Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
hades
The camera flash sends me bolting from the bed, rage and adrenaline flooding my system. I'm pulling on jeans as I run, not bothering with shoes or a shirt, my only thought getting to whoever the fuck just violated our privacy.
"Stay here," I order Evangeline. "Keep the door locked. I’ll handle it."
I don't wait for her response, just grab my gun from the nightstand and head for the door. The clubhouse garage is on the back side of the building. I burst through the exit into the parking lot, scanning for movement.
Nothing.
The lot is empty except for our bikes, lined up in neat rows. Security lights cast harsh shadows, but there's no one visible. No car peeling out, no figure running into the darkness.
Whoever took those photos is gone, vanished like smoke.
"Fuck!" The word echoes off the concrete as I move between the bikes, checking behind every vehicle, every shadow.
"Hades?" Tempest's voice comes from behind me. He's shirtless, gun in hand, clearly woken by my exit. "What happened?"
"Someone was outside my window. Took pictures through the glass."
"That's not possible. We've got security on every entrance, cameras covering—"
"I don't care what we've got. Someone was here. I saw the flash."
Tempest pulls out his phone, already calling for a security review. "Get inside. I'll have the brothers sweep the perimeter."
But I'm not ready to go back inside. Not when my blood is pumping with the need to find whoever did this and make them pay.
"Hades." Tempest's voice is firm now, commanding. "Inside. Now. Evangeline and those kids need you more than we need you running around in the dark chasing ghosts."
He's right. I hate it but he's right.
I head back inside the house, eyes still on every window, every sliver of night that could hide a camera lens.
The yard’s dark again, motion lights cooled and useless now, and the air has that tight, electric feeling—like something's still watching.
My boots barely make a sound over the hardwood as I pass through the living room and down the hallway.
Evangeline is still in our bedroom, dressed now in leggings and an old sweatshirt, her bare feet silent against the floor as she paces in tight, anxious lines. Her face is pale, and when she sees me, her eyes go to the door behind me like she's expecting someone to follow me in.
"Did you find them?"
"No." I shake my head, jaw tight. "Whoever it was, they’re gone."
"Are you sure someone was there? Maybe it was just—"
"I saw the flash, Angel. Someone was out there with a camera."
She wraps her arms around herself and her shoulders start to tremble, the adrenaline beginning to crash. "He knows we're together. He knows we're here. There’s nowhere safe anymore."
"This clubhouse is secure," I tell her, even if I don’t quite believe it in this moment. "We’ve got alarms on every window, and double locks. Reinforced doors. I’ve got cameras."
"Then how did someone get close enough to take pictures?"
That’s the part that keeps hammering in my skull. Someone had to breach the system—quietly. They slipped through without tripping a single alert, which means either they were damn good, or someone fed them the codes.
The thought makes my stomach twist. It’s too close. Too personal. And too easy for someone on the inside.
But I shove that theory back down for now, because the priority is clear.
“We’re moving you and the kids upstairs,” I say, voice low but firm. “Tonight. Someone got close enough to take a picture through the window. I’m not waiting around to see what happens next.”
Evangeline’s jaw tightens. Her eyes flick toward the front of the clubhouse like she can still feel the camera lens on her skin. “The kids are going to freak out.”
“They already are,” I say. “At least up there, they’ll be scared behind a locked door instead of a glass wall.”
She doesn’t argue. Just nods once and turns toward the hallway. “I’ll wake them.”
“Angel.” My voice stops her. She pauses, one hand braced on the doorframe.
She looks back. I meet her eyes. “I’m sorry. For all of this. For putting you in this spot.”
“Don’t,” she says sharply. “You didn’t put me here. Ethan did. And we’re going to end it.”
No more talk. Just movement.
Ten minutes later, the kids are gathered in the living room, half-awake and shivering in their pajamas. Blankets hang off their shoulders. Stuffed animals held in white-knuckled grips. They cluster around Evangeline, eyes wide and jittery, flinching at every creak.
Jake tugs on my sleeve. “Why do we have to move again?”
“Just being careful,” I say, crouching down. “Upstairs is safer. Better doors, fewer windows.”
He looks down at his feet. “Are the bad men coming back?”
The question hits like a punch to the chest. I force a steady breath.
“Not while I’m here,” I say. “I won’t let that happen.”
He nods and slides his hand into mine. I hold it tightly and lead the way.
We take the back stairwell, silent but steady. The upper guest wing was built for protection. One hallway, single entry, heavy doors, reinforced locks. It’s always been plan B.
A couple of the brothers meet us near the landing. No words. Just sharp nods. They melt into the shadows as we pass.
The kids know these rooms. They’ve stayed here before, but everything feels different tonight.
Tense. Fragile. Lily won’t stop crying until Evangeline lies down next to her.
Sophie won’t sleep unless the bathroom light stays on and the closet door stays open.
Mason keeps asking questions I can’t fully answer.
“What if he comes back again?”
“We’ve got eyes on every entrance,” I say. “You’re safe.”
It’s half a lie, but that’s all I’ve got. This is the safest place we could be and yet it’s still not safe enough.
By the time the last door clicks shut, the hallway is quiet. Just the soft hum of the vents and the muffled sound of sleep behind the walls.
I lean back against the plaster, arms folded, head tilted back.
It’s nearly three in the morning.
And I still feel like I’m waiting for the next blow to land.
