Chapter 20 Vin
Vin
The night air ripped with the guttural howl of our Harleys as we tore through the forsaken quiet of Stansfield's meat-packing plant. Our bikes snarled and snapped, engines revving like a rabid pack set loose on an unsuspecting prey.
"Move, move, move!" I barked. My boots hit the ground running, the familiar weight of my leather jacket hugging me like a second skin.
Gunfire erupted, a chaotic symphony to which we danced with lethal grace.
I watched as my brothers engaged the enemy, their movements fluid and deadly, nothing short of warriors in this concrete jungle.
The air stank of lead and fear, but I barely registered it—my mind was elsewhere, consumed by a single name that hammered in my chest: Raven.
"Vin, left side!" Moab's warning sliced through the din, and I turned just in time to see a guard aiming for my head.
I moved—instinct, nothing more—and the bullet sparked off the metal doorframe beside me.
Invulnerability wasn't a gift; it was a state of mind, one I wore like armor as I plowed forward, deeper into the belly of the beast.
"Raven," I growled under my breath, the taste of her name bitter with urgency.
Every fiber of my being was tuned to find her, to tear apart anyone or anything that stood between us.
She was the reason I breathed, the reason I fought, and hell would freeze over before I'd let her slip through my fingers.
Another hail of bullets sprayed towards me, but they might as well have been raindrops for all the fucks I gave.
My brothers covered my back, a symphony of gunfire and shouts echoing in my wake.
I didn't bother to duck, didn't flinch as hot metal whizzed past. Fear was a luxury I couldn't afford, not when every second counted.
"Raven!" I roared, the sound a primal claim that echoed off the walls.
The air stank of blood and gunpowder as we tore through Stansfield’s fortress. "Clear!" Tank bellowed, his voice ricocheting off the cold concrete walls as another one of Stansfield's goons hit the ground with a final gasp.
We moved like a single dark wave—fluid, unstoppable. Our guns spoke the only language needed here, their reports sharp and deadly. Every cleared room left behind a tapestry of destruction, bodies slumped over tables and chairs, eyes wide open, staring at nothing.
"Keep moving!" I snapped, the urgency clawing at my chest. “Raven!” The others followed my lead, but inside, I was a tempest. Raven's face flickered in my mind—a flash of her defiant eyes, the curve of her smile that spelled trouble.
It spurred me on and fueled my recklessness.
I didn't sidestep the next barrage of bullets; I charged straight through, feeling them whiz by like pissed-off bees.
My blood sang with the thrill of it all.
"Vin, watch it!" Canon yelled, but I was already past caring. Each corner turned, each door kicked in, another second lost, another moment Raven wasn't in my arms. The memory of her sharp and wild laughter echoed in my ears, mocking the silence of the corridors that refused to reveal her.
The corridor ended abruptly, like the last note of a dirge—a locked door standing between me and whatever lay beyond.
Raven's presence was a siren call bleeding through the steel barrier. I didn’t pause to consider the lock or look for keys.
My hands clenched into fists, tendons stretching like steel cables as I hurled myself at the door.
"Open up, you son of a bitch," I growled, and my shoulder connected, metal screeching its protest against raw strength born of desperation. The second slam was a symphony of splitting wood and rending steel, the door finally giving way under the assault of a man with nothing left to lose.
The room beyond was a still-life nightmare.
No guards to put down, no sounds of struggle—just silence, thick and suffocating.
My boots thudded hollowly on the concrete, my heart pounding an erratic counterpoint.
There, in the center of the cold floor, lay Raven, her body sprawled like a marionette with its strings cut.
The sight struck me harder than any bullet could, sucking the air from my lungs and leaving a void no amount of rage could fill.
I stood there, blinking. Not believing. All this fucking way after four years.
"Raven!" Her name was a prayer and a curse on my lips as I dropped to my knees beside her, my invulnerability a cruel joke in the face of her stillness.
Her dark hair fanned out around her head, a contrast to the pale lifelessness of her skin.
Those eyes that once burned with fire were closed, secrets sealed behind their lids.
"Shit, baby, no..." I whispered, my voice breaking.
A part of me knew I should check for a pulse, look for any sign of life, but my fingers trembled too much to trust what they might find.
