Chapter 11 #2
"Don't know yet." He checks the mirrors again, automatic assessment. "But Church meets tomorrow morning. Will calls it, I present threat assessment and the financial evidence you've compiled." His knuckles go white against the steering wheel. "Brothers vote on response. And they'll vote to hunt."
"You can't know that."
"I know my Brothers. Kline threatened Gemma. Sent operatives after a woman under my personal protection. They'll vote for war." He doesn't say it with pride or satisfaction. Just certainty.
"Federal investigation—"
"Takes time we don't have. ATF builds cases through warrants and evidence chains and proper channels.
" He cuts me off, voice dropping into something frigid.
"I eliminate threats. That's what Delta Force taught me.
That's what I'm good at. Kline made this personal when he threatened Gemma.
Made it operational when he sent operatives after you.
Now he's a problem that needs solving, and I don't solve problems by waiting for the system to work. "
Not hypothetical. Not bluster. Statement of intent from someone who's killed before and will kill again when necessary.
"You're talking about assassination," I say quietly.
"I'm talking about neutralizing a hostile combatant who's demonstrated intent and capability to harm my people." He doesn't flinch from the terminology. "Legal or not, Kline dies before he gets another chance to hurt what's mine."
What's mine. The words are possessive, absolute, leaving no room for negotiation.
I should object. Remind him about law and jurisdiction and federal authority. Tell him that extrajudicial killing makes him a criminal regardless of justification.
Instead I ask, "What do you need from me?"
His eyes cut to me briefly, reading my acceptance. "Brief me on everything you have. The financial evidence, Kline's background, his connections, his resources. I present it to Church tomorrow, Brothers vote on response."
"I can't present it myself?"
"You're not a Brother. Church is closed to anyone who isn't a full member." No apology in his voice, just fact. "You give me the intel, I translate it for the club. They need to understand the threat before they vote to authorize action."
"And if they vote no?"
"They won't." His certainty is absolute. "But if they did, you'd still be under my personal protection. Just means I handle Kline alone instead of with Brotherhood support."
This isn't professional courtesy or a temporary alliance. This is a personal claim backed by willingness to kill.
Ocean wind buffets the truck as we transition from highway to coastal route. Anchor Bay appears through the darkness, familiar buildings silhouetted against the night sky.
Cole pulls out his phone, keeps one hand on the wheel. "Need to update Will."
The call connects through the truck's speakers. Will answers on the first ring. "Talk to me."
"Kline sent operatives after Shelby in Portland. Attempted grab in public, coordinated surveillance. I extracted her, lost pursuit on I-5. She's with me now, heading to my place." Cole's voice becomes a pure tactical report. "Situation's escalated. Kline's desperate."
"Gemma's secure. Nash and Tate are running shifts, Shaw's coordinating perimeter security." Will pauses. "You claiming personal protection?"
"Yeah."
"Good. She stays with you until this is over. Bring her intel to Church, we'll vote on Brotherhood response." Will's tone carries presidential authority. "I'll send someone to watch your place tonight so you can work with her and get some sleep. Church convenes at oh-seven-hundred."
"Copy that."
Cole ends the call and we continue into town. His house sits on the north edge, security lights activating as we pull into the driveway.
A motorcycle is parked on the street, and I recognize Danny leaning against it, kutte visible even in the dim light. Cole rolls down his window.
"Will sent you?"
"Yeah. Perimeter's clear, swept the property before you arrived. I'll take first watch." Danny's eyes cut to me briefly, then back to Cole. "Four-hour rotation. Mike's got second shift."
"Copy that. Any movement, you call me before engaging."
"Understood."
Cole pulls into the driveway proper and kills the engine. "Brothers are watching the perimeter. We're secure."
Inside, he still runs his security check—windows, locks, alarm system. Making sure we're protected before allowing himself to stand down.
When he finishes, he finds me in the kitchen, still wearing my jacket, go-bag at my feet. The adrenaline is fading now, leaving exhaustion and awareness of how close I came to being grabbed.
"You're staying here." The statement isn't a question, delivered in that flat tone that says arguing would be pointless.
"Cole—"
"Kline sent operatives to grab you in public.
That means he's willing to take risks that expose his operation, which means he's desperate, which means he's more dangerous now than he was this morning.
