Chapter 10 #2
My phone vibrated against my hip—not the periodic check-in pattern, but an urgent, continuous buzz. I pulled to the curb, yanking it from my pocket. The screen flashed red with an automated alert: SECURITY brEACH - ARMORY.
"Fuck." I gunned the engine, cutting a sharp U-turn across traffic, ignoring the blaring horns in my wake. The armory was our fallback position, housing the club's emergency weapons stash and cash reserves. Nobody should have known its location outside the senior brothers.
I pushed the bike to its limits, weaving between cars with inches to spare, my mind calculating possibilities, probabilities.
Socket had secured the safehouse personally—triple-layer encryption on the security system, backup generators, signal jammers to block any unauthorized devices.
Ophelia was safer there than anywhere else.
I had to trust the setup, trust my brothers.
The armory entrance appeared ahead—an innocuous storage unit in a long row of identical doors. Even from fifty yards away, I could see something was wrong. The reinforced steel door hung askew on its hinges, the heavy-duty lock mechanism lying in pieces on the ground.
I slowed the bike, approaching with caution, gun already drawn. No vehicles in sight, no movement. Either they'd already gone or this was a trap. I cut the engine, letting momentum carry me the final stretch in silence.
The damage to the door wasn't from explosives or power tools.
This was precision work—the kind that required specialized knowledge of our security systems. I slipped inside, clearing corners with practiced efficiency, though the emptiness inside told me what I'd find.
Gone—the weapons crates, the emergency cash, the documents. All of it.
My burner phone rang. Socket's emergency line.
"Talk to me," I barked.
"Shop's on fire." Socket's voice came through tense, the background filled with noise. "Somebody torched the custom Softail we were building for Martinelli. Professional job, accelerant through the roof vents, targeted just the bike."
My mind raced, connecting dots. The armory breach. The bike. Both precision hits against high-value club assets. Both requiring insider knowledge. This wasn't random.
"The safehouse? Ophelia?" I demanded, already moving back to my motorcycle.
"All clear last check-in. Pierce reported no activity on the perimeter." Socket paused, coughing through what I assumed was smoke. "But Razor—this feels coordinated."
"Keep the security feeds running. I'm on my way back to them now." I hung up, dialing Fury's number next. No answer. Tried Loch. Nothing. Screwball. Dead air.
I reached for the emergency all-call radio frequency we'd established. Static blasted through the earpiece, but beneath it—barely audible—a voice. Not one of my brothers. Measured, professional, reciting legal language.
"...petitioner seeks immediate emergency custody of minor child Dante Weathers on grounds of imminent danger due to mother's association with known criminal elements..."
Ice flooded my veins. That was from Ophelia's parents' custody petition. The exact wording. Someone was broadcasting it on our secure frequency—a message meant specifically for me.
I tried switching channels, cycling through our backup frequencies. All jammed. All broadcasting the same voice reciting different sections of the petition.
My knuckles whitened around the handlebars as I pushed the Harley to its limits, weaving through traffic with reckless precision. The calculator in my brain ran the numbers, analyzed the pattern.
Armory breach.
Shop fire.
Communications jammed.
Each attack precisely targeted to consume club resources, divide our attention. And now the custody petition being broadcast on our secure channels—a message that they knew exactly who we were, what we were doing, and what mattered most to me.
This wasn't about club assets at all. This was about drawing me away from the safehouse.
I hit the speed dial for Ophelia's secure phone. No connection. Tried the safehouse landline. Dead.
Fear—an emotion I'd trained myself to channel rather than submit to—crystallized into cold rage. I'd left her with Socket and Pierce, with security systems and protocols. But if they'd penetrated our communications, compromised our secure channels...
The traffic light ahead turned red. I blew through it, ignoring the squeal of brakes and blaring horns. The safehouse was eight minutes away at normal speeds. I'd make it in four.
My brain continued its brutal calculation as I rode.
The Weathers family had money, connections, but not this level of tactical precision.
Their Aegis security team were ex-military, but infiltrating encrypted club communications required different skills.
