Chapter 22
The world had gone quiet inside his head. That terrifying stillness before the storm.
The warehouse loomed ahead like a forgotten relic—tall, rusted walls, shadows pooling under floodlights that hadn’t flickered on, but Goliath didn’t need light. He didn’t need clarity. He just needed Sofia.
Fang’s low growl echoed beside him as the wolves flanked the perimeter, weaving through brush and shadow like ghosts. Frost moved up along the far side, silent and deadly, a blade in each hand. Dixon and Hunter fanned left, clearing the outer buildings, their guns raised and eyes sharp.
King’s voice came low through the comm. “We move on my mark. In and out. No hesitation.”
Goliath didn’t respond. He was already moving.
The lock on the rear service door didn’t stand a chance. One kick from Goliath’s boot shattered it open, the metal screaming as the door flew off its hinges. And then they were inside. Gunfire erupted instantly.
Muzzle flashes lit up the dark corridor. Shadows danced against the concrete walls as Rodes’ guards scrambled for cover. But the Wolverines didn’t flinch.
Hunter dropped two men in three shots. Frost disappeared around the corner, and seconds later, a scream rang out—a sharp, wet sound that ended fast.
Dixon covered Goliath’s flank, calling out positions. “Two ahead. Left corridor!”
Bang. Bang.
Blood splattered the wall. Keep moving. Keep breathing. Keep killing.
Each hallway they cleared brought him closer. Each heartbeat felt louder than the last. The bond was a wire now…tight, humming, pulling. He could feel her fear, her pain, and something else, hope. She was still fighting.
They fought like a single, seamless unit. No missteps. No wasted movement. The kind of rhythm that came only from years of bled-in trust.
Goliath didn’t have to look back to know Dixon had him covered. That King would hold the line. That Fang and Gunner were clearing a path like hellhounds. That the rest of the men were fighting to get his woman back.
They weren’t just here for the mission. They were here for him. For his mate, because the club wasn’t just brothers and bikes. It was blood. Loyalty. Family. And they would burn every goddamn inch of this place to bring her home.
The moment Goliath stormed the main corridor, a door slammed ahead. Frost’s voice rang out. “He’s running!”
Jason Rodes, that coward piece of shit. Goliath pushed forward, barrelling down the hallway—only to see tail lights burning into the dark as a black SUV peeled away from the far loading dock.
“FUCK!”
He fired two rounds—one shattered the back windshield. The other punched into the tailgate, but it wasn’t enough. Jason was gone, stolen justice, stolen revenge. And for a moment, the rage consumed him…until he felt her.
Close. So, fucking close. He turned, looking down one hallway with three doors. His senses vibrated as he was pulled towards the second on the right. He didn’t think, he didn’t knock. He tore it from the hinges—and then froze. The roar in his blood stopped. The world narrowed to a single image.
Sofia.
She was curled in the far corner of the cell…no bigger than a storage closet her arms were wrapped around her knees, her body trembling. Her hands were still bound at the wrists with a plastic tie that had dug into her skin, leaving raw, angry lines. Her hair was a tangled mess, matted with blood at the temple.
Her shirt was torn at the collar, the fabric stretched and filthy. A bruise painted the left side of her face in vicious shades of purple and black, and her lip was split open, dried blood crusting in the corner, but it was the smear of blood on her jaw—her blood—that made something inside him come unstitched.
His wolf howled beneath his skin, his lungs stopped working. His feet didn’t move, for one suspended breath, he stood there and just stared.
Everything around him blurred, the chaos of the raid, the shouting of the brothers, the pounding of boots and gunfire in the distance. All he could see was her laying on the ground, broken, battered, but she was still breathing, and she was his.
“Sofia.”
Her head lifted, slowly, dazed, and when her eyes met his, everything shattered. Tears spilled instantly down her cheeks. “Goliath.” Her voice was cracked, raw, and full of disbelief.
He dropped to his knees like the ground had been ripped out from under him. His hands hovered inches from her…shaking, unsure if he could even touch her without falling apart.
“Jesus…” his voice came rough and strangled, “what did they do to you?” He couldn’t stop looking at her injuries, every bruise a bullet in his soul. He growled when he saw her bleeding wrists, stretching down he let one of his claws extract, slicing the tie wrap.
She didn’t speak, she didn’t need to. Instead, she reached out…slowly, with hands that trembled and touched his face. Her fingertips brushed his jaw like she was afraid he wasn’t real.
“I knew you’d come,” she whispered. “I knew it.”
He grabbed her then, gently but desperately pulling her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her like a man drowning. She gasped into the crook of his neck, clinging to him, her small frame shaking against his.
And he let out a breath, a broken, guttural sound, part sob, part growl…because she was here, and she was alive. “I’ve got you,” he whispered fiercely, rocking her against him. “I’ve got you, baby. No one’s touching you again.”