" He crosses the kitchen and stops close, invading my space deliberately.
"You stay here where I can protect you, or I take you to Will's place and park you there with armed Brothers on rotation until the threat is neutralized. Those are your options."
The absolute certainty in his voice makes my pulse kick up. The reaction isn't fear but recognition that I'm looking at the operative who eliminates threats, not the VP who manages Brotherhood business.
"I'm a federal agent. I don't need—"
"You nearly got grabbed by trained operatives hours ago.
" He cuts me off, hand coming up to grip my jaw, forcing me to meet his eyes.
"Federal authority means nothing to Kline.
Your badge won't stop a bullet or prevent an extraction.
What keeps you alive is staying close to someone willing to kill anyone who tries to take you. "
The words would be empty posturing from most people. From Cole, it's a promise backed by years of Delta Force missions and the kind of darkness that doesn't hesitate when violence is necessary.
"Well, how could I refuse such a charming invitation," I say, trying for lightness.
The attempt falls flat. Cole's expression doesn't shift, that cold control not cracking even slightly.
"Okay," I add quietly. "I'll stay."
His hand gentles on my jaw slightly, thumb brushing across my cheekbone. "Good. Because I just drove hours at illegal speeds thinking about what I'd do if I arrived too late. I'm not feeling particularly civilized right now, and arguing with me would be a mistake."
His hand drops from my jaw and he steps back slightly, giving me space to breathe. "Bedroom. Now. We both need sleep before tomorrow, and I need—" He stops, jaw tightening.
"Need what?"
"To prove you're here. Alive." The admission comes out rough, edged with intensity held barely in check. "To claim what's mine before I have to spend tomorrow planning how to kill the man who tried to take you."
I follow him down the hallway to his room. The door slams shut behind us and his hands are already on me, rough and demanding. He strips my jacket off, tosses it aside, then grips the hem of my shirt and yanks it over my head.
"Weapons," he orders, nodding toward the nightstand.
I secure my service weapon within reach while he does the same. The familiar ritual, except his movements are sharp with violence barely held in check.
When I turn back, he's already shirtless, and the look in his eyes makes my breath catch. I'm looking at a pure predator. The darkness he keeps caged during the day is out now, focused entirely on me.
He crosses the space between us in quick strides, hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise, and pulls me flush against him.
His mouth crashes into mine, brutal and claiming.
His teeth catch my lower lip hard enough to sting, tongue forcing past any token resistance to take possession of my mouth.
The kiss tastes like coffee and adrenaline and raw need, all consuming demand that doesn't ask for response but takes it anyway.
When I try to kiss back, he bites down harder in warning, making it clear who's in control here.
I kiss back anyway, refusing to be passive even when he doesn't allow it for long. He breaks away, spins me around, and presses me face-first against the wall. His body cages mine, one hand fisting in my hair to hold me still while the other works open my jeans.
"Don't move," he growls against my ear.
I freeze, heart racing, arousal spiking despite—or because of—the edge of danger in his touch. This isn't the Forge's negotiated scene. This is raw and uncontrolled, the operative who eliminates threats taking what he wants.
He strips my jeans and underwear down my legs, then his own. When I feel the hard length of his cock press against my ass, I gasp.
"You disobeyed my orders tonight." His voice is cold silk, one hand still fisting my hair, the other sliding between my thighs to find me already wet. "Made unilateral decisions that could have gotten you killed."
His fingers slide through slick heat, not gentle, finding my clit and circling with just enough pressure to make me moan.
"I'm going to fuck you against this wall," he continues, tone absolutely controlled despite the violence barely leashed beneath it. "And you're going to take everything I give you. Understand?"
"Yes."
"Yes what?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Good girl." The approval in his voice makes heat pool lower. Then his fingers are gone and he's lifting me slightly, positioning himself at my entrance. "Hands on the wall. Brace yourself."
I comply, palms flat against the cool surface, and he drives into me in one brutal thrust.
I cry out at the invasion, the stretch, the overwhelming fullness of him buried deep inside me. There's no warm-up, no gentle build, just claiming that's pure and absolute.
"Fuck," he groans against my neck, breath hot on my skin. "You feel perfect."
