Chapter 8
Ava
Waiting is torture. I've paced Ice Pick's room so many times I've probably worn a path in the floor, and every minute that passes without word feels like an hour. Sarah found me twenty minutes ago and dragged me downstairs to the common room, insisting that isolation's only making my anxiety worse.
She's right, but that doesn't make it easier.
"They're going to be fine," Sarah says for the third time, perched on the couch beside me with a cup of tea she made in an attempt to calm my nerves. "Mason knows what he's doing. The whole club knows what they're doing."
"They're riding into a situation with an unknown number of hostiles, backing up a federal raid on a man desperate enough to run and powerful enough to have stayed hidden this long." I wrap my arms around myself. "Nothing about that screams 'fine' to me."
"You really love him, don't you?"
The question catches me off guard. I've said the words to Mason, admitted it in the heat of the moment, but hearing someone else acknowledge it makes it more real somehow.
"Yeah. I really do." The admission feels like stepping off a cliff. "Which is insane because I've known him less than two weeks, and he's an outlaw biker who solves problems with violence, and I'm a journalist who's supposed to expose people like him."
"But he's not like other criminals, is he? He's got a code, principles. He protects people." Sarah sets down her tea. "I've been watching him with you, Ava. The way he looks at you like you're the most important thing in his world. That's not fake. That's real."
"I know it's real. That's what scares me." I stand, needing to move again. "What happens when this is over? When there's no threat keeping us together, when real life starts and we have to figure out if this thing between us can survive outside of crisis mode?"
"Maybe it can. Maybe it can't, but you won't know unless you try."
Before I can respond, the front door slams open and Condor rushes in, laptop under his arm and phone pressed to his ear. His expression's grim, and my stomach drops.
"What happened?" I demand, crossing to him. "Are they okay?"
He holds up a finger, finishing his call, and when he hangs up, his face is tight with tension. "There's been a complication. The estate where they thought Castellano was hiding? It was a trap, there were explosives rigged throughout the building. The FBI triggered them when they breached."
My blood turns to ice. "The club, were they inside?"
"No. Vulture held them back as perimeter security. But three FBI agents are down, two critical. And Castellano wasn't there. The whole thing was a setup to take out law enforcement."
"Where are they now?"
"Pulling back, regrouping. The FBI's calling in more support, but they've lost the element of surprise. Castellano knows they're coming for him." Condor's jaw clenches. "And he's willing to kill federal agents to stay free."
This is my fault. It’s my investigation, my evidence, my determination to expose this operation that’s led to people dying. Those agents have families, lives, futures that just got stolen because I couldn't leave well enough alone.
"Ava." Sarah's voice cuts through my spiral. "This isn't on you. Castellano's the one who built a trafficking empire. He's the one who set those explosives. You're trying to stop him."
"By putting everyone I care about in danger."
"By doing the right thing." She grabs my shoulders, forcing me to look at her. "You've saved lives. Twenty girls who would've disappeared into that pipeline are safe because of you. Don't let guilt over casualties make you forget that."
My phone rings, Mason's name on the screen, and I answer so fast I nearly drop it.
"Tell me you're okay," I say without preamble.
"I'm fine. We're all fine." His voice is rough, adrenaline and anger mixing in equal measure. "But the op's blown. Castellano's in the wind again, and the feds lost good people tonight."
"Condor told me. I'm so sorry."
"Not your fault. This is on Castellano and whoever tipped him off." Background noise suggests he's on the move. "We're headed back. Should be there in thirty minutes. Don't go anywhere."
"Where would I go? I'm in lockdown, remember?"
"Good. Stay that way." He pauses. "Love you."
The words are rushed, almost swallowed by engine noise, but they hit me like a physical force. "Love you too. Be safe."
He hangs up, and I'm left holding the phone, my heart pounding and my mind racing. The relief that he's okay wars with the fear of what comes next. Castellano's proven he's willing to kill to protect himself, willing to sacrifice anyone who gets in his way.
That makes him more dangerous than ever.
The next thirty minutes crawl by with excruciating slowness. Sarah stays with me, a solid presence that keeps me from completely falling apart. Condor monitors communications, updating us when he gets information, and slowly the picture becomes clearer.
