Chapter 22
FARRIS
C alypso is at her Clubhouse with Allura, filling the other Harlots in on what we found out. We plan to meet with them once we get the intel on where Reyes and Senator Grant are hiding out. I didn’t want Calypso to leave, but I know I can’t hold her back either.
The dim glow of monitors and the rhythmic clacking of keys fill the IT room as Red works his magic. He’s hunched over his setup, multiple screens reflecting across his face, fingers moving at a speed that makes my head spin.
Bones leans against the wall, arms crossed, his ever-present scowl deepening as the pieces fall into place. The air in the room is thick with tension, a brewing storm that’s about to fucking break.
I grip the back of a chair, my patience thinning. “Tell me you’ve got something.”
Red doesn’t look away from the screens. “I’ve got something.” He smirks. “I’ve got a lot of fucking somethings.”
“Call Capone. We need to have Church.” My jaw clenches in rage.
Bones pulls out his phone, and once he relays what we know, we’re heading to the Chapel.
About fifteen minutes later, everyone is sitting around the table. Capone is at the head, with Blayze on his left and Torch on his right. Allura is on speakerphone, so we don’t have to relay this information twice.
Capone slams his gavel on the table and grunts. “Start talking.”
Red flicks a few keys on his laptop, and our tablets come alive.
A detailed blueprint of a massive estate flashes onto the screen.
“That,” he says, pointing, “is Senator Grant’s mansion.
The place is a fucking fortress of private roads, motion sensors, and guards at all entrances.
The bastard invested heavily in keeping people out. ”
I roll my neck, cracking the tension that’s settled into my spine. “Then we make sure he regrets that investment.”
Red clicks a few more times, zooming in on specific areas of the house. “Here’s the thing, though. This isn’t just a politician’s safe house. Grant isn’t just helping Reyes out of the kindness of his corrupt heart. The Cartel and the Russians are involved.”
Capone stills. “Explain.”
Red’s grin turns sharp. “Our dear senator is deep in bed with some very powerful people. He’s been brokering deals between the Cartel and Russian arms dealers. Guns, drugs, and,” he pauses, his jaw clenching, “women.”
The word lands like a fucking bullet in the room.
I fist my hands at my sides, the urge to break something clawing at my chest. Torch curses under his breath, his fingers twitching like he’s seconds away from punching through the nearest wall.
Red continues, voice tight with anger. His Ol’ Lady was kidnapped and almost sold by men like these.
I’ve learned that most of the women in this house have been victims of human trafficking.
“Grant has been running a pipeline. Smuggling weapons and human trafficking victims through his private estate. His mansion isn’t just where he’s hiding Reyes, it’s a distribution center.
Women are being sent in and out like fucking merchandise. ”
I press my hand against the desk, my breath coming out slow and sharp. “Tell me you have proof.”
Red nods. “I hacked into some of his off-the-books financials. Grant’s been taking massive bribes from both organizations, laundering money through shell companies, even setting up offshore accounts.”
“Jesus,” Allura mutters from the speaker. “How deep does this shit go?”
Red taps the screen again, bringing up hidden security feeds. My eyes narrow as grainy footage pops up of Reyes standing next to a group of heavily armed men. They’re inside the mansion, surrounded by crates that sure as hell aren’t filled with birthday presents.
Red zooms in, pulling up details. “That’s a fresh shipment. Guns, military-grade. Cartel supplied, Russian funded. The shipment came in two days ago and is set to move out in the next forty-eight hours.”
I exhale slowly, my heart pounding with pure, unfiltered rage. “So, Reyes isn’t just hiding, he’s working. He’s helping Grant keep this whole operation running.”
Derange cracks his knuckles. “Then we shut it the fuck down.”
Red grins darkly. “That’s the plan.”
I stare at the mansion’s layout, memorizing every detail. “Tell me how we get in.”
Red pulls up another blueprint, overlaying the security grid. “Front gate? Suicide. It’s rigged with motion sensors, cameras, and armed guards. The main road is a kill box. But,” he clicks again, zooming in on an underground service tunnel.
“What’s that?” Bones asks.
“A backdoor,” Red says. “It’s a private access tunnel. Originally built for smuggling in high-profile guests discreetly. Now, it’s being used to move shipments without attracting attention.”
Capone’s lips curl. “Then that’s our way in.”
