Chapter 9 - Reaper
I feel the change happen the moment Ghost delivers the news.
One second I'm Jackson—a man making promises to a woman who's awakened something in me I thought long dead. The next, I'm Reaper—President of the Outlaw Order MC, the man enemies pray they never meet.
And I'm fucking furious.
How dare these biker bastards not only interrupt my time with Evelyn but have the audacity to attack my clubhouse? My territory? My people?
"Status," I bark at Ghost as we stride down the hallway toward the main room.
"Fifteen, maybe twenty hostiles. Four vehicles. Heavy weapons." Ghost's report is crisp, efficient.
"Prospects?"
"Armed and on the roof. Ace has the north side covered. Viper and Blade are setting up in the main room."
I nod, mentally cataloging our strengths, our positions, our arsenal. Fifteen to twenty Vultures MC against six Outlaw Order and three prospects. They should have brought more men.
The main room has transformed in the minutes since the alarm sounded. Furniture overturned to create barriers. Weapons distributed. Brothers in position.
"They're here for Naomi. For revenge," Blade says as I enter, checking the magazine on his rifle. "For Evelyn."
"They're not getting shit," I snarl. "Except a funeral."
I move to the security monitors, assessing the approaching threat. Four vehicles. Two SUVs, a van, and what looks like an armored truck. They're not being subtle. This isn't a stealth operation; it's a show of force.
Good. Let them come loud. Let them come bold. Let them come stupid.
"Ghost, you and Ace take the east entrance. Blade, you and Viper cover the main doors. I'll take the roof with the prospects." I check my weapons one last time. "No one gets in. No one. And if possible, I want the leader alive. I have questions."
My brothers nod, moving to their positions without question or hesitation. This is what makes us formidable—absolute trust, absolute loyalty, absolute certainty in each other's capabilities.
"They're stopping just outside the gate," Ghost calls from his position. "Looks like they're preparing to breach."
I climb the stairs to the roof, where two prospects are positioned with rifles. Both former military, both eager to earn their full patches.
"Remember your training," I tell them as I take position behind the low wall that circles the roof. "Controlled bursts. Aim for center mass. Don't waste ammo showing off."
"Yes, sir," they answer in unison, eyes focused on the approaching threat.
The Vultures MC don't waste time with negotiations. The armored truck accelerates suddenly, ramming through our front gate with a screech of tearing metal. The other vehicles follow, fanning out in the courtyard as men pour out, weapons raised.
"Wait for my signal," I order over the comm. "Let them get comfortable."
The Vultures MC advance with a confidence that tells me they've underestimated us. They expect to walk in, take what they want, and leave. They have no idea what they've walked into.
A man steps from the second SUV—tall, with a shaved head and an expensive suit despite the tactical situation. He barks orders, gesturing toward the clubhouse. This is their leader. The one I want.
"On my mark," I say quietly into the comm. "Three. Two. One. Fire."
The first shots come from the roof—precise, controlled bursts that drop two Vultures MC immediately. The courtyard erupts into chaos as my brothers open fire from their positions. The Vultures MC scramble for cover, returning fire with more enthusiasm than accuracy.
I sight down my rifle, tracking the leader as he ducks behind an SUV. Patient. Waiting. There—he moves to direct his men, exposing himself for just a second.
I squeeze the trigger. The bullet catches him in the shoulder, spinning him around but not dropping him. Wounded, not dead. Perfect.
"Moving to flank," Ghost reports over the comm. "Three hostiles down on east side."
"Two more here," Blade confirms. "They're trying to circle around back."
"Cover the rear," I order the prospects. "I'm going down."
I move quickly, taking the stairs three at a time. The clubhouse echoes with gunfire, the smell of cordite thick in the air. This is familiar territory for me. The chaos of battle, the clarity of purpose, the absence of doubt.
I emerge into the main room just as the front doors burst open. Three Vultures MC charge in, firing wildly. I drop to one knee, squeezing off two precise shots. Two men fall. The third dives behind the bar.
Blade appears from the side hallway, moving with the silent efficiency that earned him his road name. The enemy never sees him coming. There's a flash of steel, a gurgling sound, and then silence.
"Clear," Blade announces, wiping his blade on the dead man's shirt.
Outside, the gunfire intensifies. I move to the window, assessing the situation. At least eight Vultures MC are down, but the others have regrouped behind their vehicles, maintaining a steady barrage.
"They're better trained than the usual thugs," Ghost observes, appearing at my side.
"Ex-military, some of them," I agree. "But not as good as us."
I tap my comm. "Ace, status?"
"Two trying to flank through the garage," comes the immediate response. "Won't be trying much of anything anymore."
"Viper?"
"Three down by the east fence. One wounded, talking a lot of shit."
I smile grimly. "Keep him alive if you can. We need information."
The leader emerges from behind the SUV, shouting orders, trying to rally his remaining men. His left arm hangs useless at his side where my bullet found him, but he's still dangerous, still in command.
"I want him," I tell Ghost. "Cover me."
Ghost nods, moving to position by the shattered front window. "On your go."
I count to three, then burst through the front door as Ghost lays down suppressing fire. The Vultures MC scatter, diving for cover, momentarily distracted from my charge across the courtyard.
The leader sees me coming too late. I tackle him to the ground, driving the air from his lungs. His good arm comes up, a pistol gleaming in the sunlight. I catch his wrist, slamming it against the ground until the gun falls from his grasp.
"Call them off," I growl, pressing my forearm against his throat. "Now."
