Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Greyson
The phone vibrates against my chest, waking me from a fitful sleep. Careful not to disturb Livie, I slip out of bed and into the bathroom before answering.
"Reed." My contact's voice is low, urgent. "Got what you need."
My pulse quickens. "Tell me."
"Volkov's holed up at the Golden Pines Motel just outside Riverdale. Room twelve. He's got four men with him, all armed." There's a pause. "They're planning to move out tomorrow morning. Seems they've called in reinforcements from New York."
"You're sure?" I grip the phone tighter, adrenaline already flooding my system.
"Positive. My guy's been watching them for twelve hours. Volkov's definitely there, I saw him myself. They've got a woman with them too."
Diane. It has to be her.
"Reed, these guys are professionals. Military-grade weapons, rotating guard shifts. Whatever you're planning—"
"Thanks," I cut him off. "We're even now."
I end the call and stare at my reflection. Riverdale. Just twenty minutes from here. Close enough that Volkov could strike again at any time, but far enough that we wouldn't immediately think to look there.
Perfect.
I return to the bedroom, watching Livie sleep for a moment. The medication has kept the nightmares at bay, her face peaceful for the first time since this entire ordeal. I brush a strand of hair from her cheek, letting my fingers linger against her skin.
"I'm going to end this," I whisper. "Today."
I dress quickly and silently in dark jeans, a black shirt, and the leather cut with my president's patch. My gun goes into its holster, knife in my boot. As I reach for the door, Livie stirs.
"Greyson?" Her voice is groggy from the medication. "Where are you going?"
I cross back to the bed, sitting on the edge. "Club shit, baby. Nothing for you to worry about."
She struggles to sit up, fighting the sedative still in her system. "You're going after him, aren't you? Volkov."
There's no point lying to her. "Yes."
Fear flashes across her face, cutting through the drug-induced haze. "No. It's too dangerous. Please—"
"Shh." I press my lips to her forehead. "I need you to trust me. Can you do that?"
She grabs my wrist, her grip surprisingly strong. "You promised you wouldn't leave me."
"I'm coming back," I assure her, gently extracting myself from her grasp. "But I need to do this first. For both of us."
Tears fill her eyes, but she doesn't try to stop me again. Instead, she says, "Be careful. Please be careful."
"Always." I kiss her once more, memorizing the feel of her lips against mine. "I love you."
"I love you too."
I force myself to walk away, closing the door behind me. Zach is in the hallway, leaning against the wall.
"Well?" he asks, straightening.
"Golden Pines Motel in Riverdale. Room twelve. Four guards, rotating shifts." I check my watch. "Get everyone in the chapel. Five minutes."
Zach nods and disappears down the hallway. I turn to the prospect standing guard. "No one goes in that room except Xavier or Wilder. No one. Understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"If anything happens to her while I'm gone, your life is forfeit. That clear?"
The prospect swallows hard. "Crystal."
I head to the chapel, mind already mapping out a strategy. When I arrive, the room is filling quickly. Wilder and Trenton, Mason and Harlan, Cole and Torch, and more brothers filing in with grim determination on their faces.
"Listen up," I call once everyone's seated. "I've located Volkov. Golden Pines Motel in Riverdale, room twelve. Four guards, military-grade weapons. They're planning to move out tomorrow, which means we hit them today."
Wilder steps forward. "How reliable is your intel?"
"Rock solid. My contact has eyes on them right now." I move to the whiteboard, sketching a quick layout of the motel. "We go in hard and fast. Two teams—front and back. No survivors."
"What about Diane?" Mason asks.
"If it's her, we extract her. If she resists…" I let the implication hang in the air.
Wilder nods. "She made her choice when she set Livie up."
"What about the girls?" Trenton asks. "Livie, Cassandra, Tiana, they're still at risk if this goes sideways."
"Full lockdown," I reply. "No one leaves the compound until this is done. Torch, I want you coordinating security here. Six men, minimum, armed and alert."
Torch nods, already selecting his team.
"We roll in thirty minutes," I continue. "Full cuts. Full arsenal of weapons. This isn't just about taking out Volkov, it's about sending a message. No one touches what's ours and lives to tell the tale."
The room erupts in agreement, brothers moving with purpose as assignments are distributed. Wilder approaches me as the others file out.
"You sure about this?" he asks quietly. "These aren't local thugs we're dealing with here."