In that moment, the world shrank to the space we occupied, the chaos of the raid fading into insignificance.
Nothing mattered without her defiant spirit breathing life into it.
“Vin,” Toolie said.
“No. Get the fuck back,” I said.
My hands hovered over her, afraid to touch, to confirm the cold truth that seemed to mock the heat of the battle raging just moments before.
Raven, my tempest, my equal in every way that counted, reduced to this silent form.
It was a blow that reached deep, tearing through the fabric of who I thought I was.
The untouchable outlaw, the relentless avenger.
For all my brute force, for all the violence I commanded, I was powerless to protect the one person who'd managed to carve a place in the fortress of my heart.
"Fuck... Raven." My voice was a ragged edge tearing through the eerie quiet.
If she could hear me, if there were any justice in this godforsaken world, she'd open those fierce eyes and tell me to stop being such a melodramatic asshole.
But the room remained silent, and the only thing looking back at me was a loss, staring me down with a challenge I had no idea how to meet.
Time stopped, or maybe it just got damn tired of moving.
In the stillness of that room, with Raven lying there like she was carved out of midnight and ice, my world crumbled.
I knelt beside her, my fingers brushing a lock of dark hair from her face—a gesture so tender it felt like betrayal, like admitting defeat.
"Should've been me," I cried to no one. My chest felt like it was caving in, each breath a battle. I stared at her, half-expecting her to sit up and laugh at how easily she'd played me. But she didn't move, and that stillness—it clawed at me, a physical thing.
"Vin." Moab's voice cut through the silence like the roar of our bikes on the open road. "Stansfield slipped the net."
I blinked, letting his words sink in. The silence shattered, replaced by a white-hot fury that seared through my veins. All the pain, the helplessness, funneled into a singular purpose: Stansfield would pay for this. No more games, no more fucking around.
"Then we hunt," I growled, rising to my feet. My heart was a grenade with the pin pulled, ready to explode. "We hunt, and we don't stop until he's as cold as she is."
"Damn straight," Moab said, his eyes reflecting the same fire burning within me.
I scooped Raven up, her body light in my arms, like she was made of shadows and mist instead of flesh and blood.
My hands, rough from years of wrenching on bikes and throwing punches, cradled her with a tenderness that felt foreign yet right.
I'd always thought of strength as something to wield, a force to lay down the law or to protect the club.
But there, at that moment, strength was a silent prayer, a plea to hold together what was broken.
"Stay with me, Raven," I muttered, the words rasping against the lump in my throat. The chaos I'd embraced my whole life melted into stark clarity, every step purposeful as I carried her through the decimated corridors of Stansfield's fortress, now just another tomb.
The night air hit me like a slap, the stench of blood and gasoline a sharp contrast to the sterile tang of death inside.
My boots crunched over debris, the sounds of sirens and distant shouting fading against the beat of my heart, thudding loudly in my ears.
I wasn't supposed to feel shit like this—not the pain, not the hollow rip in my chest where fury used to be.
"Vin." Her voice sliced through the disarray, calm as the eye of a storm.
Mama Celeste stood at the edge of the chaos, an anchor in a sea gone mad.
Her amber eyes locked onto mine, seeing through the cracks in my armor.
"Bring her to me," she said, her Creole accent thick, wrapping the words in layers of meaning.
"Can you fix this?" I demanded, the raw scrape of grief lacing my voice. This woman, shrouded in mystery and whispers of old magic, was my last shot.
"Cher, some things are beyond even my touch. But there is a path for her yet," she replied, her voice steady, a thread of steel woven through silk. "Set her down."
I laid Raven at Mama Celeste's feet, the concrete cold and unforgiving beneath her. The mystic knelt, her braids trailing in the dirt, bones, and beads clicking softly. She lifted a hand, hovering it above Raven's still form, fingers twitching in rhythm to some ancient cadence.
"Watch and learn, Vin Reed. The world's got more shadows than even you can chase," she murmured, her gaze never leaving Raven's pale face.
"Teach me, then," I spat back, the challenge in my voice a match for the defiance in her eyes. I'd walk through hellfire if it meant bringing Raven back, turning the tide on a fate that had no right to claim her.
"Patience," she answered simply, the corner of her mouth lifting in a cryptic smile. "Your road is long, biker. And this is but the first turn."