Someone had provided them with inside information.
Someone who knew our protocols, our fallback positions, our security measures.
A name formed in my mind, along with a face I'd trusted for fifteen years. The only person besides me who had access to all our security codes. The only one who'd opposed my challenge to Mustang's leadership from the beginning.
The rage building inside me threatened to overwhelm my tactical thinking. I forced it down, channeling it into razor-sharp focus. Confirmation could wait. Ophelia and Dante couldn't.
I tried calling Socket one more time as I cut through a gas station parking lot to avoid backed-up traffic. Nothing. Tried Pierce. Dead air. Every instinct screamed that the safehouse had been compromised, that the elaborate security I'd established had been turned against us.
A single text managed to get through—from a number I didn't recognize: "Parents never showed at Bellini's. Decoy reservation."
Of course. They'd never planned to meet at the restaurant. That had been misdirection, getting us to focus our resources on the wrong location while they moved on the safehouse directly.
I was still three minutes out when I caught sight of something that stopped my breath—emergency vehicles, lights flashing, parked half a block from the office building where I'd left my family. Smoke rose from what looked like the second floor—exactly where our safehouse was located.
I gunned the engine one last time, rage and fear fusing into something beyond emotion—a pure, driving force that narrowed the world to a single imperative: reach them.
Reach them, protect them, and then unleash hell on whoever had made the fatal miscalculation of threatening what was mine.
Ophelia
I crouched in the bathtub behind the curtain with Dante pressed against my chest, his small heart fluttering like a trapped bird against my ribs.
His body was warm, too warm, from the fear and adrenaline coursing through both of us.
Outside the locked door, footsteps moved methodically through the house—careful, deliberate steps of someone who knew exactly what they were doing.
Not Razor. Not Socket. Not any of our protectors.
I covered Dante's mouth with my hand, feeling his breath warm against my palm as I reached for my phone with my free hand, praying the security app would still work.
The screen illuminated with a blue glow that felt too bright in the darkened bathroom.
I angled it away from the door, shielding the light with my body as I tapped the security icon.
The app loaded agonizingly slowly, each passing second marked by another deliberate footstep coming closer.
Finally, the perimeter cameras appeared on my screen, and my stomach dropped.
A black SUV with the Aegis Security logo partially obscured by mud was parked at the end of the driveway.
The sight of it sent ice through my veins.
My parents' preferred contractors—the ones they called when they needed problems "handled discreetly.
" I swiped to the rear entrance camera, catching a glimpse of a man in tactical gear approaching the back door.
He moved with military precision, weapon drawn but held low against his thigh—professional, experienced, dangerous.
"Mommy?" Dante whispered against my palm, his voice muffled but his fear palpable.
"Shh, baby," I breathed against his hair. "Remember our hiding game? Stay absolutely quiet."
His tiny nod against my chest nearly broke me. Four years old and already trained to hide from danger. With Tyler, it had been rage and fists. Now it was hired professionals with guns. Different threat, same fear.
I scanned the bathroom, mind racing through our options.
The window was too small even for Dante, barred as an extra security measure that now felt like a trap.
The emergency exit route Razor had shown me required crossing the exposed hallway—impossible with the intruder between us and freedom.
We were cornered, and I had maybe minutes before they found us.
A strange calm settled over me as I assessed our resources: toilet tank lid (heavy, potential weapon), shower curtain rod (metal, removable), toiletry bottles (projectiles, distractions), towels (binding, gagging), and most importantly, the element of surprise.
They wouldn't expect resistance from a frightened mother—an advantage I intended to use.
"Dante," I whispered, setting him down on the tile floor. "I need you to be the bravest boy in the world right now."
His eyes, so much like my own, were wide but dry. No tears. My brave boy.
"We're going to play the very best hiding game," I continued, keeping my voice steady.
"You're going to keep hiding in the bathtub, behind the shower curtain.
No matter what you hear, no matter what happens, you stay hidden until I come get you.
