Chapter 5 #2
"Mason." He uses my real name, and that's how I know this is serious.
"I'm not questioning your loyalty to the club.
But I am questioning whether you can stay objective when it comes to her.
Because if the choice comes down to protecting her or protecting the club, I need to know which way you'll fall. "
It's a fair question. One I've been asking myself since the moment I pulled her onto that bike three days ago.
"I'll protect both," I say finally. "That's the only answer I've got."
"That might not be possible."
"Then I'll make it possible." I meet his eyes. "She matters, Vulture. Not just because of the investigation or the evidence. She matters to me, and I'm not going to apologize for that."
He's quiet for a long moment, studying me like he's trying to see past the walls I keep up. Then he nods. "Alright. Just remember that when shit goes sideways, and it will go sideways, you might have to make choices you don't want to make."
"I know."
"Good. Now go brief her on what's happening. And Ice Pick? Keep her close tonight. If the Reapers know we're planning something, they might make a move on her to distract us."
I head upstairs, my mind already running through contingencies and backup plans. The hallway's quiet, most of the brothers either in their rooms or downstairs preparing for tonight. I knock on Ava's door, three sharp raps that she'll recognize as mine.
She opens it immediately, dressed in jeans and one of my t-shirts that she must've grabbed from my room. It's too big on her, hanging off one shoulder, and the sight of her wearing my clothes does something primal to my brain.
"Well?" she asks, pulling me inside and closing the door. "What happened in church?"
I tell her everything. The intercepted communications, the shipment, the plan to coordinate with the FBI. She listens intently, asking questions when something doesn't make sense, and I'm struck again by how sharp she is. Nothing gets past her.
"I want to be there," she says when I'm finished. "At the warehouse. I need to see this through."
"No."
"Mason, this is my story. I've been working this investigation for months, risking my life to expose these people. I deserve to be there when they go down."
"You deserve to stay alive." I step closer, framing her face with my hands.
"If something happens to you, if you get hurt or taken, everything you've worked for means nothing.
Your evidence, your testimony, that's what's going to put these people away.
Not you getting yourself killed trying to play hero. "
"I'm not trying to play hero. I'm trying to finish what I started."
"And you will. From here. Safe." I kiss her forehead, feeling her frustration in the tension of her body. "I need to know you're safe, Ava. I can't do what needs to be done tonight if I'm worried about you."
She pulls back, eyes searching mine. "This isn't just about the investigation anymore, is it?"
"No."
"What is it about then?"
I should lie. Should keep things professional, maintain distance. But I'm tired of pretending, tired of fighting what I feel every time I look at her.
"It's about the fact that I can't stop thinking about you.
About keeping you safe, keeping you close, making sure nothing ever hurts you again.
" The words come out rough, and honest. "It's about the fact that somewhere between pulling you out of that Reapers' warehouse and watching you stand up to everyone in this compound, I started falling for you. "
Her breath catches. "Mason."
"I know it's fast. I know it's reckless. But I don't care." I pull her against me, needing to feel her solid and real in my arms. "So yeah, you're staying here tonight. Because I can't lose you. Won't lose you."
She's quiet for a long moment, her face pressed against my chest. Then she looks up at me, and there's something fierce in her eyes.
"You're not going to lose me. But you're also not going to shut me out." Her hands fist in my shirt. "I'll stay here tonight because you asked me to. But when this is over, when the Reapers are down and the traffickers are exposed, we're having a conversation about what this is between us."
"What do you want it to be?"
"I don't know yet, but I know I want it." She rises on her toes, kissing me with a desperation that matches my own. "Don't get yourself killed tonight. I've got plans for you."
"That a promise?"
"It's a threat." But she's smiling when she says it.
I kiss her again, deeper this time, pouring everything I can't say into the press of my mouth against hers. She responds with equal intensity, her body molding to mine like we were made to fit together.
"I have to go," I say, even though I don't want to. "Hustler's going to stay with you. Don't give him too much shit."
"No promises."
I leave her reluctantly, heading back downstairs where the club's preparing for tonight's operation. Zip's checking weapons, Sterling's on the phone with Robert, and Rook's going over maps with Condor. It's controlled chaos, everyone knowing their role and executing it with precision.