Her hands fisted in his shirt, holding on like he was the only thing keeping her tethered to this world.
“Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asked, pulling back enough to look at her face, his eyes scanning her like a soldier assessing battlefield damage.
Her breath hitched. “Just bruises… sore. They didn’t—” He tensed instantly, but she shook her head. “They didn’t do more.”
His jaw clenched. Fury rippled through every inch of his body, but he cupped her cheek, so gently, as if he was afraid she might break beneath his touch.
“Thank fuck,” he whispered. “Thank fuck you held on.”
“Just bruises,” she whispered. “I was so scared, but they didn’t manage to break me.” His hands trembled as he wiped blood from her cheek, because something inside him had snapped the moment he saw her. Her pain was his pain. And every bruise on her skin was a promise. He would make Rodes bleed for each one.
Dixon cleared the doorway seconds later, gun up, scanning for threats. “We’re clear!”
King followed, eyes landing on Goliath holding Sofia on the floor. He gave one nod and stepped back, motioning the others to give them space. They knew, every man standing in that corridor—King, Dixon, Hunter, Frost, Fang, Blue—they felt it.
This was Goliath’s moment. Not a moment of glory or victory. Not yet. This was the moment where a man stood at the edge of something uncontrollable. His mate, his fury, his reckoning, and no one stepped in his way, no one spoke, because they understood that the air between Goliath and Sofia wasn’t just heavy—it was sacred. His mate had been bonded, she was bleeding, bruised. Goliath stood slowly, lifting Sofia into his arms like she was made of glass and fire.
He didn’t grunt or growl. He didn’t flinch at her weight or her wounds. He held her like a vow, like something he’d been born for, like something he would never…not ever let be touched again.
She melted into him, arms curling weakly around his neck, her cheek pressing to his chest as if she belonged there. He looked down at her, the muscle in his jaw ticking, gold burning behind his eyes.
His voice, when it came, was low and hollowed out with rage. “I should’ve been faster.”
Her hand lifted slowly, fingers brushing his neck. “You came,” she whispered. “That’s all that matters.” But to Goliath, it wasn’t enough. He turned toward the door, the low light catching the shimmer in his eyes, not from tears, but from fury barely caged.
“She’s safe,” King said quietly behind him. “You got her back.”
Goliath didn’t turn. “He’s still breathing.” His voice was a low snarl. “That’s a problem.” The others didn’t argue, they didn’t try to calm him, because they all felt it—the unfinished weight in the air.
Jason Rodes had taken a Wolverine’s mate, had dared to lay hands on something sacred, this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot, Rodes had made his move, now it was their turn.
And the next time they found him, no one would stop Goliath from tearing him apart.
The warehouse was nearly clear, the firefight long over. Bodies littered the corridors—men who made the mistake of standing between wolves and what they loved.
Fang and Gunner were still in shifted form, prowling ahead of the group, ears twitching, ensuring no stragglers or last-minute traps. Their low growls echoed through the structure like warnings to the dead.
Dixon covered their rear, weapon raised, eyes constantly scanning. Frost and Hunter flanked Goliath on either side, a silent formation that dared the world to try again.
No one did, the emergency exit creaked open, and cool night air swept into the hall, wrapping around the scent of blood and gunpowder. But under all of it, there was something else now, relief, hope, survival.
Goliath stepped into the moonlight carrying Sofia close to his chest. Her arms were still looped around his neck, her body limp, but her eyes though swollen and rimmed red remained locked on his face.
“Almost home, baby,” he murmured into her hair. “I’ve got you now.”
Two black trucks idled in the clearing behind the warehouse. The Wolverines had left them running…doors open, engines ready for a fast extraction. Always ready. King moved ahead, opening the backseat door of the lead truck. “Here. Lay her down.”
“I’m not putting her down,” Goliath said, low and dangerous. King didn’t argue, he just nodded, shifted back, and let Goliath climb in with her still in his arms. Frost handed over a med kit without a word. Dixon passed up two water bottles. Fang dropped a clean hoodie across Goliath’s lap—soft, black, the scent of the clubhouse still clinging to it.
No one said anything sentimental, they didn’t need to. Their silence said it all. They weren’t just relieved, they were ready to bleed all over again if anyone tried to come for her.
Sofia lay against Goliath’s chest as the truck sped away from the warehouse. Every bump in the road had him adjusting his hold on her, cradling her like she’d break if he let go. But she didn’t want distance. She never wanted distance from him again.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered after a long stretch of quiet. Goliath leaned down, forehead pressing gently to hers. “Don’t,” he breathed. “Don’t apologize. Not for surviving.” Her fingers curled weakly into the collar of his shirt.
