Chapter 24
The Wolverines moved like ghosts through the darkness. No engines. No noise. Just the crunch of boots over dry dirt, the glint of steel beneath moonlight.
The abandoned airstrip lay ahead…three hangars, one old tower, and a long, cracked tarmac used now for nothing but shadows and blood deals. Jason Rodes was inside, it was quite appropriate that a place like this would be his grave.
King raised a fist, signalling the split. Hunter and Dixon peeled left, circling toward the hangars. Frost, silent as death, moved right with Fang, covering the perimeter. Goliath, Blue and Dash stayed centre, Goliath was like a storm bottled inside a man’s frame. His hands curled into fists, every step forward was heavier than the last, not from doubt. From rage.
He could feel it again—that heat in his chest, the tug of the bond, the echo of Sofia’s pain like it was still happening. She trusted him to end this, he would make sure not to fail her again.
They hit hard. A silent count to three—then chaos. Explosions of gunfire cracked the silence, the Wolverines tearing through Rodes’ men with precision and fury.
Hunter dropped two on sight. Dixon sent another to the ground with a shot through the leg, then followed it up with a clean kill. Fang took one down with a blade through the throat before the guy could even scream.
Goliath didn’t stop to shoot; he tore through them. He broke arms, crushed ribs, smashed skulls. He wasn’t fighting for survival, he was fighting for vengeance, and every man in his way was a dead one.
Jason was waiting in the last hangar, surrounded by what was left of his elite guards. He clapped slowly when Goliath stalked in, blood smeared across his arms, eyes glowing gold with death. “Well, well. The dog returns,” He sneered.
“You touched what’s mine.” Goliath’s voice was low. Controlled. Terrifying.
Jason laughed, but there was something hollow in it. Something breaking. “She’s stronger than I thought. You should’ve seen her fight…bit one of my guys. You’d have been proud.”
The air changed, everything in Goliath stilled. Then exploded. He was across the room in seconds.
Jason fired…once, twice. Goliath didn’t stop. The first bullet grazed his side, the second hit his shoulder, he didn’t feel either. All he saw was Sofia on that cot. Her bruised face, her trembling voice, her pain.
Jason was every scream she never let out, every nightmare she wouldn’t speak of. He slammed into Jason like a freight train, tackling him to the concrete. The gun went flying, fists connected with flesh, over and over and over. Bone cracked, blood sprayed.
Jason screamed, Goliath didn’t stop, he didn’t see the hangar, didn’t hear the chaos outside. He only saw Sofia’s pain in this man’s face.
“You think you can take someone like her and keep breathing?” Goliath growled. “You think I wouldn’t come for you?”
Jason coughed blood, trying to speak, but Goliath’s hand closed around his throat, lifting him to his knees before slamming him down again.
“This is for her,” he said, voice guttural. “For every fucking bruise—” Smash.
“For every scream…” Crack.
“For every second I thought I lost her…” Bone shattered under his fist. Jason was a gasping wreck now, barely holding onto consciousness.
Goliath leaned in, his voice cold. “You should’ve never touched what wasn’t yours.” Then he gripped Jason’s head with both hands and snapped his neck with a brutal, final twist.
Silence.
Goliath knelt there for a moment, chest heaving, Jason’s body at his feet. Blood dripping from his hands. His heart still pounding like war drums, but it was done. The world slowed, the red haze cleared, and in that vacuum of silence, only one thought remained.
Sofia.
He rose, unsteady but certain. Jason was gone, but what mattered most…she was still breathing. Footsteps echoed in the hangar. Dirt boots. Heavy silence.
King, Dixon, and Frost stepped through the shattered doors, bloodied, bruised, and still breathing.
King’s eyes swept the scene…Jason’s body crumpled at Goliath’s feet, the mangled state of it saying more than any words could.
Frost gave a low whistle. “Guess he got what was coming.”
“No one’s shedding tears,” Dash muttered.
Goliath didn’t look at them. He stood slowly, fists bloodied, his shoulder slick with where the bullet had grazed him. His shirt clung to his ribs, soaked in sweat and streaked red from the second shot.
“You’re hit,” King said, stepping closer.
“I’ll live.”
“Maybe,” Frost added. “But not if we don’t patch your ass up.”
“We’ll burn the bodies,” Dixon said, eyes locked on Jason. “Burn this whole place to the ground. Make sure there is nothing left of him or his name.”
King gave a sharp nod. “No evidence, I don’t want no questions, no trace.”
They all turned to Goliath, but his focus had already shifted.
He was walking away, blood dripping from his knuckles. His wolf was quiet now. Sated. But his heart was already back at the clubhouse, back with his mate. Behind him, the others moved with silent purpose.
King pulled a flare from his pocket and cracked it, tossing it onto the oil-soaked floor of the main hangar. Within seconds, flames licked up the old timber beams, catching fast, hungry.
Dixon lit another corner. Frost disappeared into the side structure, setting fire to the old office Jason had used as a base. Hunter dumped gas onto the back wall, watching it light with a flash and roar.
The fire grew quickly, devouring everything in its path any evidence, bodies gone with the flames. Smoke curled into the sky, thick and black, visible for miles.
They stood for a moment, watching it burn, not in celebration, but in silence, in closure.
King was the first to turn away. “Mount up.”
Boots crunched over gravel. Engines roared back to life. The Wolverines rode out one by one, their headlights cutting through the early morning mist, their mission complete.
No words were spoken. What needed to be said had been written in blood and fire, and no it was time to go home. Sofia was sitting on the couch in the quiet lounge near the infirmary, wrapped in one of Goliath’s black hoodies, her knees pulled up and a blanket across her lap.
