Chapter 17
FARRIS
I always knew it would end like this. Not in a courtroom, not with a fucking badge, but with war, with blood, with fire.
The moment the Royal Bastards and the Royal Harlots roll down the highway together, I know this isn’t just about settling a score anymore. This is annihilation.
Dave Train and the Bloody Femmes thought they could come after me. After my woman. After my club.
They fucked around.
Now they’re about to find out.
Before we even reach the warehouse, I see it. Smoke curling against the night sky like a goddamn omen. Then, the crack of an explosion shatters the night, and my gut clenches.
“Fuck,” Capone growls from his bike, flipping his phone open. We pull over and wait. A few seconds later, he curses again. “They torched one of our goddamn supply houses.”
Calypso pulls up beside me, her face tight. “They’re trying to pull us apart.”
I grip the handlebars tightly. This isn’t just some random act of war. This is a fucking trap. They want us to break formation, they want us to spread thin so they can pick us off.
Blayze looks at Capone. “What’s the move?”
Capone’s jaw clenches. “Half the RBMC stays here to storm the warehouse. Torch, Dagger, take a crew to handle the fire.”
Allura glares at Capone. “I should be going with them.”
“No,” Capone snaps, his jaw locked. “This is about Train. We end this now.”
Allura doesn’t argue because she knows he’s right. We don’t stop, we don’t take the bait. We ride straight into hell.
The roar of bikes drowns out the fire crackling in the distance as we close in on the warehouse where the Bloody Femmes and Dave Train are holed up.
Royal Bastards and Royal Harlots united, side by side, ready to end this.
Capone and Blayze take point, their expressions lethal, their weapons loaded. Behind them, Allura and the Harlots roll in, their bikes growling, every single one of them armed to their teeth. The roar of bikes thunders behind me as we descend like demons straight out of hell.
The first shot cracks through the air, sharp and deadly, and then all hell breaks loose. The Bloody Femmes and the Black Market Railroad wanted war, well they fucking got it.
Capone and Blayze storm the front, their bullets shredding through the metal doors. Sparks rain down, the stench of burning gunpowder thick in the air.
Trigger and Aftermath cut left, knives flashing, their boots slamming against the pavement. Two of the Bloody Femmes’ lookouts drop before they even have the chance to scream.
Inside, it’s a massacre of blood and bodies. Some Black Market Railroad bastards are scrambling for cover. Others are firing blindly, desperation thick in their panicked movements. They know they’re outmatched. They know we’re here to end them.
I don’t waste time watching them. I move like a fucking ghost through the carnage. I’m not Detective Farris Dalton of the LAPD anymore. I’m Farris Law Dog Dalton, a badass MC member ready to shed some blood for my Club and my woman.
A Black Market Railroad soldier lunges at me from the right, his blade glinting in the flickering light. He’s too slow. I sidestep, catching his wrist, twisting until I hear the satisfying snap of bone and screams.
I slam my knife into his throat, twisting it as I shove him against the wall. Blood sprays across my arm, warm and thick. His eyes go wide, his hands clawing at the wound, choking, gurgling. I don’t wait for him to die, I’m already moving.
Another one comes at me, and I put a bullet between his eyes before he gets close enough. His body crumples like a rag doll.
Around me, the warehouse is turning into a fucking warzone. Bodies are hitting the floor left and right. The Bloody Femmes are falling back, retreating, but we’re not letting them run.
This isn’t just a fight. This is extermination.
A familiar gunshot rings out close by, and I whip around just in time to see her.
Calypso is moving like a goddamn shadow, weaving between cover, her gun flashing in the dim light.
My heart pounds against my chest. My first instinct is that she shouldn’t be here, she should be somewhere safe.
But Calypso doesn’t do safe. She’d rather fight alongside me instead of sitting on the sidelines.
Her badassery is what attracted me to her in the first place.
I watch as she ducks behind a stack of crates, popping off another shot that catches one of Dave’s men in the thigh. The fucker goes down hard, shrieking as he clutches the wound.
My jeans tighten when Calypso doesn’t even hesitate. She steps out from behind her crate, cool, steady, ruthless, and fires again, shooting him in the head. Fuck, I love this woman.
I see the movement behind her. “Calypso! Left!”
She pivots, but not fast enough. The gunshot cracks through the air. Calypso jerks back, her body snapping like a puppet with its strings cut. My chest locks up.
Calypso stumbles, her gun slipping from her fingers as her back hits the crate behind her. Time slows as the battle rages on around me, but it doesn’t fucking matter.
All I see is her. Her blood spreads across her chest, seeping into her shirt, dark and cruel. “No!” I cry.
