Wrath's Redemption (Iron & Blood MC #5)

Chapter 1 - Wrath

The thick cloud of cigarette smoke inside the clubhouse does nothing to calm my nerves as I grip my whiskey glass tighter.

Around the wooden table, faces I've known for years – my brothers in all but blood – wear the same grim expression I'm sure is etched on mine.

"Those bastards thought they could hide forever," Crow, my actual blood brother, says through gritted teeth. He's been itching for more action since he put a bullet through that Outlaw piece of shit's kneecap two days ago.

Hellfire, our President, leans forward in his leather chair, his weathered face reflecting years of battles won and lost. The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across the scars that mark his skin – each one telling a story of survival.

"We've got their location. No more playing nice."

"Nice went out the window when they targeted Angel," Ruthless growls, his arm protectively wrapped around Angel's shoulders.

My President's daughter – our fierce little warrior – still bears the fading bruise on her cheek from their last attack. Nobody touches our Angel and lives to tell about it.

I knock back my whiskey, welcoming the burn. "We're ending this tonight."

"Damn straight," Angel pipes up, her voice steel wrapped in silk. She might be Hellfire's daughter, but she's earned her place at this table.

Butcher, our VP, spreads a crude map across the table, pushing aside empty beer bottles and overflowing ashtrays. His fingers, still stained with dried blood from his interrogation sessions, point to a marked location.

"Five of their top guys, holed up in this shithole. Think they're safe from the cops and us." His laugh is cold, calculated. "The intel's solid. I made sure of that."

We all know what that means. The screams from our basement in the past two days are a testament to his methods. Butcher might be a sick bastard, but he's our sick bastard, and he gets results.

Maverick, usually the quiet one, speaks up from his corner. The youngest of our crew, but already proven himself ten times over.

"We go in hard and fast. No survivors this time."

My hand moves to the gun holstered at my side. The familiar weight grounds me and reminds me of what I am – what we all are. Killers when we need to be, protectors always.

"They crossed every line," I say, my voice low but carrying across the smoke-filled room. "Trafficking kids, attacking our home, going after Angel..." I pause, jaw clenching. "Then they had the balls to ambush Crow. Would've killed him if he hadn't had his piece with him." I stand up, unable to contain the rage anymore. The chair scrapes against the floor, the sound harsh in the tension-filled room. "It ends tonight."

"Seven bikes," Hellfire states, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Me, Butcher, Wrath, Crow, Ruthless, Maverick." He looks at Angel. "You're our eyes from the ridge. Any movement, any surprise visitors, you let us know."

Angel starts to protest, but Ruthless squeezes her shoulder. We all know she's lethal, but she's also our best spotter. Those bastards won't see us coming.

Hellfire nods, his decision made. "Gear up."

As everyone moves to prepare, I catch my reflection in the clubhouse's grimy mirror. The man staring back at me lives up to my road name – Wrath. Tonight, I'll earn it all over again. The rage that's been simmering since they first crossed us is about to boil over.

Some might call what we're about to do revenge. I call it justice. The Outlaws forgot the first rule of our world: you don't fuck with family. And Iron & Blood? We're family.

I check my weapons one last time, the familiar ritual steadying my hands. My Glock, cleaned and loaded. The knife strapped to my boot. The brass knuckles in my cut pocket – sometimes you want to make it personal.

Tonight, we'll paint the night red. And I won't feel a damn bit sorry about it.

Because when you come after Iron & Blood, there's only one way it ends – in blood.

The sound of boots on hardwood and leather cuts sliding on fills the clubhouse as we prepare. Every movement is practiced, efficient – we've done this dance too many times to count.

"Ten minutes," Hellfire barks, checking his own piece.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and for a split second, my mind flashes to that night a year ago. Lucy. Sometimes, in quiet moments like these, right before all hell breaks loose, I remember her. Wild honey-colored hair spread across my pillow, those green eyes that seemed to see right through my bullshit, soft curves pressed against me. One night of peace in this chaos we call life.

