Chapter 5 #2
A long-term operation. Years of intelligence gathering, positioning, waiting for the right moment to strike.
And Helle—Helle was one of their intelligence sources.
Unknowingly, but still.
No wonder the guilt is eating her alive.
"This is good," Runes says. "This gives us patterns, connections. We can work with this."
"There's more," Elfe speaks up for the first time. "After Andrés disappeared—after he stopped showing up to class, stopped contacting Helle—Los Coyotes assumed the Raiders of Valhalla killed him. That's why they came for Dad. They think it was retaliation."
"Was it?" Damon asks bluntly.
"No," Runes says firmly. “We never touched him."
Helle's face does something complicated.
I file that away. Something's not adding up.
"So, Los Coyotes are torturing Ivar for a murder we didn't commit," Fenrir says. "And they'll keep doing it until someone takes the fall."
"Then we give them someone," Damon says coldly. "Find whoever did kill Andrés, hand them over. Problem solved."
"We don't know who killed him," Runes says. "Could've been anyone. Rival cartel, personal grudge, random act of violence. Houston's a big city."
Wait.
Houston?
I look at Helle. She's gone pale.
"The body was found in Houston," Elfe says. "Two years ago. Shot three times—twice in the chest, once in the head. Execution style. No witnesses, no leads."
Two years ago.
Helle's been in Texas for three years.
The math is right there.
And the way she's sitting—perfectly still, barely breathing, like if she moves she'll shatter—tells me everything I need to know.
She didn't just date Andrés.
She killed him.
Holy fuck.
"We need to focus on getting Ivar back," Starla says, her voice breaking slightly. "Whatever it takes. I don't care about revenge or justice or any of it. I just want my husband back alive."
"We all do," Runes says gently. "And we will. But we need a plan. We need to know where he is, how to extract him, how to do it without starting a war that gets us all killed."
"I can help with that," Damon says. "We have contacts in the DEA. They've been tracking Los Coyotes operations for years. I can get us intel—locations, personnel, everything."
"Do it," Runes says. "Fenrir, coordinate with Damon. Bravos—" He looks at me. "Phantom authorized you to commit Shotgun Saints resources?"
"Whatever you need," I say. "Men, weapons, money. We're in this together."
"Good." Runes stands. "We will reconvene tomorrow morning. Same time. By then we should have new intel. Until then, everyone stays alert. Los Coyotes know we're meeting. They might make a move."
The meeting breaks up.
People file out, talking in low voices, already planning and strategizing.
Helle moves toward the door fast, like she can't get out of here quick enough.
I follow.
I catch her in the hallway. Semi-private, but members are still moving around. Close enough to hear if voices are raised.
"Hell," I say.
She stops. Doesn't turn around.
"That's not my name."
"No? Then what is? Helle? Ivar's daughter?" I move closer, keeping my voice low. "Raiders of Valhalla royalty?"
She turns then, and her eyes are blazing.
"What do you want, Bravos? An apology? Congratulations on fucking the Road Captain's daughter without knowing it?"
"I want to know why you didn't tell me."
"Why would I? You think I walk around introducing myself with my pedigree?" She laughs bitterly. "Hi, I'm Helle, I betrayed my family, and got my father tortured. Want to get a drink?"
Several people glance over at her raised voice.
I step closer, lowering my voice even more. "Keep it down."
"Don't tell me what to do."
"Never took you as the kind of woman to sleep with the enemy," I say.
It's the wrong thing to say.
I know it the second the words leave my mouth.
Her hand comes up fast—I could block it, but I don't—and the slap cracks across my face hard enough to snap my head to the side.
The hallway goes quiet.
Everyone's watching now.
"I didn't know Andrés," she says, voice shaking with rage.
"I knew Andrew. From sociology class. A boy who said he loved me.
Who used me. Who destroyed everything." She steps closer, getting in my face despite the fact that I'm a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier.
"And you're not my enemy. You're just another Nomad passing through.
Just another man who'll fuck me and leave.
So, don't you dare stand there and judge me for sins you know nothing about. "
She turns and walks away.
I stand there, cheek stinging, aware of every set of eyes on me.
Fenrir appears at my elbow. "Want to tell me what that was about?"
"Misunderstanding," I say.
"Uh-huh." He doesn't look convinced. "Bravos, I don't know what happened between you two, and I don't care. But Helle's been through hell—literally and figuratively. She doesn't need more shit from visiting club representatives. Clear?"
"Crystal."
"Good." He walks away.
I head back to my room, face still stinging, mind racing.
She killed Andrés.
I'd bet my life on it.
The way she reacted when they talked about Houston. The timeline. The guilt that's eating her alive.
She tracked down the man who used her and put three bullets in him.
And now Los Coyotes are torturing her father for a murder she committed.
That's why she came back.
Not just because her father's in danger, but because she knows she's the only one who can stop it.
By confessing.
By trading her life for his.
Fuck.
I'm in my room, trying to process everything, when shouting erupts from downstairs.
I'm on my feet instantly, weapon in hand, moving toward the sound.
The main room is chaos.
Members running, voices raised, someone crying.
In the center of it all, Starla stands holding a cardboard box.
Her face is bone white.
She's screaming.
I push through the crowd as Rati—one of the Raiders of Valhalla I briefly met yesterday—rushes forward and slams the box shut.
"Get her out of here," he barks at Elfe. "Now."
Elfe wraps her arms around her mother, trying to guide her away, but Starla can't stop screaming.
"What is it?" Runes demands, striding into the room. "What happened?"
Rati looks at him. When he speaks, his voice is eerily calm.
"Someone dropped this at the gate. Said to deliver it to Starla." He pauses. "It's his hand. They sent us his fucking hand."
The room erupts.
Rage. Shouting. Members reaching for weapons, ready to ride out right now and burn Los Coyotes to the ground.
But all I see is Helle.
She's frozen in place near the stairs. Staring at the box like it's a bomb.
Her face has gone from pale to gray.
Then she runs.
Bolts for the door, moving fast, like if she stays one more second she'll break apart.
I watch her go.
Watch her flee from the consequences of what she did.
And I understand—maybe for the first time since the fire—what it feels like to carry guilt so heavy it crushes you.
To know you're responsible for someone's suffering.
To wish you could take it back but know you can't.
She killed Andrés to avenge what he did to her.
And that single act of revenge is destroying everyone she loves.
"We ride tonight," Runes is saying, his voice cutting through the chaos. "I don't care if we're ready or not. I don't care what it costs. We're getting Ivar back. Now."
"Agreed," Damon says.
"Shotgun Saints is in," I hear myself say. "Whatever you need."
Runes looks at me. "Then suit up. We leave in two hours."
I nod.
But my mind is already elsewhere.
On a blonde girl with dead eyes who's running again.
Who's been running for three years.
And who I suspect is about to do something incredibly stupid to save her father.
Even if it means sacrificing herself.