He spits in my face, eyes blazing with hatred. "Fuck you."
I increase the pressure on his windpipe. "Last chance."
For a moment, I think he'll comply. Then his free hand moves to his waist—reaching for a hidden weapon. I react instinctively, driving my knife up under his ribcage.
His eyes widen in shock, then understanding. He knows he's dying.
"You think... this ends here?" he gasps, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth. "Charles is coming... for all of you. Your club... your families..."
The threat against my family—against Emma—ignites something primal in me. I twist the knife, watching the light fade from his eyes.
"Tell Charles I'll be waiting," I whisper as his body goes slack.
The remaining Vultures MC, seeing their leader fall, begin a disorganized retreat. Some make it to the vehicles. Others don't. Within minutes, the courtyard falls silent except for the moans of the wounded.
I stand, surveying the carnage. At least twelve Vultures MC dead. On our side, minor injuries—a graze on Ace's arm, a cut on Viper's forehead, one prospect with a bullet through the meat of his thigh.
Nothing that won't heal.
"Secure the perimeter," I order, wiping my blade clean. "Check the wounded. Gather the prisoners in the shed."
My brothers move quickly, securing weapons, checking bodies, dragging prisoners away for questioning. I stand motionless in the center of it all, the final threat echoing in my mind.
Your families.
Emma.
I pull out my phone, dialing her number with bloody fingers. It rings four times before she answers.
"Dad?" Her voice is cautious, guarded. "It's kind of late for a social call."
"I need you to come to Pine Haven," I say without preamble. "Now."
"What? No. I have finals in two weeks. Whatever MC drama you've got going on—"
"Emma." I rarely use my "president" voice with her, but I do now. "This isn't a request. It's not safe for you to be alone right now."
Silence on the line. Then, "What did you do?"
The accusation stings, but I don't have time for hurt feelings. "Protected innocent people from the bad guy. They didn't appreciate it."
"And now they're after me?" Her voice rises. "Great. Thanks for that."
"I didn't start this fight," I tell her, fighting to keep my voice level. "But I will finish it. Until then, I need you safe. Here, where I can protect you."
"I don't want to be in Pine Haven. I don't want to be anywhere near the club."
"I know." I run a hand over my face, leaving a smear of someone else's blood on my forehead. "But if you stay at university, you put everyone around you in danger too. Your roommate. Your friends. Anyone close to you."
That argument lands. Emma has always cared more about others than herself—a trait she got from her mother, certainly not from me.
"Fine," she says after a long pause. "But I'm staying at a hotel, not the clubhouse."
"Not an option. The clubhouse is the most secure location. You'll have your own space, away from club business."
Another silence, longer this time. "How long?"
"A few days. A week at most. Until we resolve this situation."
"Dad—"
"Please, Emma." I rarely beg. Never, in fact. But for my daughter, I would do anything. "Please just do this one thing."
She sighs, and I can picture her expression. The same stubborn set to her jaw she's had since childhood. "I'll leave in the morning. Should get there by early afternoon."
"Thank you." Relief floods through me. "I'm sorry about your finals. I'll talk to your professors if needed."
"I can handle my own professors," she snaps. Then, softer: "Just... be careful, okay?"
"Always am." The standard response, though we both know it's not entirely true.
After hanging up, I find Blade standing nearby, having caught the end of the conversation.
"Emma coming?" he asks.
I nod. "Tomorrow. She's not happy about it."
"She's a lot like you," Blade observes with a hint of a smile.
"Unfortunately, I know." I sigh, surveying the courtyard with its dead bodies and bullet-riddled vehicles. "Get this cleaned up before she arrives. And prepare the guest room in the east wing—as far from club business as possible."
"On it, boss." Blade hesitates. "What about their threats? Charles coming for us?"
"Let him come." I check my weapon, reloading. "We'll be ready."
As if on cue, the heavy metal door of the safe room opens. Wilder emerges first, shotgun still at the ready, scanning for threats before allowing Evelyn to follow.
She steps out cautiously, her eyes widening as she takes in the aftermath of the battle. For a moment, I worry that this—the violence, the bodies, the blood on my hands—will be too much. That she'll see the monster I truly am and run.
Instead, she rushes toward me, crossing the debris-strewn courtyard without hesitation. Before I can react, she throws her arms around me, hugging me tightly in front of everyone.
My brothers freeze, clearly surprised by this display. No one says anything, but their expressions speak volumes. In our world, such vulnerability is rarely shown, especially not toward the president.
I place my hand on her head, gently stroking her hair.
"I promised to keep you safe," I remind her, my voice low. "My promises mean something."
She looks up at me, those green eyes shining. "You promised me a future," she adds, not caring who hears.
"And I'll give you just that," I assure her, surprising myself with how much I mean it.
Over her head, I meet Ghost's eyes. He gives me a subtle nod of approval. The others return to their tasks, allowing us this moment of privacy in the midst of chaos.
"Come," I tell her, guiding her toward the clubhouse. "There's much to do, and we have a guest arriving tomorrow."
"A guest?" She falls into step beside me, her hand finding mine as if it belongs there.
"My daughter, Emma." I squeeze her fingers gently. "It's time you two met."
The thought of introducing Evelyn to my daughter—of bringing these two separate parts of my life together—should terrify me. Instead, it feels right. Necessary, even.
Whatever storm is coming, whatever Charles throws at us next, we'll face it together. All of us. My club. My daughter.
And the woman who somehow cracked open the armor around my heart when I least expected it.