25. Callum
We headout in Thayer’s SUV toward the storage location, which houses all the illegal weapons we’ll need for this war with the Vipers.
My phone buzzes, and I answer immediately as it’s Vogue. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” she breathes out, and I can hear the strain in her voice. “Dad’s resting. He seems okay.”
I let out a sigh of relief because I know how much Aaron means to her now. “That’s good to hear, Vogue. You holding up?”
“I’m fucking pissed off, Callum. I want to be there with you guys, making them pay.”
Her spirit and fire never fail to impress me. It’s also what scares me the most.
“We got this, love,” I assure her, as we approach our destination. “I need you to look after Aaron; make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid like trying to join us.”
She laughs weakly. “No promises, but I’ll do my best. I threatened to tie him to the couch, and that seems to have calmed him down a bit.”
Chuckling, I say, “Good girl.”
We hang up and pull into the car park of the city storage facility. It’s an unassuming building nestled between rundown warehouses on the outskirts of town. We’ve used it for years, keeping it off the books and under constant surveillance. We make our way quickly to the site while Adam keeps watch. Harry punches in the code, and the heavy metal door rolls open with a groan.
Inside, we step into an armoury. Rows of shelving house everything from handguns to rifles to explosive devices we shouldn’t even know about, let alone possess.
Thayer cracks his knuckles. “Let’s not fuck around. The faster we do this, the faster we get back.”
Quentin moves with precision, selecting weapons and ammunition—his strategic mind already mapping out our assault. We all arm ourselves to the teeth.
As we load up, each of us falls into our own headspace—preparing for what’s to come.
Bloody, savage carnage. The Black Vipers will be wiped off the face of the earth, once and for all.
“Remember,” I say as we finish loading up, and the weight of the guns feels heavy in our hands, “it’s not just about revenge. It’s securing our future, protecting our family.”
We nod at each other, a silent pact forged in the grim understanding of what must be done.
Quentin glances at me, his eyes hard as steel. “They wanted war, instead we’ll give them hell.”
We pile back into the SUV with Adam deciding he’s driving, and that’s that. The atmosphere is thick with intent. I can feel my blood heating up, the adrenaline starting its slow burn through my veins. It’s not excitement, well, maybe a dash—it’s necessity. The Vipers crossed a line; they struck not only our girl but took down our boss.
Fuck. That.
“Who do these fuckers actually think they are?” I growl into the silence.
“The walking dead,” Quen replies.
He holds out his fist, and I bump mine against his in solidarity. “Too fucking right. Cunts.”
Adam grunts his approval at our bloodthirsty ways but says fuck all, which isn’t unusual. But then I get a bee in my fucking bonnet about the way he treated us not that long ago.
“And you,” I snarl, leaning in between the seats to growl in his ear. “You’re a fucking cunt as well.”
“Never said I wasn’t.”
“I stabbed you,” Quen states, also getting pissy. “And yet you’re walking around, teaching Vogue how to fight. What the fuck, man? You built of steel?”
Adam just sneers at us, and I sit back with a huff. “Yeah, well, make sure you’re as indestructible today.”
He grunts his response, and I roll my eyes at Quen while Harry snickers next to me before double-checking his weapon.
“Any particular way you want this done?” he asks.
“We make it count,” I reply coldly. “No mistakes. No mercy.”
The vehicle stops in an empty lot a few blocks from where we know the Vipers are holed up. It’s a derelict bar that’s seen better days—ironic end for those who won’t see another sunset.
We stare at it for a few seconds. “You sure this is the place?” I ask Harry.
He gives me a scathing glare.
“Okay, just checking before we go in and massacre its occupants.”
He snorts and nods. “Yeah, it’s the right place. Their money is here. Once this goes up in smoke, they’ll crawl out of their pits in droves at the secondary and tertiary locations. That’s when we hit them.”
“Do we have enough time to get to them all?” I ask, second-guessing the plan. “Maybe we need to split up?”
