do you know my name?”
“It’s me, Mayhem.”
“Will you take the gun off me, Mayhem?” I say.
The gun leaves my back, and I turn around slowly.
He’s smiling, and he waves at me with the hand that isn’t holding a DP-12 combat shotgun.
“Tell me what the fuck is going on. And what the fuck happened to your voice? Why does it sound like you’re doing a Christian Bale Batman impersonation? ”
“Blew it out singing The Talking Heads during the shootout.”
I don’t ask for anything more because I know it’s pointless.
“Diesel and I made it out,” Mayhem continues. “Reaper and Tank put down the cover fire to get us out. Then, well… I’m sorry, Adriana, but Reaper got shot before they took him.”
“I know.”
“Diesel and I tailed Volkov and his men here. We’re scouting the place, were going to call for some backup from the MC, but weren’t feeling too optimistic about it because, even if every one of them rode as fast as my brother, Havoc, and I do, they still wouldn’t make it in time before Volkov finished playing ‘Operation’ with Reaper and Tank. ”
“I’m not alone, Mayhem. I’ve got backup, too. You think the four of us could…?”
“Yeah, we saw your backup when you two arrived. And going in… well, it sounds fun, and it’s better odds than waiting for the club.”
“You saw us?”
“Yeah. I thought it’d be a good idea to check on you, and Diesel went to bring your boy in,” he says. “Here he comes now.”
Relief floods through me like warm whiskey, burning away the sharp edges of fear that have been cutting me up from the inside.
Having Mayhem and Diesel here changes everything.
Four of us against Volkov's compound — those are odds I can work with.
Those are odds that might actually get Reaper out alive.
But the hope that surges through my chest terrifies me more than any gun at my back ever could. Hope is dangerous. Hope makes you vulnerable. Hope sets you up for the fall that shatters you into pieces so small you never find all of them again.
What happens when I see him? What happens when I look into those eyes that used to see straight through to my soul and find.
.. nothing? What if rescuing him just means watching him walk away from me all over again?
What if the man I pull out of that compound isn't the same one who made me believe I was worth loving?
The thought claws at my throat, making it hard to breathe. I might be about to save the love of my life just to have him destroy me all over again.
I push the thoughts down, burying them deep where they can't paralyze me. Right now, Reaper needs me. Everything else can wait.
The sound of footsteps crunching gravel draws my attention, and I see Diesel's massive frame emerging from the darkness, his ponytail swaying as he moves. Ahead of him, the Marine walks with his hands visible, Diesel's gun trained on his back in a mirror of how Mayhem found me.
Mayhem raises his hand in a casual wave. "Diesel! Brought a friend?"
"Something like that," Diesel rumbles, his voice carrying easily in the still night air.
Mayhem steps forward, lowering his shotgun and extending his free hand toward the Marine. "Hey, man. I'm Mayhem. We're here to help."
The Marine looks between us, taking in Mayhem's mohawk and piercings, Diesel's intimidating bulk, and me. After a moment, he reaches out and clasps Mayhem's hand in a firm grip.
"Conrad," he says simply. Then, with what might be the ghost of a smile: "My brothers in the Marines called me Breaker."
Both Mayhem and Diesel nod with obvious appreciation, recognizing a fellow warrior when they see one. "Sweet," Mayhem whispers, his destroyed voice making the word sound like broken concrete.
I roll my eyes. Even in the middle of a rescue mission, men still find time for their macho bullshit. But at least now I know the name of the guy I almost fucked and ended up roping into my insane rescue mission. That’s something… right?
“Conrad,” I say, stressing his name and hoping that gives him the impression that I didn’t just learn it ten seconds ago. “Diesel, Mayhem, are you three ready or do you need a minute to keep jerking each other off?”
“I’m just appreciating the guy who’s volunteering to lay his life on the line to rescue someone he’s never even met,” Mayhem says.
Diesel just shrugs.
“Always ready,” Conrad adds. “What’s the strike plan?”
I glance between the three men, mentally cataloging what we have to work with. Two bikers with more firepower than sense, a Marine who clearly knows his way around combat, and me. Against a compound full of Russian mobsters.
“Volkov’s got at least eight to ten men inside, based on the vehicle count. They’re heavily armed. Some are patrolling the perimeter of the storage facility, and likely he’s got a few with him while they’re torturing Reaper,” I say, somehow managing not to hitch my voice while I say that part.
“And Tank. They’re probably torturing Tank, too,” Mayhem adds. I give him a look, but all he does is shrug and smile. “In times like this, all the details count.”
He’s right — even if only technically so — so I plow on.
"The storage facility has multiple entry points, but most of them are going to be locked down tight.
Volkov's not stupid — he knows we might come looking.
Or he might be expecting Triad retribution…
if any of them are left alive." I scan the compound ahead, noting the scattered lights and shadows that could hide guards.
"Our best bet is a coordinated assault. Hit them fast and hard from multiple angles so they can't organize a proper defense. "
“I can make a distraction. Draw their fire,” Mayhem says.
“I’ll bet you can.”
“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Diesel says. “And watch his back.”
“That leaves you and me, Conrad. We’ll take the side opposite them and try to get to Reaper and Tank.” I draw my gun, check the clip, and sigh. “Here goes nothing.”
We split up, Conrad and I taking the west side of the facility, staring down at a chain-link fence topped by an absurd amount of razor wire.
Every so often, as I wait with bated breath for Mayhem to do whatever the hell he’s going to do, some shadows in the facility move.
I count three guards, all armed with guns much bigger than mine.
Conrad crouches beside me, his breathing steady and controlled in a way that tells me he's done this before. A lot. The way he moves, the way he holds his weapon, the way his eyes constantly scan our surroundings — it’s reassuring.
Comforting, even. A pang of regret twitches my heart. If only things were different…
"How long do we wait?" he whispers, his voice barely audible.
"With Mayhem? Could be thirty seconds, could be five minutes. He operates on his own timeline." I shift my weight, trying to find a position that doesn't make my leg cramp. "But when he goes, you'll know."
As if summoned by my words, an explosion rocks the eastern side of the compound.
Not a small one, either — the kind that lights up the night sky and sends debris raining down like deadly confetti.
Car alarms start wailing in the distance.
Beneath that, a song. I barely register the lyrics to ‘Ashes to Ashes’ by David Bowie.
"Jesus Christ," Conrad mutters. “He has some pipes.”
"That's Mayhem for you." I'm already moving toward the fence, gun raised. "Subtle as a brick through a window."
Shouts erupt from inside the facility. I can hear boots pounding on concrete, voices barking orders in Russian. The three guards I spotted earlier are running toward the explosion, leaving our section of the perimeter wide open.
I reach the fence, and Conrad reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a multi-tool. With a wink and a few flicks of his wrist, he preps the wire-cutters and sets to work cutting through the chain link. “Never leave home without it,” he says.