I shake the thought away. There's no room for softness tonight.

"You good?" Crow asks, coming up beside me. His dark eyes, so similar to mine, search my face.

"Never better." I check my burner phone – it's club business only tonight. "Ready to make those fuckers pay?"

He grins, but it's all teeth and fury. "Been ready since I put that bullet in the guy’s leg."

Our bikes line up like soldiers ready for war – chrome gleaming under the security lights, leather seats waiting. The rumble of seven engines turning over breaks the silence, a battle cry that echoes through our compound.

Angel's already mounted on her bike, ready to take her position on the ridge. Ruthless kisses her hard before mounting his own ride, and I see Hellfire pretend not to notice. Some things never change.

"Remember," Butcher's voice carries over the engines. "No witnesses. No mercy."

We pull out in formation, our headlights cutting through the darkness. The weight of my gun pressed against my side reminds me of what's coming. My blood starts singing that familiar song – the one that earned me my name all those years ago.

The Outlaws thought they could hide. They thought wrong.

Tonight, Wrath isn't just my name. It's a promise.

The road stretches ahead like a black ribbon, our bikes eating up the miles in perfect formation. No cars in sight – just as well. Tonight isn't a night for witnesses. The moon hangs low and full, casting everything in a silvery glow that makes the world feel surreal.

My thoughts drift to the intel as we ride. Five of their top guys, including that piece of shit Joey "The Snake" Martinez. He's the one behind all of it. The fact that he's still breathing is a personal insult.

We take the turn onto the back roads, cutting our lights. Angel peels off first, her bike disappearing into the darkness as she heads for her vantage point. The rest of us continue, the rumble of our engines the only sound for miles.

Three minutes out, Hellfire gives the signal. We kill the engines and coast to a stop, the silence suddenly deafening. The safehouse is just ahead – a rundown two-story at the end of a dirt road. No lights visible, but we know they're in there. Rats always hide in the dark.

"Comms check," Butcher whispers into his earpiece.

"Clear," Angel's voice crackles through. "No movement on the perimeter. Two cars parked out back. Dark SUV and a black sedan."

We spread out, moving like shadows through the trees. My boots make no sound on the damp earth – years of practice. Crow flanks my left, Maverick my right. Hellfire and Butcher take point, with Ruthless covering our six.

The house looms closer. No security cameras – they're either stupid or overconfident. Probably both.

"Movement," Angel's voice is barely a whisper in our ears. "Second floor, west window. Looks like they're playing cards."

A cold smile spreads across my face. Perfect. Let them think they're safe.

Hellfire raises his fist, and we freeze. The hand signals come next – quick, practiced movements in the darkness. Butcher and Maverick will take the back door. Ruthless, the side entrance. Crow and I follow Hellfire through the front.

My heart pounds against my ribs, but my hands are steady as I draw my Glock. This is what I was made for. This is what we do.

"On my mark," Hellfire breathes.

I catch Crow's eye in the darkness. He nods once – a gesture that says everything. We're brothers. We finish this together.

"Three..."

I thumb off the safety.

"Two..."

Blood rushes in my ears.

"One..."

The world narrows to a single point of focus.

"Go."

All hell breaks loose at once. The front door splinters under Hellfire's boot, and we surge forward like a tide of violence. The first Outlaw appears at the top of the stairs, reaching for his piece – too slow. My bullet catches him in the chest, the sound deafening in the enclosed space. He tumbles down the steps like a broken doll.

"Contact back door!" Butcher's voice crackles through the comms, followed by two sharp cracks of gunfire.

Crow moves left, I go right. Years of working together make us fluid, deadly. Somewhere upstairs, someone's screaming orders – Joey's voice. My blood burns hotter at the sound.

A door bursts open to my right. I don't think, just react. My elbow catches the Outlaw's throat, crushing his windpipe before he can raise his gun. As he drops, gasping, I put a bullet in his head. Clean. Quick. No time for anything else.

"Two down in the kitchen," Maverick reports, his voice ice-cold.