The explosives were sophisticated, military grade. The kind of thing that requires expertise and resources. Castellano didn't set them himself, which means he's got people working for him, people skilled in demolitions and willing to kill federal agents.
When the rumble of motorcycles finally reaches us, I'm on my feet and heading for the door before I can think better of it. The bikes pull through the gate in formation, brothers returning home whole but clearly shaken. Ice Pick's near the front, and the moment he's off his bike, I'm running.
He catches me, wrapping his arms around me tight enough to hurt, and I don't care. He's alive. He's safe. Nothing else matters.
"Told you I'd come back," he murmurs against my hair.
"You also told me you're always careful, which is clearly bullshit."
He laughs, rough and exhausted. "Fair point."
Vulture’s organizing a debrief, brothers filtering inside to regroup and process what happened. Ice Pick keeps his arm around me as we join them, and I can feel the tension radiating through his body. This isn't over. We all know it. Castellano's still out there, still dangerous, still hunting.
The common room's crowded, everyone talking over each other, trying to make sense of how their intel was compromised. Agent Forrister's there too, having followed the club back, her face drawn and gray.
"We've got a leak," she says when Falcon calls for quiet. "Someone with access to our investigation is feeding information to Castellano. That's the only explanation for how he knew we were coming."
"How many people have access?" Sterling asks.
"Too many. The investigation's big enough that it involves multiple departments, dozens of agents and support staff." She runs a hand through her hair. "We're conducting internal reviews, but that takes time. Time we don't have."
"What about Castellano's known associates?" I speak up, drawing everyone's attention. "If he's running, he needs help; money, safe houses, transportation. Someone's providing that for him."
"We've been monitoring his accounts, but he's got offshore holdings we can't access without international cooperation." Agent Forrister looks at me with something like respect. "Your financial analysis helped identify some of those, but there are gaps. Shell companies we haven't cracked yet."
"Then let me keep working on it. Give me access to whatever files you've got, and I'll dig deeper." I step forward, ignoring Ice Pick's hand tightening on my waist. "I've been investigating this longer than anyone. I know the patterns, the connections. Let me help."
"Ava, no." Ice Pick's voice is low, meant only for me. "You're already a target. Helping the feds makes you an even bigger one."
"I'm already the biggest target there is, might as well make it count." I look up at him, seeing the fear he's trying to hide. "I can do this, Mason, I can find the connections they're missing."
He wants to argue. I can see it in every line of his body. But he also knows I'm right. Knows that my skills and knowledge are assets they can't afford to waste.
"Fine," he says finally. "But you work from here, with Condor backing you up and me watching your six. No solo investigating, no reaching out to contacts without clearance. Agreed?"
"Agreed."
Agent Forrister nods. "I'll have files sent over within the hour. Anything you find, you report directly to me or Robert. No one else. We can't risk another leak."
She leaves with promises to coordinate further, and the brothers disperse to their own activities. Some head for food, others for showers, all of them processing the night's events in their own ways. Ice Pick guides me upstairs, his hand never leaving my back.
In his room, he strips off his cut and weapons with mechanical precision, the ritual of disarmament something he's done thousands of times. But his hands are shaking slightly, adrenaline crash setting in, and I move to help him.
"I'm fine," he says, but his voice lacks conviction.
"You're not. You're coming down from a firefight that almost killed federal agents. You're allowed to not be fine." I finish removing his holster, setting it carefully on the dresser. "Sit down."
He does, dropping onto the edge of the bed, and I stand between his legs with my hands on his shoulders. The muscles beneath my palms are coiled tight, tension wound through every inch of him.
"Three agents," he says quietly. "Two in critical condition, one dead on scene. I didn't know them, but they were there because we provided intel. Because we pointed the feds in that direction."
"Because Castellano's a monster who'll kill anyone to protect himself." I frame his face with my hands, forcing him to look at me. "You didn't set those explosives. You didn't tip him off. You tried to help, and you saved the rest of your brothers by keeping them outside."
"Doesn't feel like saving anyone. It feels like we're always one step behind."