Chapter 12 #2
"Already told her. She agreed—reluctantly.
" I lean forward, my hands flat on the table.
"But this changes things. Virgil isn't just watching anymore.
He's actively hunting. If he's willing to go after Leah, he'll go after anyone connected to us.
Tildie. Aunt Ellie. Kinsey." I look at Coin. "Your girls."
The mention of his daughters makes Coin's face go pale.
Wrenleigh and her younger sister—teenagers, innocent, with no idea what kind of danger is circling their father's world.
"I'll pull them out of school," he says, his voice tight. "Keep them at the compound until this is handled."
"Do it," Ruger agrees. "Today. Don't wait. And someone needs to talk to Kinsey too. Make sure she knows what's happening, what to look for."
"I'll handle Kinsey," Bracken offers. "She trusts me."
"What about the timeline?" Porter asks. He's been quiet until now, doing what he does best—thinking, calculating, working the angles. "We were waiting for Ounce to nail down Virgil's location. But if he's getting bolder—"
"Then we need to move faster." Ruger turns to Ounce. "Where are we?"
Ounce pulls a folded paper from his pocket and spreads it on the table.
It's a map of Morgantown and the surrounding area, marked with red X's and handwritten notes.
"Virgil's got a few regular spots," he says, pointing.
"This warehouse on the east side—he uses it for storage.
Drugs, mostly, but sometimes girls too. He's got a house out past the county line, real isolated, where he does most of his.
.. business." His jaw tightens on the word.
"And he's been spending time at this motel on Route 7.
Meeting with buyers, I think. Setting up transactions. "
"Which one's the best hit?" I ask.
"The house. It's remote, no neighbors, easy to control. But he's not there every night. We'd need to watch it, wait for him to show up."
"How long?"
Ounce shakes his head. "Could be days. Could be weeks. His schedule's irregular—probably on purpose."
Weeks.
The word lands like a punch to the gut.
Weeks of waiting while Virgil circles closer.
Weeks of watching Vanna jump at every shadow.
Weeks of knowing he's out there, hunting.
"We don't have weeks," I say. "He's accelerating. The photos of Leah prove that. If we wait too long, he'll make a move."
"So, we draw him out." Maddox's voice is quiet, but everyone turns to look at him. He rarely speaks in church, but when he does, people listen. "Set a trap. Make him come to us."
"How?" Ruger asks.
Maddox looks at me, his expression unreadable. "Bait."
The implication hangs in the air.
I know what he's suggesting.
We all know.
"No." The word tears out of me. "Absolutely not. We're not using Vanna as bait."
"I didn't say Vanna." Maddox holds up a hand. "But someone he'd want. Someone who'd draw him out of hiding."
"Who?"
"Me."
We all turn.
Ounce is leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed, his expression calm.
"Virgil knows me," he continues. "From the old days. He knows I'm connected to this club, knows I've been clean for years. If I reach out to him—tell him I'm looking to get back in the game, maybe do some business—he'd bite. He's greedy. He's arrogant. He thinks he's untouchable."
"That's a hell of a risk," Ruger says slowly. "If he suspects a trap—"
"He won't. Not from me." Ounce's eyes are hard. "I know how to play this. I know how men like him think. He'll see dollar signs and an opportunity. He won't see the bullet coming until it's too late."
The room is silent.
I look around the table—Ruger weighing the options, Coin still pale with worry for his girls, Bracken drumming his fingers, and Maddox watching everything with those quiet eyes.
"It could work," I admit. "But if something goes wrong—"
"Then I handle it." Ounce meets my gaze. "This is my choice, Bloodhound. My risk. Let me do this."
I think about Vanna.
About the bruises on her throat.
About the baby growing inside her, the baby Virgil threatened to cut out.
About my sister, stalked and photographed, her life invaded by a monster she's never met.
"Okay," I say. "We do it Ounce's way. Set the trap. Draw him out." I look at Ruger. "But we do it fast. Before he has a chance to make another move."
Ruger nods slowly. "Ounce, how long to set this up?"
"Couple days. I need to reach out to some contacts, make it look natural. Can't just call him out of the blue."
"Do it. Keep us posted on every step." Ruger stands, signaling the end of the meeting. "Everyone else—stay sharp. Eyes open. This bastard's been watching us, but now we watch him. And when the time comes, we put him in the ground."
"One more thing." I stop them before they can file out. "Leah. Who's taking the first shift?"
"I will." Maddox's voice is quiet but firm. "She knows me. Trusts me. I'll make sure she's safe."
I nod, grateful.
If there's anyone in this club I'd trust with my sister's life, it's Maddox.
The man's a gentle giant—until he's not.
"Thank you, brother."
He just nods and heads for the door.
That night, I lie in bed with Vanna curled against my side, her head on my chest, her hand resting on the swell of her belly.
She's twenty weeks now—halfway through the pregnancy.
The baby's been active today, kicking and squirming, making its presence known.
Every flutter is a reminder of what's at stake.
Every movement is a promise I refuse to break.
"You're quiet," she murmurs, her voice soft in the darkness.
"Thinking."
"About Virgil?"
I hesitate.
I've been trying to shield her from the worst of it—the planning, the violence to come.
She's got enough to worry about with the pregnancy, with staying clean, with rebuilding her life.
She doesn't need the details of what we're planning.
The cold, methodical nature of it.
The things I'm prepared to do.
But she's not stupid.
She knows something's happening, and I promised her no more secrets.
"He sent photos to Leah."
Vanna goes rigid against me, her whole body tensing. "What?"