Red nods. “The tunnel leads directly into the lower level of the estate for storage and transport. Security is lighter down there, but once we’re inside, it’s a fucking maze.”
I straighten, already feeling the familiar pull of battle settling into my bones. “We go in fast. We hit hard with no survivors.”
Calypso’s voice comes across the speaker. I can hear a smirk in her tone. “Now you’re talking my language.”
Red leans back in his chair. “We’re gonna need backup for this.”
I already know what he’s getting at. “Royal Harlots.”
Capone nods. “Allura, do you and your ladies want in on this? Grant’s been running women through his operation. That makes this personal.”
Allura grits out, “Damn right it does. We’ll be there in fifteen.” She hangs up the phone.
Capone slams his gavel on the table. “Get ready for another war, boys.”
I take one last look at the screen. Reyes, Grant, and the monsters they do business with. They have no fucking idea what’s coming for them. And when we’re done, there won’t be anything left to bury.
The clubhouse is buzzing with energy, but it’s not the usual kind that comes with booze, women, and a night of celebrating. No, this is different. This is war prep.
Weapons are checked, ammo counted, and engines roar outside as more bikes pull in. The smell of oil, gunpowder, and leather hangs heavy in the air, mixing with something more primal, vengeance.
Reyes and Grant thought they could fuck with us, that they could come after what’s mine and walk away breathing. They were fucking wrong.
I tighten my grip on my gun, rolling my shoulders as I watch my brothers move around me. The Royal Bastards are ready to burn the city down if that’s what it takes to end this. And now, we’ve got the Royal Harlots at our backs.
I glance across the room at Allura, the Prez of the Harlots. She’s barking orders, making sure her women are armed and ready. If Reyes thought these women were just a bunch of pretty faces who played bikers on the weekends, he’s in for a rude fucking awakening.
And then there’s Calypso, my soon-to-be Ol’ Lady, and I’m her Shield. Her protector when she needs me, her biggest supporter when she doesn’t.
She’s standing at the bar, her expression stone-cold, hands resting protectively over her swollen belly. My woman. My world. She shouldn’t even be here, not this far along. But there’s no keeping her away, not when someone is coming after her family.
I stalk over to her, reaching out to cup her chin, tilting her face up to mine. “You stay back, Lyp,” I say, my voice low but firm. “Let us handle this.”
Her jaw tightens. “I’m not sitting this one out.”
I exhale hard. Stubborn as ever. “You don’t have to. You just have to be smart.”
“I am smart,” she fires back. “And smart means I fight for what’s mine.”
Fuck. I love her.
I lean in, pressing my forehead against hers, my grip tightening at her waist. “Just promise me,” I murmur, “you won’t do anything reckless.”
She smirks. “We both know that’s a lie.”
I growl low in my throat but let it go. There’s no changing Calypso. And honestly, I wouldn’t want to.
“Alright,” Capone calls out, dragging everyone’s attention.
The Prez of the Royal Bastards stands in front of the long wooden table, his expression lethal.
“Reyes and Grant are holed up at one of Grant’s properties outside the city.
A fucking mansion surrounded by security, but nothing we can’t handle. ”
Blayze leans forward. “How many men?”
Capone cracks his knuckles. “Enough to make it interesting.”
I roll my neck, feeling the tension in my bones. “Then let’s end this.”
Capone nods. “Bastards take the front. Harlots use the tunnels and take out any guards in the perimeter. We move fast. We move hard. No survivors.”
A round of agreement rumbles through the room, and then we’re moving. Guns loaded, vests strapped on. The roar of engines shakes the ground as we take off into the night, heading straight for war.
The moment we roll up to the mansion, the first shot cracks through the air, and then all hell breaks loose. Gunfire erupts, the roar of bikes cutting through the chaos as we descend like demons onto the property.
Capone, Blayze, and I storm the front, bullets ripping through the air as we take down the first line of guards.
To my left, Trigger and Torch cut through another group, knives flashing in the dim light as bodies drop like dead weight.
Red, Derange, Pretty Boy, and Aftermath to my right, shooting anyone approaching with precision.
Knight and Rebel are outside the range of fire with their sniper rifles, picking off anyone we might miss.
The Harlots move fast, coming in from the side and picking off Grant’s men with brutal efficiency. Calypso stays back, just like we agreed, but even from where I am, I can see the way she moves, calculated and lethal, covering our six like she was born for this.
