Chapter 28

TWENTY-EIGHT

SWITCH

The tension in the room is thick. Every officer of the Iron Reapers is here, seated around the long, scarred wooden table, waiting for Mason to lay it out.

He stands at the head of the table, hands braced against the wood, shoulders tight with barely restrained fury. His gaze sweeps over us—Dagger, Blade, Rev, and me. We already know why we’re here. Carlie was harassed. Not just her—the twins were with her.

And the bastard responsible? Mitch. One of our own who walked out with Butch a few days ago.

He thought he could run his mouth, throw threats, make sure Carlie knew they were watching. He didn’t touch her, but that doesn’t matter. He wanted her scared. Wanted us to know they’re still a threat.

That was a mistake. A big fucking mistake.

Mason finally speaks, his voice low and steady, but razor-sharp with the promise of violence. “This shit ends tonight.”

The room goes silent. Not out of hesitation—just waiting to see how far this is about to go.

Dagger leans back, arms crossed, jaw tight. “We let them leave without bloodshed. And now they think they can come after our own? Uh-uh. That shit ain’t happening.”

Rev flicks his lighter open, then snaps it shut, the click, click, click filling the air. “It’s not just their mouths running anymore. We’ve been watching Butch’s operation, and it’s worse than we thought.”

My gut tightens. “How bad?”

Rev exhales hard and tosses a folder onto the table. “Guns. Drugs. A whole damn pipeline running through Jackson. He’s working with the Red Snakes, moving weight through our town.”

Blade flips through the pages, his scowl deepening. “This ain’t small-time shit. Heroin, fentanyl, meth. The kind of product that’s putting kids in the ground.” His fist clenches, muscles in his jaw ticking. “And that motherfucker is doing it right in our backyard.”

A slow burn spreads through my veins. “He’s poisoning our town?”

Rev nods. “Not just ours. He’s using the old routes we ran before we went legit. Got connections in surrounding counties, too.”

Mason’s shoulders rise and fall with a sharp breath. “And the guns?”

Dagger’s voice is grim. “Military-grade. He’s supplying outside gangs. The kind of heat that’ll have the ATF all over our asses if we don’t shut it down.”

Mason’s fingers twitch against the table. His jaw locks. “Son of a bitch. We’ve never run drugs, never played that game. He’s not just coming for us—he’s trying to burn this town to the ground.”

“He’s not thinking,” Rev mutters. “He’s on some revenge mission. Doesn’t care who gets hurt.”

I lean forward, resting my forearms on the table, my voice low and firm. “This isn’t just some petty grudge or club drama. He knew exactly what he was doing. He didn’t just cross a line—he’s coming straight for us, and he wants us to know it. And he’s not going to stop. Not until we stop him.”

Blade’s lip curls. “Then we burn his whole operation to the fucking ground.”

Mason nods, slow and deliberate. “We do this right. We take out his supply, his money, and his muscle. Leave him with nothing.”

Rev grins, dark and sharp. “And when he’s got nothing left?”

Mason’s eyes go cold. “We finish it.”

A slow nod moves through the room. No one speaks, but we all know what that means.

Somebody’s been feeding Butch intel. He knew where Carlie was. That wasn’t a coincidence.

Which means no club vote. No prospects. No outsiders.

Blade tosses his toothpick onto the table. “Officers only.”

I look around the table at the men who became my brothers. I’d trust any of them with my life—hell, with Bella’s life. This club isn’t just a patch on my back, it’s the family I chose when my own didn’t give a damn. And now, someone I once considered part of that family is trying to tear us apart. I won’t let that happen.

We get to work, putting together a game plan. Over the next few weeks, we start hitting Butch’s drug and arms deals hard. The drugs? We destroy every last bit. The guns? We keep them.

We lay down the law, just like we did years ago when we first took control of this town. Butch isn’t the only one who needs a reminder of who’s in charge—some of the lowlifes crawling out of the woodwork do too. This town belongs to us, and we’re not going to let it be torn apart.

Through all of this, things with Bella have been… different. I’ve been trying to be more open with her, letting her in little by little. At first, it wasn’t easy—club business is just that, club business—but every time I give her a piece of it, I see how much it means to her. She doesn’t push, doesn’t demand more than I’m willing to give, but I can tell she appreciates the trust.

We’ve been spending most nights together. She’s even come over a couple of times, and I can see how much she’s missed being home. I hate that I pushed her away before, that I made her feel like she didn’t belong in my world. Oreo misses her too, always perking up at the sound of the door like she’s hoping Bella will walk through it.

I’ll wait as long as it takes for her. Because through everything—this war with Butch, the shit we’ve had to handle, the way life keeps throwing punches—one thing has been clear.

Bella’s the only one I’ll ever want to share my life with.