The house erupts in gunfire, muzzle flashes lighting up the darkness like lightning. The smell of cordite fills the air, mixing with the copper tang of blood.

"Joey's moving!" Angel's voice cuts through the chaos. "West side, second floor, heading for the window!"

"Like hell he is," I snarl, taking the stairs three at a time. Crow's right behind me, covering my six.

A bullet whizzes past my head, embedding itself in the wall. I return fire, catching a glimpse of movement through a doorway. The answering scream tells me I hit something.

"Wrath!" Crow shouts. I drop as he fires over my head. Another body hits the floor.

Then I see him – Joey, trying to squeeze his fat ass through a window. Panic written all over his face as he realizes there's nowhere left to run.

"Remember me, asshole?" I growl.

He spins around, raising his gun. I'm faster. My first shot takes him in the shoulder, spinning him away from the window. The second hits his knee. He goes down screaming.

I stalk toward him, every step measured. This piece of shit tried to destroy my family. Tried to kill my brother. Some deaths need to be personal.

"Please," he whimpers, blood bubbling from his lips. "I can pay—"

My boot connects with his face, cutting off his words.

"You don't talk," I tell him, pressing my gun against his forehead. "You just die."

His eyes go wide, and for a moment, I see real fear in them. Good.

"Clear downstairs!" Butcher's voice reports.

"Clear east side," comes Ruthless.

Joey starts to shake. "Wait—"

I pull the trigger.

The gunshot echoes through the now-quiet house, a final punctuation mark to this chapter of violence. Blood pools around Joey's head, turning the cheap carpet black in the darkness.

"All clear," I say into my comms. "It's done."

And just like that, it's over. 80% of the Outlaws' leadership, wiped out in less than five minutes. Justice, Iron & Blood style.

"Angel, status?" Hellfire demands.

"Area's clean. No movement. No cops. We're good."

I look down at Joey's body, feeling nothing but cold satisfaction. This is what happens when you fuck with family.

"Let's wrap it up and move out," Hellfire orders. "Butcher, you know what to do."

As I head downstairs, I catch my reflection in a broken mirror. Blood spatters my cut, my face, my hands. I look exactly like what I am – Wrath incarnate.

I'm wiping my hands on a bandana when my burner buzzes. Snake's blood smears across the screen as I check the caller ID – it's Tank, one of our prospects.

"What?" I bark into the phone, watching Butcher set up the accelerant. This place will be ash by morning, along with every body inside it.

"Sorry to bother you, Wrath," Tank's voice wavers slightly. Prospects always sound nervous when they have to call patches. "There's, uh, there's a woman here at the clubhouse. Says she needs to talk to you."

I grunt, already turning to leave. We've got cleanup to handle. "Tell her to fuck off. I'm busy."

"She says her name is Lucy. Says it's important."

The name hits me like a physical blow and stops me dead in my tracks. Lucy. Wild honey hair. Green eyes. Soft skin. That one perfect night.

"Wrath?" Tank sounds even more nervous now. "She's pretty insistent. Says she won't leave until—"

"Keep her there," I cut him off, my voice rougher than intended. "I'll be back in twenty."

Crow catches my eye as I end the call, raising an eyebrow in silent question.

"Gotta handle something at the clubhouse," I tell him, already heading for the door. "You good here?"

He nods, understanding in his eyes. We've always been able to read each other.

"Go. We got this."

Outside, the night air hits my face, clearing some of the blood-haze from my mind. Lucy. After a year of radio silence, she shows up tonight of all nights? Something coils in my gut – anticipation or dread, I'm not sure which.

"Taking off," I announce into the comms as I mount my bike.

"Everything okay?" Hellfire asks.

"Yeah. Business."

That's all I need to say. In our world, that word explains everything.

The engine roars to life beneath me, and I tear off into the night. Despite the adrenaline still pumping through my system, despite the blood still drying on my clothes, my mind keeps circling back to one thought:

Lucy. What the hell could she want after all this time?