Or until Razor comes. Or Socket. Remember what they look like? "
He nodded solemnly. "Razor has the special vest. Socket has the computer tattoo on his arm."
"That's right, my smart boy." I kissed his forehead, trying to keep my lips from trembling. "If anyone else tries to get you, you scream as loud as you can. Understand?"
Another nod. I helped him into the bathtub, arranging towels to cushion him and minimize noise.
As I pulled the shower curtain closed, hiding him from view, I felt something shift inside me—a hardening, a crystallization of purpose.
The fear didn't disappear, but it transformed into something useful, something focused.
Working quickly, I removed the longer towel rack and attached it to the door handle, wedging the other end against the counter. Not a permanent barrier, but it would buy precious seconds. The toilet tank lid I placed within easy reach, hefting it once to confirm I could swing it if necessary.
I checked my phone again, sending an emergency signal to Razor's team—my location and a single word: "HELP.
" I silenced the device and tucked it into my bra, where it pressed uncomfortably against my skin but remained accessible.
Then I positioned myself beside the door, back against the wall, where I would be hidden when it opened.
The footsteps stopped outside our door. I held my breath, counting heartbeats that seemed to echo in the small space. One. Two. Three. The doorknob rattled—a testing movement, not yet forceful.
"Ophelia Weathers?" A man's voice, professionally neutral. "This is Aegis Security. We've been hired by your parents to escort you and your son to safety. Please open the door."
I remained silent, my fingers tightening around the edge of the toilet tank lid. Safety. As if anything involving my parents had ever meant safety for me or Dante.
"Mrs. Weathers, we don't want to frighten your son. Please come out voluntarily."
The false concern in his voice made anger flare hot in my chest, burning away the last traces of the frightened woman I'd been with Tyler. That woman would have opened the door, would have surrendered to avoid conflict. That woman was gone.
"I have authorization to use necessary force," he continued, his tone hardening slightly. "Don't make this difficult."
The doorknob turned again, more forcefully this time, rattling against the makeshift barricade I'd created.
I widened my stance, balancing my weight evenly as Razor had taught me.
Behind the shower curtain, Dante remained perfectly silent—my brave, perfect boy who deserved better than to live in fear.
I thought of Razor, of the life we'd started building together. Of his brothers who had become my protectors. Of my own brother who had mobilized his entire club to keep us safe. I wasn't alone anymore, wasn't defenseless.
The door shuddered as a shoulder slammed against it, the shower rod bending but not yet giving way. Another hit would break through. I raised the tank lid higher, muscles tensing.
Terror fell away as determination took hold, maternal instinct overriding every fear.
This man might have training, might have weapons, might have been hired by the people who should have protected me but never did.
But he didn't have what I had—the absolute, unshakable certainty that nothing and no one would take my son from me again.
The door splintered inward, the shower rod clattering to the floor as the doorknob twisted and the door began to open.
Dante screamed and clung to me. A man yanked open the shower and snatched Dante from my arms. I cried out and tried to grab hold, but I missed.
Another man gripped my arm, hauling me out of the shower.
I watched, feeling helpless, as the man ahead of us carried Dante away from me with long strides.
When we made it outside, I knew I had a choice to make.
I could stay with Dante, or I could make a run for it.
Everything in me screamed to stay with my boy, and I knew I couldn’t leave him behind.
I waited until the perfect moment, then I kicked the man dragging me along, threw a punch that glanced off his jaw, and I ran for Dante.
The guy holding him lashed out, kicking me in the stomach.
The breath left me in a whoosh, and I collapsed on the ground, gasping and wheezing for air.
“Stupid bitch.” The man I’d escaped from caught up and leaned down to glare at me. Without another word, he punched me in the face, and everything went dark.
I didn’t know how much time had passed, but when I came to, Dante and the men were gone… and I’d been left alone on the ground. I didn’t know why they’d taken my son and left me behind. I’d thought they wanted both of us.
Where are you, Dante? Mommy will get you back no matter what!
But first, I needed to find Razor.