This is what we do best. Operating in the gray areas, handling problems that can't be solved through legal channels. Tonight we're doing it for a good cause, but that doesn't change the fact that we're criminals working with law enforcement to take down other criminals.
The irony isn't lost on me.
"You good?" Vulture asks, appearing at my elbow.
"Yeah. Ava's secured, Hustler's on babysitting duty." I check my weapon, making sure the magazine's full and the safety's on. "Let's do this."
The hours crawl by as we prepare. By the time the sun sets, we're ready. Three bikes, full tanks, weapons concealed but accessible. Vulture, Zip, and me. A small team for a big operation, but that's how we work best. Small, fast, mobile.
We pull out of the compound just after ten, leaving behind the safety of our walls and heading into enemy territory. The warehouse district's quiet at this hour, most businesses closed for the night, only a few security lights breaking up the darkness.
Vulture leads us to a position three blocks from the target warehouse. We kill our engines and move on foot, sticking to the shadows, using the industrial landscape as cover. Condor's voice comes through our earpieces, guiding us to the best vantage point.
"You've got eyes on the east side. Second floor, abandoned office. Window overlooks the warehouse loading dock."
We make our way inside an old factory building, carefully navigating debris and broken glass. The office Condor directed us to is exactly where he said it would be, and through the grimy window we have a perfect view of the Reapers' operation.
The warehouse is lit up, activity visible through the open loading bay doors. Motorcycles are parked outside, at least a dozen, and I recognize several Reapers moving around inside. They're setting up, preparing for the shipment's arrival.
"FBI's in position," Sterling's voice comes through the earpiece. "They're waiting for your signal."
"Copy that," Vulture responds. "We're going dark. Radio silence unless it's an emergency."
We settle in to wait, the three of us watching through the window like predators stalking prey. Zip's got a camera with a telephoto lens, documenting everything. Faces, license plates, movements. All evidence that'll be used to prosecute these assholes.
At eleven forty-five, a semi-truck pulls up to the loading dock.
The back doors open, and my stomach turns when I see what's inside.
Girls. Young women. Huddled together in the back of the truck, terrified and exhausted.
It brings back memories of when Falcon found Cara. That was a bittersweet moment.
"Jesus," Zip mutters, his camera clicking rapidly.
They're herded out of the truck like cattle, Reapers surrounding them, keeping them contained. One girl tries to run and gets backhanded so hard she goes down. Another Reaper hauls her up by her hair, and I have to force myself not to go down there and put a bullet in his skull.
"Easy," Vulture warns, sensing my rage. "We stick to the plan."
At twelve thirty, expensive cars start arriving. Sedans and SUVs that cost more than most people make in a year. Men in suits climb out, surveying the girls with the cold calculation of buyers at an auction. This is it. This is the evidence we need.
"Sterling, signal the feds," Vulture says quietly. "It's time."
"Copy. Feds are moving in. ETA three minutes."
Those three minutes feel like hours. The buyers are examining the girls, discussing them like merchandise, and every second they're in there is another second of hell for those victims. But we wait, because rushing in now would blow the entire operation.
Then there are sirens, lights, and FBI vehicles converging on the warehouse from three directions.
The Reapers react exactly like we expected. They panic, and there’s chaos. Some try to run, and others try to fight. The buyers scatter like roaches when the lights come on, but the feds are ready. Agents pour out of vehicles, weapons drawn, and shouting commands.
"That's our cue," Vulture says. "Let's move."
We exit the building the same way we came in, circling around to where we left the bikes. My phone's buzzing insistently in my pocket, and I check it as we run.
Three missed calls from Hustler.
My blood turns to ice.
"Vulture, we've got a problem. Hustler's been calling."
"Call him back. Now."
I dial as we reach the bikes, and Hustler answers on the first ring. "Ice Pick, thank fuck. We've got a situation at the compound."
"What kind of situation?"
"The kind with guns and Reapers. They're trying to breach the gate. Sterling and some of the brothers are holding them off, but I don't know how long we can last. And Ice Pick? They're asking for Ava by name."
Everything inside me goes cold and sharp. "Is she safe?"