The other truck followed close behind, filled with the wounded, bloodied, captured men. But their priority was already shifting.
The trucks rolled into the clubhouse lot just before sunrise. The sky was tinged with that early golden hue, like the world was trying to pretend nothing had happened. That blood hadn't been spilled, that a mate hadn’t been taken and bruised, but the men, they knew better.
The prospects scrambled out first, clearing a path to the medical room. Diesel had it prepped, supplies were ready, bandages open, adrenaline already surging through his system as he took one look at Sofia’s condition.
“Lay her down, gently,” he said.
Goliath didn’t let go. “I said gently,” Diesel added with a look. Reluctantly, Goliath settled Sofia onto the table, his hand never leaving hers. She winced slightly as Diesel checked her ribs, lifted her shirt just enough to examine the dark bruising.
“Nothing broken,” Diesel said. “But she needs rest, lots of fluids. And she needs you to calm the fuck down before your blood pressure explodes through the roof.” Goliath didn’t answer, he just leaned down and kissed her temple.
“I’m not leaving this room,” he warned, and no one doubted him.
Later that morning, when the women returned from the safehouse and word reached them that Sofia had been found, Alaska was the first through the door. She didn’t speak, she just wrapped Sofia in her arms and cried into her shoulder.
The others followed…Siena, Dakota, Onix, even the newer ones who barely knew her, because what happened to Sofia had happened to all of them, in some way.
You take one of them, you take them all. They took turns cleaning her up, brushing the dried blood from her hair, tending to her wrists, changing her clothes, holding her hand. And through it all, Goliath stayed close. He was silent always watchful. Like the only thing keeping him alive was the slow rise and fall of her chest.
Sofia’s recovery was slow, each day blurred into the next, a quiet rhythm of rest, warmth, and whispered reassurances. The swelling in her face began to fade, the bruises on her ribs turning from deep purple to a dull yellow. Her voice, once raw and hoarse, had begun to return—soft at first, but stronger each time she said his name.
Goliath never left her side. He sat at the edge of the bed or in the chair nearby, always within reach. If she stirred, he was there. If she winced, he was up like a shot, heart in his throat, ready to do anything—anything—to take the pain from her and make it his own.
But he couldn’t, and it tore him apart. He tried not to show it, tried to be steady, strong. The wall she needed to lean on, but inside, he was drowning.
Every bruise on her skin was another place he’d failed to shield her. Every wince, every slow breath, every restless night was a reminder that he hadn’t gotten to her fast enough.
The Nightmare hit on the third night. Sofia had finally fallen into a deep sleep, curled into Goliath’s chest, one hand fisted in the fabric of his shirt like she still needed to make sure he was real. His arms wrapped around her, cradling her close, his head bowed to her hair. He had just started to drift when she jolted awake with a choked cry.
“No…don’t touch me!” Goliath’s heart stopped. He sat up instantly, catching her wrists as she flailed, trying to fight something that wasn’t there. Her eyes were wide open but unfocused, her whole-body trembling.
“Sofia,” he whispered, holding her gently, not restraining—just grounding. “Baby, it’s me. You’re safe. I’m here.” Her breath came in ragged gasps, tears running down her face, her body shaking against him.
He pulled her onto his lap, rocked her back and forth, murmuring softly into her hair.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered over and over. “I’ve got you. No one’s ever going to touch you again.” Slowly, her breathing calmed, the panic melted away, she sagged against him, eyes fluttering closed once more.
But even after she’d drifted back to sleep, her fingers never let go of his shirt. Goliath stayed awake, and he burned. His jaw clenched so hard it ached. His chest heaved with silent fury.
She was safe in his arms now, but the memory of that scream, of the fear in her voice…it seared itself into his skull. Jason Rodes had done that, he had put fear in her bones. Left bruises on her soul. And he was still breathing.
That couldn’t continue. Goliath’s hands curled into fists, his claws itching beneath the surface of his skin. His wolf wanted blood, wanted to hunt, rip, end. And it would.
He looked down at Sofia, curled into him, peaceful again—for now. He made a silent vow. The next time he touched Jason Rodes, it would be the last.
The sun was low in the sky, casting long, golden bars of light across the wooden floor of the bedroom. Outside, the club grounds had gone still for the first time in days. Inside, it was quiet—the kind of silence that carried weight.
Sofia sat on the bed, propped against the pillows, a blanket draped around her shoulders. Her hair was clean now, her face washed, the worst of the swelling faded—but there was something in her eyes that hadn’t gone away. A quiet storm. A weight that hadn’t lifted.
Goliath sat in the chair beside her. Still close, but not crowding. Watching her, waiting.