"Same as yours. Following her. Watching her. Getting pictures of her at the grocery store, at the hospital, at her apartment." I force the words out, hating how they sound in the quiet room. "With a note threatening to hurt her."
"Oh God." She sits up, her eyes wide with fear in the moonlight. "Garrett, this is my fault. If I hadn't been involved with him, if I hadn't racked up those debts—"
"Stop." I sit up too, taking her face in my hands, forcing her to look at me.
"This is not your fault. Virgil is a predator.
He was a predator before he met you, and he'll keep being one until someone stops him.
You didn't create him. You didn't make him do any of this.
He chose this. He chose to be a monster. "
"But Leah—she's innocent. She's not part of this world. She's a nurse, Garrett. She saves people's lives. And now some psychopath is stalking her because of me."
"Because of him," I correct firmly. "Because Virgil is a coward who targets women because he can't face men.
Because he's trying to get to me through the people I love.
" I smooth the hair back from her face, wiping the tears that have started to fall.
"Leah is being protected. Maddox is with her right now, and he'll be there until this is over. She's not going to be alone."
Vanna's eyes are wet, her lower lip trembling. "I never wanted to bring this to your family. To the club. I never wanted any of this. When I came back, I thought—I hoped—that the worst was behind me. That I could just... start over."
"You can. You will." I pull her close, wrapping my arms around her, holding her against my chest. "This is a storm, Van. A bad one. But storms pass. And when this one's over, we're going to have clear skies. I promise you that."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because I'm not going to let it end any other way."
She's quiet for a long moment, her tears soaking through my shirt.
When she speaks, her voice is barely a whisper.
"When will it be over?"
"Soon." I press a kiss to her hair. "Ounce has a plan. We're going to draw Virgil out, and when we do—"
"You're going to kill him."
It's not a question. I don't insult her by pretending otherwise.
"Yes."
She pulls back, looking at me with those blue eyes I've loved since I was a child. "Good."
The word is hard. Cold. Nothing like the soft, gentle woman I married. But I understand. Some things can't be forgiven. Some people can't be allowed to keep breathing.
"I'm scared," she admits. "Not of what you're going to do. Of what might happen before you get the chance. What if he comes for me again? What if he comes for the baby?"
"He won't." I put my hand on her stomach, feeling the baby shift beneath my palm. "I won't let him anywhere near you. Neither will the club. You're never alone, Van. Not for a second."
"I know. But the fear doesn't care about logic." She covers my hand with hers. "I keep having these nightmares. About him finding me. Taking me. About waking up somewhere dark and knowing no one's coming to save me."
My throat tightens.
The image she's describing—it's my nightmare too.
The thing that keeps me up at night, that drives the cold rage burning in my chest.
"I will always come for you," I say, my voice rough. "No matter where you are. No matter what it takes. I will tear this world apart to find you. Do you understand?"
She nods, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks.
"I'm going to end this," I promise. "And then we're going to have our baby, and we're going to build the life we deserve. No more fear. No more looking over our shoulders. Just us and our kid and all the years we have ahead of us."
"Do you really believe that?"
"I have to." I pull her back down, tucking her against my chest. "Because the alternative isn't an option."
We lie there in the darkness, holding each other, feeling the baby move between us.
Outside, the wind howls against the windows.
Somewhere out there, Virgil is watching.
Waiting. Planning.
But so are we.
And when the trap springs shut, I'm going to be the last thing he ever sees.
The next few days pass in a blur of tension and preparing for this madness.
Ounce makes his calls, drops hints to the right people, lets it slip that he's looking to get back in the game.
The word spreads through the underground like smoke—Ounce from the Saint’s Outlaws MC is looking to deal, looking to connect, looking for a supplier with products and girls.
Virgil takes the bait on day three.
"He wants to meet," Ounce tells us in church. "Friday night. The motel on Route 7. Says he's got a proposition for me."
Friday.
Three days away.
Three more days of waiting, of watching, of keeping Vanna close and praying nothing goes wrong.
"What's the play?" Ruger asks.
"I go in alone. Wear some sort of recording device. Get him talking—about his operation, his girls, his plans." Ounce's jaw tightens. "Once we have what we need, I give the signal. You come in, and we end it."
"And if something goes wrong? If he suspects?"
"Then I handle it." Ounce pulls out a pistol, checks the chamber, slides it back into his waistband. "One way or another, Virgil doesn't walk out of that meeting."
Ruger nods slowly. "Friday, then. Everyone knows their positions?"
Murmurs of agreement are around the table.
"Then we're done here." Ruger stands. "Get some rest. Stay sharp. And pray to whatever god you believe in that this goes clean."
I linger after the others leave, standing at the window, staring out at the compound.
The sky is gray, heavy with the promise of snow.
Fitting weather for what's coming.
Vanna appears in the doorway, one hand on her belly.
"It's happening?" she asks.
"Friday."
She crosses the room and slips her arms around me from behind, pressing her cheek against my back.
"Be careful," she whispers. "I can't do this without you. This baby can't grow up without a father."
I turn, pulling her into my arms. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise."
She looks up at me, and I see everything in her eyes. The fear. The hope. The love that's carried us through six years of chaos and heartbreak.
"I believe you," she says.
I kiss her—deep and slow, trying to pour everything I feel into it.
The love. The terror.
The desperate need to keep her safe, to give her the future she deserves.
When I pull back, she's crying.
"Three more days," I tell her. "And then it's over. And we start the rest of our lives."
Three more days.
I can survive three more days.
I have to.