"I'm sure," I reply, checking my weapon. "Volkov made it personal when he put a gun to Livie's head. There's only one way this ends."
Wilder studies me for a moment, then nods. "Livie know you're going?"
"Yes." I holster my gun. "She's not happy about it, but she understands."
"She's stronger than all of us," he says with a small smile. "Always has been."
We walk out together, the weight of what we're about to do settling between us. This isn't a sanctioned club action; this is personal vengeance, plain and simple. The kind that could bring heat down on all of us if it goes wrong.
But looking around at the men preparing for battle—checking weapons, donning bulletproof vests, kissing their women goodbye—I know none of them are having second thoughts. This is what brotherhood means. When one of us is hurt, we all bleed. When one of us is threatened, we all respond.
And when someone dares to touch one of our women? We bring hell to their doorstep.
I make one final stop before heading to my bike, the closed door of my room where Livie is waiting. I don't go in. I can't. If I see her again, touch her again, I might lose my resolve to do what needs to be done.
Instead, I press my palm flat against the wood, imagining that I can feel her on the other side. "I'm coming back to you," I whisper. "I promise."
Then I turn and walk away, the Devil Souls MC president once more, death in my eyes and vengeance in my heart.
* * *
Twenty bikes roar to life in the compound parking lot, the sound like thunder rolling across the sky. We pull out in formation, two by two, a funeral procession for men who don't yet know they're dead.
The road to Riverdale stretches before us, empty in the early morning light. I lead the column, with Wilder beside me and the rest of our brothers fanned out behind. The vibration of the engine beneath me centers my thoughts, sharpens my rage into something cold and precise.
Volkov thinks he's the predator in this scenario? Well, he's about to learn how wrong he is.
As we approach the outskirts of Riverdale, I signal for radio silence. We split into our assigned teams, half circling around to the back of the motel, the other half following me to the front.
The Golden Pines Motel is exactly what you'd expect—a run-down, single-story building with peeling paint and a flickering neon sign. Perfect for people who don't want to be found.
We park at the far end of the lot, out of sight of room twelve. Silently, we check our weapons one last time. No words are needed, each man knows his role.
I nod once, and we move.
Eight of us approach the front of room twelve, keeping to the shadows. Through the thin curtains, I can make out movement. There are at least two figures inside. The guard posted outside the door spots us too late, reaching for his weapon as Trenton's silenced shot catches him in the throat.
One down.
We converge on the door, adrenaline making everything razor sharp, time seeming to slow. I meet Wilder's eyes, seeing my own deadly intent reflected back at me.
"For Livie," he mouths.
I nod. "For Livie."
Then I kick in the door, and hell follows after me.
The world explodes into chaos—gunfire, shouting, the metallic scent of blood. I register Volkov diving for cover, his men scrambling for weapons. Our brothers from the back entrance burst in simultaneously, catching them in a devastating crossfire.
I track Volkov as he rolls behind a bed, weapon already drawn. Our eyes meet across the room, recognition flaring in his.
"Reed," he snarls, firing wildly in my direction.
I duck, bullets splintering the doorframe where my head had just been. Around me, the battle rages; two of Volkov's men already down, the third exchanging fire with Mason and Cole.
"It's over, Volkov," I call out, moving steadily closer. "You should have left town when you had the chance."
He laughs, the sound edged with desperation. "You think killing me ends this? My organization will hunt you down. Hunt your woman down."
"They can try." I signal to Harlan, who circles to flank Volkov's position. "But they'll have to find what's left of you first."
Movement from the bathroom catches my eye—a figure stumbling out, hands bound, face bruised almost beyond recognition.
Diane.
She freezes at the sight of the carnage, her eyes wild with terror. When she spots me, hope flickers across her battered face.
"Greyson?" she croaks, her voice raw from screaming. "Please—"
A shot rings out, and Diane crumples, blood blooming across her chest. Volkov stands behind her, gun still raised, using her falling body as cover to make a break for the back entrance.
"No!" I roar, firing as I charge after him.
My bullet catches him in the shoulder, spinning him around. He staggers but keeps moving, desperation giving him speed as he crashes through the back door.
I follow, relentless, ignoring the shouts of my brothers behind me. This ends now. One way or another.
Volkov stumbles across the parking lot, leaving a trail of blood on the cracked asphalt. I could shoot him in the back, end it cleanly from a distance. But that's not what I want. Not what he deserves.