She looked at him then, eyes finding his. “I need to tell you.” He didn’t speak. Just nodded once, steady, like whatever she needed to give him, he could carry it. Her fingers twisted the edge of the blanket. She didn’t meet his eyes at first.
“They took me to this second place... smaller, there were no windows. The first time, I tried to run, I got out and I made it to the trees.” She stopped, her voice catching. Goliath’s fists curled against his thighs.
“They found me and tackled me to the ground, one of them hit me.” Her hand touched her cheek, not from pain—from memory. “I bit him and fought until I couldn’t fight no more, but I lost. They took the gun from me and dragged me back like I was nothing.”
Her voice trembled. “I think that was the moment I broke a little. Not from pain or from fear but from the... helplessness. Knowing I was that close and still didn’t make it.” She looked up at him now.
“I kept waiting for you, not because I didn’t trust myself—but because I knew you were the only one who could make it stop.” Goliath leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, his eyes dark and unreadable. His voice, when it came, was low and guttural.
“You never should’ve had to go through that.” She reached out then, her fingers brushing his knuckles.
“But I did,” she whispered. “And I survived it, because of you.”
His hand turned, wrapped around hers gently, like even now he was afraid of hurting her. But his grip trembled. “I should’ve killed him before he even got to you,” he growled. “Every second he breathed after laying hands on you is a second, I’ll regret until I make it right.”
Sofia leaned toward him; her voice quiet but firm. “You’re making it right. Every second you’re here, every breath you take beside me—you’re healing me.”
Goliath’s jaw clenched, his throat working hard as he forced down the rage and guilt threatening to choke him. “You’re mine, Sofia. My mate. I’ll never be able to forget what they did.”
“You don’t have to forget,” she said softly. “You just have to stay.”
His hand came up, gently cradling the side of her face. “You think I could leave after this? You’re in my blood. You’re in my soul. There’s no world where I walk away from you.”
She leaned into his palm, closing her eyes. “Good. Because I don’t think I could survive losing you either.” They stayed like that for a long moment—two broken pieces finally finding peace in each other.
And in the quiet that followed, nothing else mattered. Not the blood spilled, not the war waiting to be finished. Only this. Only them.
***
The main room of the clubhouse was packed, the air thick with, tension was palpable.
The long oak table at the centre, scarred from years of knives, bottles, and bloody strategy, was once again the battlefield. King stood at the head, arms braced on the wood, his expression stone cold. His eyes swept over every man in the room.
Goliath sat to his left, silent but pulsing with energy like a storm tethered to flesh. He hadn't spoken since walking in. He didn’t need to. The fury radiating off him was enough to set the whole place on fire.
Beside him, Frost leaned back in his chair, arms folded, ice in his stare. Dixon sat with his hand curled around a half-drunk beer, knuckles white. Fang’s jaw was locked, Hunter drumming his fingers on the table, too still for comfort. Blue has a scowl adorning his face as he looks around at everyone.
Even Diesel was in the room, standing along the wall with the prospects, tension lining his usually calm face. They were all here, and they were all ready.
King dropped a stack of printed surveillance photos onto the table.
“Jason Rodes is still off the radar,” he said, voice hard. “We’ve checked his properties in the city. Nothing. We've had contacts watching his financial movements—he’s gone dark.”
“Someone’s hiding him,” Dixon muttered.
“No doubt,” King nodded. “And they’re good. But not better than us.”
Frost leaned forward. “When we find him, we don’t just hit him. We erase him.” A low growl of agreement rolled around the table.
Goliath finally spoke, his voice hoarse and razor-edged. “I think we should have eyes on every man who’s ever worked with Rodes. Gunrunners. Launderers. Club presidents he’s dealt with. No contact is off the table. We find the weak link, and we tear it open.”
King gave a sharp nod. “Already happening. I’ve got Gunner and two of the Blood Fangs tracking his courier routes. Viper from Iron Claws is sweeping the south end of his old network.”
“They owe us,” Fang said darkly.
“They know it,” King replied. “They’re with us. All of them.”
That was the thing about Wolverines, they didn’t beg, they didn’t plead, but when they called for war—brothers answered.
The room fell silent for a beat. Not from hesitation—but from something heavier. Loyalty. Each man seated at the table would give his life for the others. They’d taken bullets together. Buried brothers together. Stood over burning buildings and walked into gunfire without flinching, but this wasn’t just about club business. This was personal.
Jason Rodes hadn’t just messed with the Wolverines. He had taken Goliath’s mate. He had crossed the one line you didn’t come back from. And that made it all their fight.
King looked around the table, voice low now. “We don’t walk into this one swinging blind. We plan. We bleed on our terms.”
Hunter met Goliath’s eyes across the table. “We get her justice. No matter what it takes.”
A silent vow passed between them. Between all of them. They’d seen each other through hell. And they were about to go back into it—together.