Chapter 10
The Blind Jacks’ compound was nothing like the Devil’s Mark clubhouse. Where her father’s domain had been all chrome and leather, trying too hard to project power, this place felt solid. Earned. Real. The concrete walls carried scars from old battles, each mark telling a story of survival rather than intimidation.
Eden sat in Darkness’s office, watching Hunter pace while they waited for the MC president to finish dealing with the fallout from tonight’s operation. King, as the sergeant-at-arms, leaned against the wall, his dark eyes missing nothing as they waited for Darkness to join them.
Her father’s blood still stained her clothes. The harsh overhead lights emphasized the hollows beneath Eden’s cheekbones, the shadows under her eyes testifying to days without proper rest. Her dark hair was coming loose from its practical ponytail, strands framing a face that she imagined looked both vulnerable and dangerous in equal measure. She should feel something—grief, triumph, anything. Instead, she felt hollow, like someone had scooped out her insides and replaced them with static.
The Blind Jacks compound hummed with activity around them. Patches moving with military precision as they secured the perimeter, prospects running communications equipment that looked more sophisticated than most federal installations. This wasn’t just a motorcycle club—it was a professional operation that happened to wear leather.
“Stop thinking so loud.”
Hunter’s voice cut through her spiral. He stopped pacing to crouch in front of her chair, his hands warming her ice-cold ones. Up close, she could see the fresh bruises from their fight, the way he favored his left side where Thompson had landed a lucky hit.
“You did what you had to do.”
“You did it, actually.”
Her voice sounded distant to her own ears.
“Shot my father while I was busy getting my ass kicked by a corrupt DEA agent.”
“Hey.”
He squeezed her hands until she met his eyes. There was something dangerous and warm in his gaze that made her pulse quicken despite everything. The tactical light cast harsh shadows across the planes of his face, emphasizing the intensity in his blue eyes, the slight curve of his mouth that promised both violence and protection in equal measure. The tattoos visible beneath his rolled sleeves told stories of military service and brotherhood, the same ones she’d noticed that first night at the Devil’s Mark when he’d approached her bar.
Behind him, King cut a unreadable glance that she tried to ignore.
“Thompson was Special Forces before he joined the DEA. The fact that you’re alive means you can handle yourself better than most trained operatives. And your father...”
He trailed off, but Eden heard what he didn’t say. Merrick Mitchell had been a monster wearing the mask of a father. His death wasn’t a tragedy—it was justice.
Before she could respond, the office door opened. Darkness filled the doorway like a storm front, his expression thunderous as he took in their intimate position, casting doubt in her about whether or not their club would actually accept her as Hunter had claimed.
Hunter straightened but didn’t step away from Eden.
“You want to explain to me,”
Darkness said with deadly calm, “why my Road Captain is holding hands with a federal agent in my office?”
“Ex-federal agent,”
Eden corrected, falling back on gallows humor.
“Pretty sure shooting your handler burns that bridge permanently.”
Darkness’s eyes narrowed.
“That supposed to make me trust you more?”
“No.”
She met his gaze steadily.
“But the fact that I just helped your club take down the Devil’s Mark’s entire operation might count for something.”
“Along with evidence linking them to six museum heists,”
Hunter added.
“And the identity of the man behind it all.”
That got Darkness’s attention. He moved behind his desk but didn’t sit. “Romano.”
“You knew?”
Hunter’s voice held an edge.
“Suspected.”
Darkness’s gaze never left Eden.
“What I don’t know is why a DEA agent spent three years undercover in her father’s club just to hand everything to us on a silver platter.”
Eden felt Hunter tense beside her, ready to defend her. She touched his arm lightly. She could handle this.
“Because Romano didn’t just kill my mother,”
she said quietly, letting them hear the truth in her voice.
“He’s been using federal agencies to cover his tracks for years. The art theft, the antiquities trafficking—it’s all window dressing for something bigger. Something that got my mother killed when she discovered it fifteen years ago.”
“How big?”
“Big enough that he’s got judges and politicians in his pocket. Big enough that he can make federal agents disappear without questions being asked.”
She leaned forward, pulling up files on her laptop.
“Big enough that he’s got another major operation planned, and he’s arrogant enough to think no one can stop him.”
Darkness absorbed this, his expression unreadable.
“And you know this how?”
“Because I found his plans.”
She pulled out a flash drive—one of many she’d distributed to secure locations—and held it out. King stepped up to accept it.