I make my way toward the house, my blood pounding, my only goal, Reyes. I see him through one of the windows. The bastard is running. Not today, motherfucker.
I kick down the door, dodging a bullet as one of Grant’s men lunges at me. I grab him by the throat, slam him into the wall, and put a bullet through his skull. Blood splatters on me, but I don’t give a shit. This is war, and there’s no time to hesitate.
Reyes is at the back, climbing into a car.
“Fuck no,” I growl, sprinting forward. I fire at the tires, taking them out just as the engine revs. The car skids. Reyes scrambles out, panic flashing in his eyes.
“Dalton,” he sneers, gun in hand. “Should’ve stayed in your lane.”
I cock my gun. “You should’ve stayed in prison.”
I put a bullet between Reyes’s eyes and watch the bastard crumple like deadweight. My breath saws out of me, my pulse still a rapid, vicious drumbeat. One problem down, but not the biggest one.
The scent of blood and gunpowder hangs thick in the air. The mansion is a goddamn war zone. Bodies litter the ground, smoke curls from bullet-riddled walls, and the sounds of men dying fill the night.
I turn, scanning the chaos around me. “Where the fuck is Grant?”
Blayze jogs up, reloading his gun. “He’s not out front. Back entrance?”
A scream cuts through the gunfire. I whip around just in time to see one of Grant’s men dragging him toward a black SUV, his face twisted in panic. Motherfucker.
I lift my gun, lining up the shot.
BOOM!
The mansion explodes. Flames erupt from inside the house, a shockwave tearing through the air and knocking me back a few steps. Heat singes my skin as debris rains down around us. Smoke billows up, swallowing everything in black.
“FUCK!” Capone bellows, shielding himself as more explosions rock the estate.
It’s a goddamn trap. The front gate blows next, a wall of fire cutting us off from the road. That’s when I see it, more of Grant’s men pulling back, scattering like fucking rats, piling into waiting cars.
One of them is Grant.
I push forward, dodging the burning wreckage, my gun raised, my target locked. As I fire, another blast shakes the ground, throwing my aim off. My bullet slams into the SUV’s back window instead of Grant’s skull.
“SON OF A BITCH!” I roar.
The SUV peels out, tires screeching, disappearing into the night.
Blayze grabs my shoulder, shaking me. “We gotta go! NOW!”
I look around. The mansion is caving in, fire ripping through every floor. The air is thick with smoke, making it impossible to see who’s alive and who’s dead.
The Royal Bastards and the Harlots are already retreating, dragging the wounded with them. If we don’t move, we’re getting buried in this hellhole.
My gut churns. Grant is getting away. The bastard planned this. He rigged his own fucking house to blow to cover his escape.
I curse, turning my back on the flames. Not by choice and not because I want to, but because I hear Calypso’s scream and it cuts through me like a knife. “Farris!”
That’s the only thing that matters. “Calypso!”
I sprint, my boots pounding against the ground, dodging bodies and smoke. My blood turns to ice when I spot Calypso on the ground, clutching her belly with Allura next to her, holding her hand.
“Fuck, no.” I drop beside her, gripping her face. “Allura, what the fuck happened?”
“She just, she just went down,” Allura says, eyes wide, hands steady but tense on Calypso’s shoulders. “Her water broke.”
Her breathing is ragged, her hands gripping her belly. “It’s…it’s time.”
My entire world tilts. “What?”
Calypso grits her teeth, panting through the pain. Her eyes snap to mine, wild with both fear and fury. “I’m in labor, you idiot!” She bites out.
Everything else disappears. The gunfire, the bodies, the mission. My focus is only on her.
Capone waves us toward the bikes. “Get her the fuck out of here!”
Shit. I scoop Calypso up, ignoring her cursing, ignoring the blood still drying on my hands. Blayze is already clearing a path as I throw my leg over my bike, settling Calypso against me with one arm wrapped tightly around her.
“Hold on, baby.” My pulse is hammering against my chest.
Calypso grips my cut, her nails digging into my chest. “Like I have a choice.”
The engine roars to life, tires kicking up gravel, and I tear out of there, racing toward the hospital. From one battle straight into the next, and this might be the most important fight of my life. Because this time, I’m fighting for the life of my child.