“No need. These assholes are fools,” Harry says, turning on the back seat to point out the back window at an old building that has seen better days. “Secondary location.” He turns the other way and gestures towards a newer-looking office block. “Tertiary. They’re a bit thick.”
Snorting, I nod. “Sorry for doubting you, man,” I say, punching him on the arm.
We exit the SUV in silence and make our way toward the bar with militant precision. We’re going in the same way we went into their club. All together, all guns blazing.
“Go time,” I murmur as Adam kicks the door down, even though the damn thing was probably unlocked at this hour. He has that raging beast look in his eye, and it fires me up even more. The Vipers won’t know what hit them.
We storm through the door, the sound of splintering wood a harsh prelude to the chaos we’re about to unleash. The first few Vipers barely have time to register surprise before we cut them down. No shouts, no warnings—just the deafening roar of gunfire and the thud of bodies hitting the floor.
Adam is a monster, his shotgun booming as he clears a path through the sea of enemies. I’m right behind him, pistol in one hand, knife in the other. Quentin and Harry flank us, their shots methodical and precise. Thayer’s somewhere in the back, I can hear his gun growl orders of death.
They had no time to prep for an assault; their guns are scattered, drinks still in hands. Fucking amateurs.
A Viper lunges at me from behind a broken table, but he might as well be moving through treacle. I drop him with a swift shot to the head before even blinking.
“I’m heading for the vault,” Thayer states as he strides past me. “Think they owe us a lil bit of compo.”
“More than a lil,” I shout at his retreating back.
Seconds later, a bang echoes around the bar, and I snicker as a couple of remaining Vipers fighting to their death, freeze. Thayer chose violence today, and I applaud him for it.
Moments later, he returns with bags of cash, which he throws to Harry and Quen. Adam takes care of the last Viper cowering behind the bar as Thayer pulls out two grenades. He hands one to me as the three other guys move out steadily.
“Bar go boom,” Thayer says, pulling the pin out with his teeth. “You ready?”
“Always,” I laugh and pull the pin. We chuck them together, and then we lunge for the door, diving out as the building explodes behind us. I come up in a roll, and I’m on my feet in seconds, heading for the next location.
Harry’s already there, gun poised like some dark angel of retribution. The second building is less of a fight, more of a slaughter. Adam and Thayer are on the tertiary location like flies on shit.
The Vipers are scattered, trying to grasp the reality crumbling around them. As we burst through the door, it’s clear they were expecting us to be licking our wounds, not bringing the fight to them.
Quen grins at me as we step over another body, his eyes wild with the thrill of the hunt. “Fucking pathetic,” he mutters, kicking a discarded pistol away from a twitching hand which he then chops off with his axe.
This isn’t a challenge—it’s a fucking statement.
The sound of sirens in the distance doesn’t even make us pause. Let them come—they won’t find anything but corpses and ashes. We’re shadows, flickering through violence and emerging untouched on the other side.
We clear room after room until we reach what looks to be an office—a shitty attempt at legitimacy in their pit of sin. I plant my boot on the door, and it swings open with a dramatic flair. Inside, we find their leader, or what passes for one—a greasy-haired rat with more fear in his eyes than sense in his head.
“You made a really stupid decision when you got up out of your pit today,” I inform him, pressing the gun to his forehead. “The Crowned Syndicate says bye-bye.”
With a swift motion that comes from years of practice, I pull the trigger. The sound is no more significant than popping bubble wrap, but the result is final. His body slumps to the ground like a sack of meat, and we’re already moving on.
Quen pulls a grenade out of his pants pocket and pulls the pin, his fist clamping down on the handle until we reach the door. We hear an explosion not far away and know the tertiary location is up in flames.
“Time to bounce,” Quen says, and as we stride through the back door, he tosses the grenade over his shoulder, and then we run, laughing like fucking lunatics as we pile into the car Adam has pulled up right outside. Our getaway is smooth as the police are pulling up all around us.
“Yes!” I shout, smacking the headrests in front of me, making Adam and Thayer protest vehemently. “Who messes with the Syndicate?”
“Dead men,” Thayer states.
“That’s right, my friend. Fucking dead men.”