No, no, no.
I can feel my entire world splintering as I kneel beside her. Tears burn the back of my throat, but I fight them back. I can't lose her. My hands press down on the wound, slick with blood that should never have left her body.
Her lips part, her eyes glassy, struggling to focus. “Farris…” Calypso’s voice is so fucking weak.
I press harder, my breathing ragged. “Stay with me, baby.”
Her fingers weakly clutch my cut, her touch barely there. I feel her life slipping away with every ragged breath she takes. I should’ve never let her come. I should’ve fucking protected her.
“Somebody get the fuck over here!” I roar.
Blayze appears, his expression hardening when he sees Calypso. “Shit.”
“Get her to the hospital,” I bark. My throat feels tight as hell. “Now.”
She tries to shake her head, her bloodstained fingers curling against my chest. “I can…”
“Don’t you fucking argue with me.” My voice breaks. “You’re going.” Calypso’s breath catches as I lean down, pressing my forehead against hers, my voice barely a whisper. “Baby, please.”
Her lashes flutter. She’s losing too much blood. I press a kiss to her lips, soft, desperate, fucking terrified. I pull back and lock eyes with Blayze.
“Get her out of here.” My voice is steel. “I’ll finish this.”
Blayze doesn’t hesitate, he hauls her up, and she whimpers from the pain. The sound kills me. I watch as they drag her toward the exit and the doors slam shut behind them.
I turn and I fucking lose it.
I move like a man possessed. The second Calypso is gone, something inside me snaps.
I’m no longer thinking, no longer holding back. I’m just fucking killing.
I take out two of Dave’s men in seconds, one shot to the head, the other gutted open with my knife. The rest start running.
Good.
They should because Law Dog is hunting their asses down. I’m going to kill every single one of these motherfuckers for hurting my woman.
Dave Train isn’t getting away. I spot him near the exit, shoving one of his own men in front of him like a shield, the fucking coward.
I raise my gun and fire. The man in front of him drops to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Dave stumbles back, his face twisting in panic. He knows it’s over.
I stalk toward him, my boots crunching over glass, blood dripping from my knife.
“Shit.” he starts. I slam the barrel of my gun into his face hard. He crumples, and I don’t let him get up.
I kneel beside him and press the muzzle of my gun under his chin, forcing his head back. “You put your hands on her.” My voice is pure fucking venom.
Blood dribbles from Dave’s mouth, his eyes wild. “She, she was never yours to keep, man.”
Wrong fucking answer. I press the gun harder, watching as pure terror flashes across Dave’s face. “She’s mine,” I growl. “And you? You’re fucking done.”
A sick smirk tugs at his lips. “You don’t even know, do you?” he rasps.
“What?” My grip tightens.
Dave laughs, a wet, gurgling sound. “Go check on your girl, brother. See if she tells you.”
A sharp CRACK shatters the moment as Capone’s bullet slams through Dave’s skull. His body slumps, and his eyes grow glossy. He’s dead.
I don’t remember the ride. I don’t remember the sirens or the doors slamming open as I charge inside. All I remember is her.
Calypso, my life, my world.
She’s lying in that hospital bed, too fucking pale with an IV in her arm and monitors hooked up all over her. Allura is sitting beside her, holding her hand. The second she sees me, she stands, her expression is unreadable and guarded.
I stop at the foot of the bed, my breathing ragged.
Calypso stirs. Her lashes flutter, and when her eyes land on me, something in her gaze shifts. Fear. Guilt. Pain.
“Farris,” she whispers, her voice hoarse.
I swallow hard. “You’re okay.” My voice is rough, breaking. “You’re gonna be okay.”
Her eyes glance to Allura, then back to me. That’s when I know.
That cold, sinking feeling in my gut turns into a goddamn freefall. Calypso tries to speak, but I already know.
My chest constricts as the truth hits me harder than any bullet. My world tilts. My throat locks up as I force the words out. “You were pregnant.” I rasp, the words tasting like acid in my mouth. I take a slow, unsteady breath.
Her breath catches as tears well in her eyes, and she nods.
I take a step back, my chest caves in and my heart fucking rips apart. I failed.
She reaches for me, but I step out of reach.
I can’t. Not right now.
Her voice cracks when she whispers, “Farris, please.”
I’m already turning, already walking away, my vision blurring.
I hear Allura’s voice behind me, sharp and cutting. “Don’t you fucking do this, Dalton.”
I don’t stop, even though every fiber of me screams to turn back. I can’t look at her. I can’t look at myself. I’ve failed her in every way possible. I don’t stop because right now, I don’t know how to breathe.
She fucking lied to me.