Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
RJ
The farmhouse looms ahead of us, white paint peeling, windows dark.
Somewhere inside, Dalla is bleeding.
I've killed before.
Many times, in many places, for reasons both justified and questionable.
But I've never wanted to kill anyone as badly as I want to kill Solveig.
Not for money, not for duty, not for the Brotherhood.
For love.
For the woman who carries my child.
For the future this monster is threatening to destroy.
"Teams in position," Runes says through the radio, his voice tight with controlled fury.
Confirmations crackle back.
Twenty men, spread out around the property, ready to rain hell down on anyone who stands between us and Dalla.
I scan the farmhouse one more time.
Two stories. Multiple entry points. The intel says four guards plus Solveig.
Could be more. Could be traps. Could be anything.
Doesn't matter. I'm going through that door, and nothing short of death is going to stop me.
"On my mark," Runes says.
I check my rifle one last time. Safety off. Round chambered. Finger resting beside the trigger, not on it. Not yet.
"Three. Two. One. Go."
We move.
The front door splinters under the battering ram, wood and metal exploding inward.
I'm through the gap before the debris settles, rifle up, scanning for threats.
The entry hall is dim, wallpapered in some faded floral pattern, a coatrack by the door holding jackets that haven't been worn in years.
The smell hits me—dust and mildew and something metallic underneath.
Blood.
Movement to my left.
A guard, stepping out from behind a doorframe, bringing his weapon around.
Time slows. I see his finger tightening on the trigger, see his eyes widen as he realizes he's too slow.
I put two rounds in his chest before he can fire, and he drops like a puppet with cut strings.
The shots echo through the house, announcing our presence to everyone inside.
So much for stealth. Now it's time for action.
Behind me, club members pour through the breach, spreading out to clear the rooms.
I hear someone kick in a door, the boom of a shotgun, a scream cut short.
More gunfire erupts from somewhere deeper in the house.
The crack of rifles, the boom of shotguns, the shouts of men fighting and dying.
"Living room," Tor says beside me, his voice low and urgent. He's moving well for his age, his weapon up, his eyes sharp. "That's where she'll be. Freya always kept her prizes where she could see them. Liked to look at them. Admire her work."
The way he says it—flat, emotionless—tells me he's speaking from experience.
From memories he's spent decades trying to forget.
We move down the hallway, stepping over another body—one of Solveig's men, already down, his blood pooling on the worn hardwood floor.
A Raider nods at us from a doorway, his rifle smoking, and keeps clearing the room behind him.
The sounds of fighting echo through the house, but I tune them out.
There's only one thing that matters right now.
Getting to Dalla.
The living room door is closed.
Through the wood, I can hear voices—a woman's voice, cold and controlled.
Solveig.
And underneath it, barely audible, the sound of someone crying.
Soft, desperate sobs that tear at my heart.
Dalla.
I look at Runes.
His face is pale beneath his beard, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscles jumping.
His hands are white-knuckled on his rifle.
This is his daughter in there.
His little girl.
The child he's protected for twenty-seven years, now bleeding and bound and at the mercy of a madwoman.
But she's my woman. My family. My future. The mother of my child.
"I go first," I say quietly.
He doesn't argue.
I kick the door open and step through, rifle raised, ready to kill anyone who—
I freeze.
Dalla is in the center of the room, tied to a wooden chair.
Her face is bruised, her lip split and bleeding.
There are cuts on her stomach, visible through her torn shirt—shallow wounds that have soaked the fabric with blood.
And at her throat, pressed against the soft skin just below her jaw, is an ornate knife.
Solveig stands behind her, using Dalla as a shield.
Her dark eyes are bright with triumph, her lips curved in a smile that makes my blood run cold.
"Ah," she says. "The cavalry arrives. Right on schedule."
Two guards flank her, their rifles trained on the doorway.
I could take one of them, maybe both, but not before Solveig cuts Dalla's throat.
Not before she takes everything from me.
"Let her go." My voice comes out steady, but inside I'm screaming.
Inside, every instinct is howling at me to put a bullet between this woman's eyes and damn the consequences.
"I don't think so." Solveig presses the knife harder, and Dalla whimpers as a thin line of blood appears on her neck. Fresh blood, joining the dried trails already staining her skin. "Put down your weapons. All of you."