The place is quiet. But I’m not.
Evangeline finds me like that, her steps soft as she walks down the hall. She stops beside me then slides down until she’s sitting on the floor, knees tucked up.
“I keep thinking about the flash,” she murmurs. “It’s burned into my head.”
“Same,” I admit.
She doesn’t ask the questions we’re both thinking. Like how did they get that close without tripping the alarm? How’d they know which window to watch? Because there’s only one answer that fits, and neither of us is ready to say it.
So instead, we sit there. Breathing the same air. Guarding the same children. Waiting.
"You should try to sleep," she says softly.
"Can't. Not until I know they're safe."
"They are safe. We're in the most secure building in Boston, surrounded by armed men who'd die before letting anything happen to those kids."
"And yet someone still got close enough to take pictures of us."
The reminder makes her face pale again. "How did he find us?" she whispers.
"That's what I'm trying to figure out." I pull out my phone, opening files and documents, looking for patterns I might have missed.
"What are those?"
"Everything we've gathered on Morrison. Financial records, communication logs, the intelligence he bought from Ivy."
Evangeline leans closer, studying the screen. "These payments to Ivy stopped five years ago."
"When she died. But Morrison's operation didn't stop. It expanded."
"Because he already had what he needed."
"Names, locations, security protocols for multiple clubs. Including ours."
The implications settle over us like a weight. Morrison isn't just some spurned ex-boyfriend with money and connections. He's been planning this for years, using stolen intelligence to build his empire, waiting for the right moment to strike.
"What do we do?" Evangeline asks.
Before I can answer, my phone buzzes with a text from Rogue.
Rogue: Got something. Morrison's been making calls to Shadow Hawks leadership. Looks like he's trying to broker some kind of deal.
My blood turns to ice.
Me: What kind of deal?
Rogue: Unknown. But he's offering information in exchange for protection.
"What's wrong?" Evangeline asks, reading my expression.
"Morrison's making moves. He’s reached out to the Shadow Hawks, trying to trade information for protection."
"What kind of information?"
"Probably everything Ivy gave him. Names, locations, business operations. He's trying to sell us out to our biggest enemies."
The full scope of the threat becomes clear at that moment. This isn't just about getting Evangeline back or maintaining his criminal empire. Morrison's planning to start a war, using us as the opening salvo.
"We need to move faster," I say, already texting Ghost. "Morrison's escalating. We can't wait for the perfect moment. We need to end him now."
"How?"
"However we have to."
Ghost responds immediately: Emergency meeting. Chapel. Five minutes.
I stand, offering Evangeline my hand. "You should stay here with the kids. Keep the door locked. I'll be back as soon as I can."
"Be careful."
"Always am."
But as I head toward the chapel, I know careful might not be enough anymore. Morrison's raised the stakes, brought our enemies into play, and threatened everything I care about.
And that means the gloves are coming off.
* * *
The emergency meeting is tense, every brother present understanding the gravity of what we're facing. Ghost lays out what we know about Morrison's outreach to the Shadow Hawks, Rogue adds intelligence from his police contacts, and Tempest details the security breach.
"We've got a leak," Savage says bluntly. "No way someone gets that close without inside help."
"Or they've got technology we don't know about," Sniper counters. "Thermal imaging, long-range cameras, drones."
"Doesn't matter how they did it," Ghost says. "What matters is Morrison's making his move. We need to respond before he brings the Hawks down on us."
"What's the play?" I ask.
"We accelerate the timeline. Morrison dies tonight. Clean, quiet, no witnesses."
"And the Hawks?"
"We deal with them if they become a problem. But right now, Morrison's the immediate threat."
The plan comes together quickly. Rogue's got a location on Morrison, Sniper's got the logistics covered, and I'm going to be the one who pulls the trigger.
"One problem," Tempest says. "We leave Evangeline and those kids here, we're relying on security that's already been compromised once tonight."
"What are you suggesting?"
"I'm suggesting we keep them close. Bring them with us, keep them in sight, make sure we know where they are every second."
"That puts them in the line of fire if something goes wrong," I argue.
"Leaving them here puts them at risk if Morrison sends someone after them while we're gone."
He's got a point, but I hate it. Bringing Evangeline and those kids anywhere near Morrison feels wrong on every level.
"We can keep them in a secure vehicle," Ghost offers. "Park a few blocks away, armed escort, ready to bug out if things go sideways."
It's not a great plan, but it's better than the alternatives.
"Alright. But I want Tempest on them personally. He doesn't leave their side."
"Done."
We're finalizing details when my phone rings. Unknown number. Every instinct screams not to answer, but I do anyway.
"Yeah?"
"Sorry about the photos." Morrison's voice is smooth, mocking. "But I wanted to make sure you understood the situation."
"I understand you're a dead man."
"Am I? Because from where I'm sitting, I've got all the leverage. Speaking of which, how's Evangeline? She seemed pretty distracted when she left for the pharmacy."
Every muscle in my body goes rigid. "What?"
"The pharmacy. About twenty minutes ago. She took that young prospect with her, the one with the bad acne. Said the little one needed fever medicine."
No. No, no, no.
I'm running before Morrison finishes talking, heading for the secure wing, praying I'm wrong, praying this is just him fucking with my head.
But when I burst through the door, I find the children.
But no Evangeline.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Where the hell is she?