The night air is thick with tension, the kind that settles in your bones and won’t let go. The steady roar of engines cuts through the silence as we ride in tight formation, a pack of wolves closing in on their prey. Each of us is locked in, focused. This isn’t just another run. This is a reckoning.

The warehouse sits on the outskirts of the next town over, a run-down piece of shit barely standing, but inside, Butch’s entire operation is running full throttle. Drugs, guns, money—everything he’s built since he turned on us is about to come crashing down.

I grip my handlebars tighter as we approach, my pulse steady but my thoughts racing. This is it. We’ve spent weeks dismantling his deals, taking out his supply chains, cutting off every resource he had. But this? This is the final nail in the coffin.

We roll up in a staggered line, headlights cutting through the darkness, the deep rumble of our engines making the ground vibrate beneath us. The second we kill the ignitions, silence settles. A charged, deadly kind of silence. One that means it’s time to move.

Mason steps off his bike first, setting the tone. Dagger, Blade, Rev, and I follow, along with the rest of the officers, each one moving with purpose. No hesitation. No second thoughts. We’ve run through this plan a dozen times, but when it comes down to it, nothing about a raid ever goes by the book. We adapt, we move, we win.

I adjust the grip on my gun, scanning the warehouse. Two lookouts posted by the entrance, neither of them expecting trouble. That’s their first mistake.

Mason signals and Blade and Rev move in fast, silencers whispering as they drop both men before they even have a chance to react. I step over one of the bodies, shoving the door open without a second thought.

The inside is chaos. Men scrambling, shouting, reaching for weapons—but we’re already inside, already taking control. I keep my focus sharp, moving through the space as bullets fly. My instincts take over. I duck, aim, fire. One body drops. Then another. I don’t stop to think about it.

Everything is happening fast, but my mind keeps circling back to Bella. Not because I doubt myself, but because I know exactly what I’m fighting for. This isn’t just about the club. This is about protecting the life I want with her. The life I won’t let these bastards ruin.

A guy lunges at me from the side, and I barely twist out of the way before his blade slices past my ribs. I grab his wrist, twisting it hard enough to hear the crack before I drive my own knife into his gut. His breath leaves in a choked gasp before he drops.

Gunfire echoes from the other side of the warehouse, but the fight is already shifting in our favor. We came in fast and hard, just like we planned. Butch’s men are scrambling, unprepared. They were running an empire built on greed and desperation, but they forgot one thing—when the Iron Reapers come for you, there’s no getting out.

I spot Butch near the back, slipping toward an exit. Coward.

Not tonight, motherfucker.

I take off after him, my boots pounding against the concrete. He makes it outside, but I’m on him before he can get far, tackling him to the ground. He grunts as he hits the dirt, trying to scramble away, but I pin him down, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and slamming my fist into his face.

“That’s for Carlie.” Another punch. “For Mason. For this club.” I grab him by the throat, squeezing just enough to watch panic flash in his eyes. “And this? This is for me.”

I slam his head against the ground, dazed enough to keep him from moving as Mason and Dagger step up beside me.

I hand Butch off to Dagger and Mason, stepping back as they take what’s owed. They don’t hold back—not after what he’s done. The sounds of fists meeting flesh echo in the warehouse, each hit a reminder of the lines he crossed. He grunts and spits blood, but there’s no mercy here.

Then a single gunshot rings out.

I turn, breath steady, already knowing it’s over before I even see it. Butch’s body slumps to the ground, blood pooling beneath him. No words are spoken—none are needed. This was always how it was going to end.

The others start moving without hesitation. We find the gas—gallons of it—and start pouring it everywhere. Over the bodies, around the building, soaking every surface we can. The smell of gasoline fills the air, sharp and potent. This place, this operation, everything Butch built—it all burns tonight.

Mason is the last one back inside, dragging one of Butch’s men by the collar. The guy is barely conscious, blood dripping from his busted lip. Mason shoves him forward, letting him collapse onto the concrete.

"Let him run," Mason says, his voice flat. "Let him tell every lowlife in Jackson what happens when you fuck with the Iron Reapers."

We step back, giving him space. The guy scrambles to his feet, wild-eyed, before taking off into the night. He won’t get far before the flames start.

Rev flicks his lighter open, the flame dancing in the dark. Without hesitation, he tosses it into the nearest puddle of gas.

The fire catches instantly, a whoosh of heat surging up as flames race across the ground, licking at the walls, consuming everything in their path. Within seconds, the whole place is an inferno, black smoke curling into the sky.

We don’t stick around to watch it burn. We came, we handled business, and now we ride.

I swing onto my bike, the heat from the fire warming my back as I rev the engine. The others do the same, and as one, we pull out, leaving nothing but destruction in our wake. The war is over. Butch is gone. And now, finally, I can go home to Bella.

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