Samuel
Knox’s house is lit like nothing’s wrong.
Porch light on. The living room glow spills through the front windows. It’s the quiet kind of normal that gets men killed.
I kill the engine a block away and step out into the dark, the weight of my gun solid against my ribs. Not fear. Readiness.
I scan the street.
There’s nothing obvious. No bikes. No headlights. No engines idling where they shouldn’t be.
Which means Ridgeback is already in position.
Moving fast, I stay low, cutting through shadows and hedges, every sense stretched thin. I’m looking for Bishop. For Diesel. Any sign Mouse got to them in time.
Nothing.
“Fuck,” I breathe.
I round the side of the house and freeze. Two men stand near the back fence, silhouettes half-hidden by trees. Leather cuts I recognize. Patches low on their backs—Ridgeback. One of them lifts a phone, his screen lighting his face just enough for me to see the grin.
They’re not rushing. They think they have time.
My heart hammers as I edge closer. A flash of movement through the back window catches my attention.
Knox.
He steps into the kitchen, phone pressed to his ear, pacing. Annoyed. Distracted.
Unaware.
The second Ridgeback guy shifts. His hand drops toward his waistband. I don’t think. Don’t hesitate.
I move.
The first man goes down hard when I slam into him, driving my shoulder into his chest and sending him crashing into the fence. Wood splinters. He grunts as the air is knocked clean out of him.
The second guy spins, reaching for his gun. But he’s too slow. I fire once. The sound cracks through the night.
He drops.
The first man scrambles, panicked now, as he claws for balance. Grabbing him by the collar, I drive his face into the side of the house, once, twice, until his body goes slack.
I’m breathing hard. My barely healed ribs are screaming. Blood pounds in my ears.
The back door of the house flies open.
“Wolf?” Knox’s voice cuts through the night as he steps out. He stops cold when he sees the bodies. His gaze snaps to me. To the gun. To the blood on my hands.
“What the hell?”
“Get back inside,” I bark. “Now.”
I pivot, my gun coming up just as he raises his own. His shot snaps past my ear, close enough that the sound punches straight through my skull.
I fire back, and he goes down hard, a cry tearing out of him as he hits the ground.
Behind me, Knox moves.
I hear it before I see it. The grunt, the impact, the sound of bodies colliding. He barrels into another Ridgeback I didn’t clock in time, tackling him from behind and driving them both into the dirt.
“You don’t bring war to my doorstep,” Knox growls. “Unless you’re ready to die on it.”
The guy scrambles, wild and desperate, reaching for something at his waist.
“Weapon,” I shout. “On his right.”
But it’s too late. The Ridgeback swings up, gun aimed.
I cross the distance in two strides and slam into him.
He fights like an animal, clawing and kicking.
He’s desperate now that the plan’s blown to hell.
Driving my forearm into his throat, I wrench the gun free and toss it aside before he can get another grip.
He spits blood and laughs, teeth red, breath wet and rattling. “Your girl’s dead,” he croaks. “Or she will be.”
Something inside me detonates.
I don’t hear Knox move. I barely register the sound of my own fist connecting, over and over, until the laughter cuts off and the man collapses beneath me. I don’t stop until there’s nothing left but a broken body and a pool of blood.
“What did he just say?” Knox asks.
I don’t answer.
I’m scanning the tree line. The shadows between parked bikes and cars. Every place a man could be hiding.
Headlights slice through the dark as tires crunch hard against gravel, the sound loud and unmistakable in the open quiet. Two bikes tear up the long drive, stones spitting out beneath them as they brake fast and controlled.
Bishop and Diesel come in hot, boots hitting dirt before their engines even finish cutting out.
Weapons are up instantly. There’s no hesitation, no wasted motion.
Bishop sweeps the tree line in a tight arc while Diesel fans wide, covering the far side of the house like this is exactly what they were born to do.
“Wolf?” Knox drags me back hard. “What the fuck did he say?”
“They came for Raven,” I reply.
The fight drains out of him all at once. His eyes move to the house, to the dark windows, like he’s already picturing her there. Alone and unprotected.
“They came for my sister,” he says quietly. It’s not a threat. It’s a realization.
I step in front of him before he can move.
“She’s safe,” I say, firm.
Knox’s head snaps toward me. “What?”
“I got her away,” I continue, every word deliberate. “Before they made a move. Mouse has her.”
His breath stutters. His hands curl into fists again, but this time they shake. “Where?”
“My place,” I say. “I bought a small cabin outside of town. It’s quiet. Hidden. No one but me knows about it.”
Bishop exhales sharply behind us. Diesel mutters a curse.
Knox stares at me like he’s deciding whether I’m a threat he needs to put down or the only reason his sister is still breathing. “You took her,” he says. “Without telling me.”
“I didn’t have time. Waiting would’ve gotten her killed,” I answer. “And I wasn’t willing to gamble her life on timing.”
Silence stretches. Heavy. Loaded.
Finally, Knox drags a hand down his face. “She okay?”
The question breaks something open in him.
“She’s scared,” I say honestly. “But she’s unharmed. She’s breathing. She’s alive.”
He turns away, bending slightly at the waist, like the air was just punched out of his lungs. When he straightens, his eyes are furious and burning with something close to shame.
“They were going to use her to get to me,” he says.
“Yes.”
A long beat passes. “Then this just became a war,” he says.
I meet his stare, unflinching. “It already was.”
And somewhere miles away, Raven is breathing under a roof I chose for her. Which means whatever comes next? They go through me first. Because now that I have her, I’m not letting her go.