“Hidden in Thompson’s files. It’s all there—shipping manifests, contact lists, shell corporations. Everything except the target.”
“Which you’re offering us why?”
Darkness watched her with a critical eye.
“Because I want Romano dead.”
The words came out flat, empty of emotion. It wasn’t about revenge anymore—it was about finishing what her mother had started.
“And I can’t do it alone.”
Silence filled the office. Darkness studied her for a long moment, then shifted his attention to Hunter. Something passed between them, years of trust and brotherhood condensed into a single look.
Finally, King spoke up, taking over the conversation.
“Tell me about the operation.”
After instructing him to upload the drive in his computer he already had open and ready to go, King moved to the side and Eden took his place in front of the screen and began pulling up the relevant files.
“Romano’s been systematically hitting museums up and down the coast, but these were just test runs. He’s been perfecting his method for something bigger.”
She brought up shipping manifests and work orders next.
“He’s using a restoration company as a front. They go in, document valuable pieces for ‘insurance purposes,’ then create perfect forgeries. When they return the restored pieces, they swap them out. By the time anyone realizes the pieces are fake, the originals are long gone.”
“Smart,”
King admitted grudgingly.
“Hard to prove theft when the pieces never officially leave the museum.”
“Exactly. But this?”
She pulled up another document showing massive resources being moved into position. All three men leaned in closer.
“This is different. Multiple shipping containers being prepared, high-end security contractors being hired, specialized equipment being moved into position. Whatever he’s planning, it’s massive.”
“And soon,”
Hunter added, studying the timeline.
“The schedule shows everything needs to be in place within two weeks.”
Darkness’s eyes narrowed.
“You think you can find the target in time?”
“Maybe.”
Eden brought up a map showing the previous heists.
“There’s a pattern to his choices. Each target has been progressively more challenging, more valuable. He’s working up to something specific.”
“And you need our help why?”
Darkness asked, voice holding a dangerous edge.
“Seems like the kind of thing federal agents should handle.”
“Because I don’t know who I can trust in the agency anymore.”
Eden met his eyes.
“Romano’s got people everywhere. One wrong move and any evidence we find disappears—along with anyone trying to expose him.”
“So instead you want to throw in with outlaws?”
Darkness’s laugh held no humor.
“That’s rich, coming from a fed.”
“Ex-fed,”
she corrected again.
“And yes. Because whatever else the Blind Jacks might be, at least you can’t be bought. Romano’s power comes from corruption, from people choosing money over morals. But you?”
She gestured around the clubhouse.
“You built this on loyalty. On brotherhood. That’s something he can’t touch.”
Darkness was silent for a long moment. Then he looked at Hunter.
“You trust her?”
“With my life.”
Hunter’s response was immediate, and Eden felt something warm unfurl in her chest.
“She could have turned us all in tonight. Instead, she risked everything to help us take down the Devil’s Mark.”
“And the fact that you’re sleeping with her has nothing to do with your judgment?”
Eden felt heat rise in her cheeks, but Hunter didn’t flinch.
“My judgment’s fine. And she’s right—Romano needs to be stopped. The question is, are we going to help her do it, or are we going to let him keep thinking he’s untouchable?”
Another loaded silence. After exchanging looks with King, Darkness sighed heavily.
“What’s your play?”
Eden pulled up another file.
“The museum heist is key. If we can catch him in the act, with irrefutable proof of his involvement, not even his political connections can save him.”
“You want to let the heist happen?”
Hunter’s surprise was evident.
“I want to be waiting when it does.”
Eden’s smile held no warmth.
“With enough evidence to bury him and everyone he’s bought.”
“It’s risky.”
King’s voice was thoughtful.
“If anything goes wrong...”
“Then we’re all dead anyway.”
Eden shrugged.
“Romano won’t let any of us live, not after tonight. We either end him, or he ends us. Simple as that.”
Darkness studied her for a long moment, then nodded slowly.
“Alright. But we do this my way. No more lone wolf bullshit, no more hidden agendas. You work with us, you’re one of us. Clear?”
“Crystal.”
Eden met his gaze steadily.
“Though you should know, I don’t wear leather well.”
To her surprise, Darkness actually cracked a smile.
“Get her cleaned up,”
he told Hunter.
“We’ve got work to do.”
As King and Darkness put their heads together and started strategizing, Hunter led her out of the office, his hand warm on her lower back. Neither spoke until they reached his private rooms in the compound.
“You okay?”
he asked finally, closing the door behind them.
Eden started to nod, then stopped.