She didn’t hear him enter at first, but the second she looked up… Her heart stopped.
“Goliath.”
She was on her feet before he could say a word. Her eyes went wide, darting to the blood at his shoulder, the tear in his shirt, the bruises blooming across his ribs. “Oh my god—what happened—are you—?”
“I’m fine,” he rasped.
“You’re not—” she reached for him, her hands hovering, unsure where to touch without hurting him.
He caught her wrists gently. “It’s not my blood that matters.”
Her lip trembled; eyes bright. “You found him?”
He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to.
She saw it in his eyes—the storm had passed, and Jason Rodes was no longer breathing. She exhaled in a shudder, stepped closer, and pressed her forehead to his chest.
He wrapped his arms around her carefully, wincing slightly as her body pressed against the bruises across his ribs and the still-bleeding gash along his shoulder—but he didn’t let go. He couldn’t.
His hands, rough and bloodstained, trembled slightly as they cradled her back. Her warmth. Leaning down he breathed in her scent, it grounded him. For the first time in days, he was able to breathe.
“You did it,” she whispered, her voice small, breathless against his chest. “You came back.” Her fingers fisted gently in his shirt as if she needed to hold on just to believe he was real.
Goliath leaned down, resting his cheek against the crown of her head. His voice came out low, hoarse, frayed with too much pain and too much relief. “I told you I would,” he murmured. “Always.”
The word hung there…always. Not a promise. Not a vow. A truth.
Her body sagged against his, finally letting go of the tension that had kept her upright. She inhaled deeply, like she was letting the nightmare bleed out with every breath, like the scent of him was enough to steady her world again.
Goliath pulled back just enough to look into her face. Her eyes were wide, shimmering, her bottom lip trembling.
“You’re hurt,” she said softly, eyes darting to his shoulder, the crimson stain spreading beneath torn fabric.
He shook his head. “Not really.”
“Goliath—”
“I felt everything you went through, Sofia.” His voice cracked again, rough and uneven. “And none of this—” he motioned to his bloodied chest “—comes close. I would’ve taken it all for you if I could’ve.”
She reached up, fingers brushing along the bruising on his jaw with a touch so gentle it nearly undid him. “But you did take it,” she whispered. “You went to war for me. You killed for me.”
“I lived for you,” he said. “That’s what matters.” And then he kissed her—slow, deep, aching. Not out of need. Not out of lust. Out of everything they’d just survived. Out of love.
Later that night, the main clubhouse was dim, firelight dancing in the hearth as the brothers gathered in the Chapel—not in strategy, not in bloodlust—but in solidarity.
Dixon nursed a busted knuckle and a half-empty bottle. Frost sat back with a cigarette, staring into nothing, quietly sharpening his blade. Fang leaned against the door, one arm crossed, the other clutching a beer. King stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back. Hunter has his elbows on the table, his head in his hands as he massages his forehead. Blue, Dash and Gunner still patrolling the perimeter with the prospects.
No one spoke for a while. Until Hunter finally broke the silence. “It’s done.”
No cheers. No grins. Just the weight of a brutal war finally settling. “Goliath?” Dixon asked.
“With her,” King answered simply. “Where he’s meant to be.”
A round of quiet nods circled the room. They did not need words. They had what mattered. Their brother had his woman back and justice had been served, and after everything they were still standing.
***
The sun dipped low behind the pines surrounding the clubhouse, casting warm amber light across the gravel lot. A rare calm had settled over the Wolverine MC. No gunfire, no meetings, no plans, just laughter, music and love.
The women had taken over the outdoor space, setting up long tables draped in mismatched cloths, full of drinks, grilled food, and the sound of silverware clinking against plates. The smell of meat and smoke and pine hung in the warm air. A fire crackled in the pit nearby.
It wasn’t a party. Not exactly, it was a homecoming. The brothers were scattered, drinks in hand, wounds healing, bruises fading. But every one of them looked lighter.
Frost leaned against his bike, half-listening to Siena and Blue’s mate arguing over some ridiculous game the women were playing. Dixon and Gunner were cleaning up bottle caps like it was a competition. Hunter sat with Dakota, her feet in his lap, his hand on her swollen belly.
And Goliath? Goliath was exactly where he needed to be. He sat on the back steps of the clubhouse, legs stretched out, Sofia tucked between them, her back against his chest, her head resting beneath his chin.
Her bare feet rested on the warm wood, and his arms curled around her, his hands laced over her stomach. They didn’t speak for a long time. They didn’t need to.
The noise faded around them, distant but comforting…a hum of life continuing. And for once, the world wasn’t threatening to steal it away.
“I never thought I’d have this,” she said quietly. “Not really.”
He pressed a kiss to her temple. “You’ve got it now. You’re not losing it.”
“You scared the hell out of me, you know,” she murmured. “Charging in like a one-man army.”
“You were worth every drop of blood,” he said. “Every swing. Every scar.”
She turned slightly, just enough to look up at him. “Do you think it’ll ever come back? That darkness?”
Goliath’s jaw tightened, but his voice stayed calm. “Maybe. But if it does, it won’t get through me.”
She smiled faintly. “I know.” Then she whispered, “I love you.”
He didn’t answer right away. He just pulled her closer, tighter, burying his face in the curve of her neck.
When he spoke, it was barely a breath. “You saved me, Sofia. Loving you is the only thing that has ever made sense.”
And there—on the back steps of the place he called home, with the firelight flickering, the club at peace, and the woman he would die for in his arms—Goliath finally felt free.
The End.