Chapter 23 Vin
Vin
The roar of engines died behind us as the Royal Bastards dismounted, our boots hitting the dirt in unison.
We were a storm of leather and rage, moving toward the cabin with deadly intent.
I could smell the pine in the air, mingled with the sharp tang of fear.
The guards didn't stand a chance; they were taken out swiftly, their bodies crumpling to the ground like rag dolls.
As we cleared them, I noticed the Cyrillic tattoos on one's arm—Russian fuckers mixed up in the Black Market Railroad.
"Vin!" Raven's voice was a beacon, but I couldn't spot her in the chaos.
"Clear!" someone shouted, and that's when I kicked down the door to Stansfield's office.
The place reeked of money and bullshit, all polished wood and pretensions.
There he was, my nemesis, sitting pretty behind his desk like some kind of throne.
He looked up with a smirk plastered on his aging face, and I could tell he thought he was untouchable.
I almost sent him outside to see his dead guards.
"Looking for someone?" he drawled, smug as ever. I resisted the urge to put a bullet between his eyes.
I strode over, my boots thudding against the planked floor, each step echoing the pounding in my chest. "You, asshole." I demanded, my voice low, simmering with a promise of violence. Keep your shit together, I told myself. Killing Raven’s dad while she was outside would fuck everything up.
"Ah, you make it so personal," Stansfield replied, leaning back in his chair as though we were just two old friends having a chat.
But I caught it—the slight widening of his eyes, the way his fingers gripped the armrests just a little too tight.
The leather chair creaked. The birds outside had gone back to chirruping.
The sun had set outside and on Stansfield.
"Cut the shit, Stansfield." I leaned across the desk, close enough to see the pulse ticking in his neck. "You're gonna tell me everything about that bombing. Who did you sell us out to? Why the fuck you’re in bed with the Russian Mafia and anything else we need to know. "
"Vin, always straight to the point," he said with an affected chuckle. "But really, is this how you want to play it? I'd expect more... finesse."
"Guess I left my manners back at the club you blew to hell," I snapped back, my anger a living thing, coiled tight inside me. I wanted to reach across the desk and wipe that look off his face, but I needed answers first.
"Such a tragedy, that," Stansfield mused, feigning concern. But there was a flicker there, a moment where his facade cracked. I saw the fear, even if he thought he had it hidden.
"Start talking, or so help me, I'll—" I circled the desk like a predator, my every step calculated to rattle this silver-haired snake. Stansfield watched me, his smugness slipping as he tried to reclaim his composure with words dipped in poison.
"Vincent," he began, his voice slick as oil on water, "you have to understand, these events are bigger than you or I. Political forces at play—"
"Save it," I interrupted. "You think I give a damn about politics?"
He ignored me, plowing ahead with his charade. "Your little club was simply... collateral damage in a much larger scheme. The world is changing, Mr. Reed. And sometimes, people get caught in the crossfire."
"Is that what Raven was to you? Collateral damage?" I could feel the heat of my anger, a furnace burning in my chest, but I kept it chained, let it simmer just below the surface.
"Ah, Raven," he said, the name sliding off his tongue like it was laced with betrayal. "She never understood the bigger picture, always so shortsighted—just like her mother."
The mention of Raven's mother was a low blow, and it took everything I had not to leap over the desk and throttle him. Instead, I leaned in close, my voice low and dangerous. "You're wrong about her. About everything."
"Am I?" Stansfield shifted in his seat, the discomfort clear in how he avoided my gaze. "The bombing was unfortunate, sure. A necessary evil—"
"Unfortunate?" My laugh was more bark than humor. "Try explaining 'unfortunate' to the families of my brothers you wiped out. To the kids who won't see their dads again because of your 'necessary evil.'"
"Those men were criminals—" he started, but I cut him off with a snarl.
"Maybe to you. To me, they were family. You destroyed lives, homes, memories. All because you can't stand the sight of us riding free while you're chained to your goddamn desk."
"Vin, you're being—" He paused, gulping down whatever lie he'd been about to spin, as if he finally realized I wasn't buying any of it.
"Being what, Stansfield? Being real? You sit here in your palace, playing king, but out there..." I jabbed a finger toward the window, to the world beyond his gilded cage. "Out there is where life happens. Where real people bleed and fight and love. And you want to talk politics to me?"
Stansfield's eyes narrowed, sensing he was losing ground. "You're oversimplifying—"
"Shut up." I slammed my palms flat against the mahogany, making him flinch. "I'm done listening to your bullshit. Start talking sense, or I swear I'll tear this place apart brick by brick until the truth comes spilling out like blood from a wound."
There was a silence then, heavy and thick. Stansfield's breath hitched, and for a moment, I saw it—the realization that he was no longer holding the cards. He swallowed hard, and I knew I had him right where I wanted.
"Look at you," Stansfield sneered, leaning back in his chair like a king on his damned throne. "The mighty Vin Reed reduced to playing detective. You think you're so close to the truth?"
My hands itched to wipe that smug look off his face, but I kept 'em steady by my sides. "Start talking, Stansfield. Who else is in your pocket? Who helped you bomb my club?"
"Ah, alliances," he drawled, enjoying the sound of his own voice way too much. "Necessary for any venture with... substantial outcomes. Your little motorcycle club was an obstacle. A stain on the fabric of our society—"
"Cut the crap," I cut in, my patience thinner than the air in a punctured tire. "Who's we?"
"Let's just say I have friends in high—and low—places." His lips twisted into a smirk. "Friends who understand the importance of order, of removing vermin from the streets. The Russian connections, they appreciate a good cleansing."
"Russians?" That piece clicked into place, ugly and jagged. "You're in bed with those Black Market Railroad bastards?"
"Business makes strange bedfellows," he said, his voice dripping with condescension.
I took a step closer, the leather of my jacket creaking like a warning. "You'll regret this, Stansfield. Every single drop of blood spilled is on your hands."
"Threats are beneath you, Vin." He tried to sound bored, but there was a hint of sweat on his brow now.
Just then, the door crashed open, and Raven stormed in, her dark hair a wild halo around her fierce face. Her eyes were two flares of determination, and she moved with the kind of purpose that made men twice her size take a step back.
"Raven!" Stansfield gasped, shock slicing through his cultivated calm.
"Hello, Father," she spat out the word like it was poison. "Miss me?"
Her entrance was like throwing gasoline on a fire, the air charged with something fierce and raw. She was pure, undiluted defiance in the flesh, and I felt the balance shift, tipping the scales in our favor.
"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 he wasn’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."