“No. Not really. My father’s dead, my career’s over, and I’m plotting a major crime with a motorcycle club. Pretty sure this isn’t how they told me undercover work would go at Quantico.”
He pulled her to him, one hand tangling in her hair. Eden was acutely aware of every point of contact between them—his calloused hand against her scalp, the solid wall of his chest against her cheek, the steady heartbeat that contradicted the barely leashed tension in his muscles. His organic, earthy scent was so uniquely him, and it made her feel grounded for the first time in hours. In a rare moment of vulnerability, she finally let herself shake apart. The adrenaline crash hit hard, bringing with it all the emotions she’d been holding back.
“You’re alive.”
His voice rumbled under her ear.
“That’s what matters. Everything else, we’ll figure out.”
“We?”
She pulled back enough to meet his eyes.
“That’s a dangerous word.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed,”
his voice roughened as he traced her jaw, “I like dangerous.”
She shouldn’t. Everything was too raw, too complicated. But when he kissed her, she forgot all the reasons this was a bad idea. His mouth was hot and demanding against hers, asking for everything she shouldn’t give.
She gave it anyway.
Hands roaming and mouths tongues dancing, they pulled and tugged at each other’s clothing until they stood before each other, naked as the day they were born, and without missing a beat, they fell into bed together and got lost for the next few hours in a mess of limbs and sweat and passion more intense than either had experience before.
Later, much later, they lay tangled in his sheets, her head on his chest while he traced patterns on her bare shoulder. The compound had settled into pre-dawn quiet around them, but Eden’s mind was still racing.
“Romano will know we’re coming,”
she murmured.
“Let him.”
Hunter’s voice rumbled into her hair.
“He’s never dealt with anything like us before.”
Eden smiled against his skin, feeling truly warm for the first time since her father’s death.
“Us. Another dangerous word.”
“Get used to it.”
He tightened his arms around her.
“You’re not alone anymore.”
She knew there would be consequences. Knew that whatever was building between them could destroy them both. But for now, she let herself believe in dangerous words like “we”
and “us”
and “together.”
Tomorrow they would start hunting Romano. Tomorrow they would begin planning the biggest heist of their lives. Tomorrow they would face all the complications and consequences of their choices.
But tonight? Tonight she would let herself have this—warmth and safety and the illusion that love didn’t always end in blood.
Even if they both knew better.
Through the compound’s walls, she could hear motorcycles returning from patrol, the steady rhythm of a club that operated like a military unit. Her laptop hummed quietly in the corner, decrypting more of Thompson’s files while tracking Romano’s movements through various surveillance systems.
“What are you thinking?”
Hunter’s voice was soft in the darkness.
“That my mother would either be proud or horrified.”
Eden traced a scar on his chest, wondering about its story.
“Probably both.”
“She’d be proud.”
His certainty surprised her.
“You found the truth she died protecting. Found people willing to help you expose it.”
“Found you.”
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
His hand stilled on her shoulder for a moment. Then he shifted, rolling them so he could look down at her. The predator was back in his eyes, but there was something else there too—something that made her breath catch.
“Found me,”
he agreed, then kissed her like he was making a promise.
Later, as false dawn began to paint the sky, Eden lay awake watching Hunter sleep. In the gentle light, she could see past the dangerous outlaw to the man beneath—the warrior who understood her darkness, who chose to fight beside her despite every reason not to.
Her phone buzzed quietly. A message from one of her automated systems, tracking movements that suggested Romano was already gathering resources for retaliation.
“Time to wake up.”
She brushed her lips across Hunter’s shoulder.
“War’s starting.”
His eyes opened immediately, alert despite the early hour.
“Ready for this?”
Eden smiled, the same sharp expression that had first caught his attention across a crowded bar that felt like a lifetime ago.
“Born ready.”
They dressed efficiently, the warmth and emotions stirred by a night of making love set aside in favor of a warrior’s routine. By the time they reached King’s office, the first reports were coming in—Romano moving pieces into position, calling in favors from powerful people.
“Let him come.”
Hunter’s hand settled on her lower back as they studied the intelligence.
“This time, we’re ready.”
Eden leaned into his touch, letting herself believe in possibility rather than tragedy. In victory rather than vengeance.
In “us”
rather than alone.
The war was about to begin. Eden studied Hunter’s profile in the blue glow of computer screens—the strong line of his jaw, the watchful eyes that missed nothing, the controlled power in every movement. Whatever was coming, they would face it together.
And this time, she had something worth fighting for.