Runes steps through the door behind me, his rifle raised.
When he sees Dalla—his daughter, bleeding and bound—something breaks in his expression.
For just a moment, the MC president disappears, and all that's left is a father watching his child suffer.
"Solveig," he says, and his voice is raw. "This is between us. Let her go."
"Between us?" She laughs, and it's an ugly sound.
"No, Runes. This stopped being between us the moment you slit my mother's throat and left me to find her body.
This became about everyone you love. Everything you care about.
" The knife traces a line down Dalla's jaw.
"Starting with your precious princess here. "
"I'll give you whatever you want. Money. Territory. My life. Just let her go."
"I don't want your money. I don't want your territory." Solveig's eyes burn with thirty years of hatred. "I want you to watch her die. I want you to know that everything you built, everything you love, ends today. And then I want you to live with that for the rest of your miserable life."
More club members file into the room behind us, spreading out along the walls.
The guards shift nervously, outnumbered and outgunned.
But Solveig doesn't seem concerned.
She has the only leverage that matters.
"Quite the army you've assembled," Solveig says, looking around at the men filling her living room. "All for one girl. She must be very special."
"She's my daughter," Runes growls. "She's worth more than your entire miserable existence."
"Touching. Really." Solveig's voice drips with mockery. "The devoted father, riding to the rescue. Tell me, Runes—were you this devoted to your club thirty years ago? When you murdered my mother and left a six-year-old girl to find her body?"
"Your mother was a monster."
"My mother was all I had!" The mask slips, just for a moment.
Raw pain flashes across Solveig's face before the ice returns. "And you took her from me. You didn't think about what would happen to me. You didn't care."
"I didn't know about you."
"Would it have mattered if you did?" She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "You would have killed her anyway. Because that's what men like you do. You destroy things. You break them. And then you walk away and pretend you're the hero."
"You know what the best part is?" Solveig continues, her voice almost conversational.
"I was just going to kill her. Quick and clean, a life for a life.
Poetic justice." She pauses, letting the moment stretch.
"But then I found out something interesting.
Something that makes this so much better than I ever imagined. "
My stomach drops.
I know what's coming.
Found out in that gap between buildings, holding a plastic stick with two pink lines.
"Your daughter isn't just your daughter anymore, Runes." Solveig's smile widens, cruel and triumphant. "She's carrying your grandchild. A whole new generation of your bloodline, growing inside her right now."
The knife moves from Dalla's throat to her stomach, pressing against the bloody fabric. "I'm not just going to kill her. I'm going to cut this baby out of her while you watch. I'm going to end your entire line in one beautiful, bloody moment."
Dalla sobs, straining against her bonds. "Please—"
"Shut up." Solveig yanks her head back by the hair. "You don't get to speak. You're just the vessel. The instrument of your father's punishment."
The rage that floods through me is unlike anything I've ever felt.
Hot and cold at the same time, so intense it makes my vision blur.
This woman is threatening my child. My baby. The future Dalla was going to tell me about tonight.
I'm going to kill her.
I'm going to put a bullet in her brain and watch the light leave her eyes.
But I can't.
Not yet. Not while she has that knife against Dalla's skin.
"You don't have to do this," Runes says, and I can hear him fighting to keep his voice calm. Negotiating. Buying time. "What happened to your mother—I'm sorry. I am. But she was hurting people. Children. I did what I had to do."
"You did what you wanted to do." Solveig's voice cracks, just for a moment. "You killed her and you walked away. You didn't think about me. You didn't think about what would happen to her daughter. You just... left."
"I didn't know about you. If I had—"
"You would have what? Taken me in? Raised me as your own?" She laughs bitterly. "Please. You're a murderer, Runes. Just like my mother was. The only difference is you pretend to be righteous about it."
Movement at the edge of my vision.
Tor, sliding along the wall, positioning himself at an angle.
He's in his early-forties, but his eyes are sharp, his movements deliberate.
He's seen something. Planning something.
I need to keep Solveig talking.
Keep her focused on Runes, on her revenge, on anything except the threat materializing at her flank.
"Your mother was a monster," I say, drawing her attention to me. "She trafficked women. Children. She destroyed lives for profit. Whatever happened to you after—that's tragic. But it doesn't justify this."
Solveig's eyes snap to me, blazing with fury. "Who the fuck are you?"