He doesn't wait for me to adjust. Just starts moving, hard and fast, each thrust driving me into the wall. One hand stays fisted in my hair, holding me exactly where he wants me. The other grips my hip with bruising force, controlling the angle, the depth, everything.
It's intense and overwhelming and exactly what I need. No tenderness, no gentle touches. Just raw connection with someone who understands violence and survival and the darkness we both carry.
"Cole—" I gasp his name, trying to move with him, but he controls even that.
"Stay still," he orders. "Let me take what I need."
The command, the violence in every thrust, the feeling of being completely at his mercy—it all combines to drive me toward the edge faster than I've ever experienced. My body coils tight, pleasure building with desperate intensity.
"You're close," he observes, voice still maddeningly controlled. "I can feel you squeezing my cock. But you don't come until I say you can."
"Please—"
"No." He changes angle slightly, hitting that perfect spot inside me, and I nearly sob with the intensity. "You disobeyed my orders tonight. This is the consequence. You come when I decide you've earned it."
He keeps that brutal pace, driving into me relentlessly, pushing me right to the edge and holding me there. My thighs shake, breath coming in gasps, body wound so tight I'm afraid I'll shatter.
"Beg me," he demands, voice rough now, control finally fraying at the edges.
"Please, Cole. Please let me come. I need—"
"What do you need?"
"You. This. Please."
His hand releases my hair and slides around to find my clit, circling with firm pressure. "Come for me. Now."
The orgasm rips through me, violent and overwhelming. I cry out, vision whiting out, entire body clenching around him as pleasure crashes through me in waves.
"Fuck, yes." Cole's control finally breaks completely. He drives deep and hard, chasing his own release, and I feel him come with a guttural groan, heat flooding inside me.
We stay locked together, both gasping, my legs barely supporting me. His weight presses me into the wall and I welcome it, grounding and real.
He pulls out carefully and turns me around. His hands cup my face, thumb brushing across my cheekbone, and some of the predatory edge softens slightly.
"You hurt?" His voice is still rough, the question clinical rather than tender.
"No." I'm shaking, aftershocks still rolling through me. "Good."
He releases me and walks to the bed, stretching out and clearly expecting me to follow. I do, climbing in beside him. He pulls me against his chest without ceremony, more claiming space than offering comfort. His heartbeat thunders against my ear.
"Too rough?"
"No." I press closer despite his lack of softness. "Perfect."
His hand strokes down my spine, the touch more assessing than soothing. "You ignored my orders tonight. Made your own call on tactics." His jaw tightens. "Don't do it again."
"I'll try to follow orders better."
"You will." The response isn't a request but a statement. "Because next time, the consequences will be worse."
The promise sends another shiver through me. The feeling isn't fear but anticipation.
Exhaustion catches up, my body thoroughly used and satisfied. Cole's breathing evens out but doesn't slow completely. That awareness never fully shuts down, even in sleep.
Tomorrow brings Church and the vote on whether the Brotherhood hunts Kline as a club or whether Cole handles it alone.
"Sleep," Cole says eventually, command still edging his voice. "Church starts at oh-seven-hundred. You'll brief me on the financial evidence before I present to the Brothers."
"You're sure they'll vote to help?"
"I'm sure they'll vote to protect what's theirs. Gemma's already family. You're under my personal protection, which makes you my responsibility." His grip tightens on my hip. "Church will vote to extend Brotherhood protection and authorize action against Kline. That's how we operate."
The assessment isn't a guarantee, just a reasonable expectation based on MC culture and Brotherhood loyalty.
I should maintain objectivity. Remember I'm a federal agent, not someone's old lady waiting for a club vote.
But Cole just claimed me with brutal intensity and I'm lying in his bed trusting him to keep me alive.
"Okay," I say quietly. "I'll brief you before Church."
"Good." His hand makes one slow pass down my spine. "Now sleep. Tomorrow we plan how to eliminate Kline."
I close my eyes and let exhaustion pull me under. His security systems monitor the perimeter. Weapons rest within reach on the nightstand. His body radiates heat and controlled lethality beside me.
Tomorrow I brief him on everything I learned about Kline, including all the financial information. Tomorrow the Iron Brotherhood votes on whether to hunt.
Tonight, I sleep in the arms of a man who just promised to kill someone. And when he does it, I won't stop him.