Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Bravos
The meeting feels different this time.
Just five men sitting around the table in the Raiders of Valhalla chapel with maps spread between us and the weight of what we're about to do pressing down like a physical thing.
Runes at the head of the table. Fenrir to his right.
Damon across from me, arms crossed, face unreadable.
And Vanir—the Raiders' tech guy—standing by a laptop connected to a projector.
"Gentlemen," Runes says. "Vanir's got something."
Vanir doesn't waste time with pleasantries.
Just pulls up satellite images on the screen.
"This is Los Coyotes' main operational hub," he says, pointer tracking across the image. "South of San Antonio. About thirty miles from Eagle Pass. Property's registered to a shell company, but financial records trace back to Sebastián Salazar."
The compound looks significant.
Main house, several outbuildings, what looks like a warehouse.
High fences, security cameras visible even from satellite view.
"How'd you find it?" Damon asks.
"Followed the money. Los Coyotes moves a lot of product, which means a lot of transactions.
Tracked shell companies, property purchases, utility bills.
" Vanir pulls up another screen—spreadsheets, data I can barely follow.
"Cross-referenced with cell phone data from known associates.
They're not as careful as they think they are. "
"How many men?" I ask.
"Thirty to forty at any given time. Could be more during high-traffic periods.
" Vanir clicks through more images. "They've got standard cartel security—armed guards, patrol rotations, probably some heavy weapons.
But they're comfortable. Been operating out of this location for two years without interference. "
"Because it's deep in Texas," Runes says. "Far from the border, far from obvious cartel territory. They think they're safe."
"They're fucking wrong," Damon says flatly.
Vanir continues his presentation.
Detailed breakdown of the compound layout, estimated security measures, best approaches for assault.
He’s thorough—I'll give him that.
"When?" Fenrir asks when Vanir finishes.
"One week," Runes says. "Gives us time to mobilize, coordinate, prepare. We hit them simultaneously—all three clubs. Cripple their operations before they know what's happening."
"Simultaneous means synchronized," I say. "Down to the minute. If one of us goes early, we tip them off."
"Agreed." Damon leans forward. "I've got contacts in the DEA. They'll look the other way for four hours. That's our window."
"Four hours to start and finish a war," Fenrir mutters.
"Four hours is plenty if we do it right." Runes looks at me. "This is Texas. Shotgun Saints territory. Your Prez should lead the main assault."
My stomach drops.
"Phantom? You want Phantom there?"
"It's his territory. His state. Makes sense he'd lead his men." Runes's jaw tightens. "Unless that's a problem."
The tension in the room spikes.
Everyone knows about the bad blood between Runes and Phantom. Twenty-year-old grudge that's never healed. Something about a deal gone wrong, trust betrayed, money or territory or both.
"It's not a problem," I say carefully. "But you two will have to work together. Put your shit aside."
"I can be professional," Runes says coldly.
"Can you?" Fenrir's voice is gentle but pointed. "Because this is bigger than old grudges. We need to trust each other or people die."
"I know what's at stake." Runes looks at me. "Call your Prez. Get him there with fifteen men when the time comes, minimum. Armed and ready. We coordinate the final plan when we arrive in Texas."
"When do you want to be in Texas?" Damon asks.
“One week.” Runes says. “We’ll have our main operations at Sharp Shooters Ranch and reconvene there.”
I make the call from outside.
Fuck, I need privacy for this.
Phantom answers on the third ring. "Bravos. Tell me you've got good news."
"Define good."
"Define bad."
I take a breath. "In a week the Raiders of Valhalla and some Reapers Rejects will be at the ranch."
Silence.
Long, dangerous silence.
"Are…" Phantom says slowly, "you telling me Runes is going to be on my fucking property?"
"Yes. This will end Los Coyotes once and for all. All three clubs, synchronized assault."
"And Runes agreed to this."
"Yes, but it's either work together or die separately."
More silence. I can hear him thinking, weighing options, calculating risks.
"How many men do I need to bring to this attack?" he asks finally.
"Fifteen. Maybe twenty. Armed for war."
"When?"
"One week from today. We hit them at dawn. Main compound south of San Antonio—Los Coyotes' operational hub."
"San Antonio." Phantom's voice shifts slightly. "That's our territory."
"Exactly. Which is why you should lead the main assault. It's your state. Your operation."
He's quiet for another moment. "And if Runes starts shit?"
"He won't. This is too important."
"For his sake, I hope you're right." Phantom sighs. "All right, they can come here. But Bravos—I'm doing this for the club. For you. Not for him."
"I know."
"I'll be there in two days. We'll finalize the plan then." He pauses. "And the girl? Is she going to be there?"
My chest tightens. "I don't know yet."
"But you want her safe. Away from the fighting."
"Yeah."
"Smart. Last thing we need is civilians caught in the crossfire." Another pause. "You care about her."
It's not a question.
"Yeah," I admit. "I do."
"Figured. You've been different since you got to Florida. Softer. Not a bad thing—just different." His voice gentles slightly. "But Bravos? Don't let that cloud your judgment. Men are going to die next week. We can't afford distractions."
"She's not a distraction."
"Then what is she?"
Everything, I think. But I don't say it out loud.
"She's—I don't know. Something I didn't know I was looking for."
Phantom's quiet for a moment. "You planning on staying a Nomad? Or is this girl going to change that?"
The question I've been avoiding.
"I don't know," I say honestly. "Haven't figured that part out yet."
"Well, figure it out soon. Because I need to know if I still have a Nomad or if I'm losing you to Florida."
"Texas," I correct. "She's in Texas."
"Mmm. Doesn't matter where she is. Question is where you're going to be." He sighs. "We'll talk about it after Los Coyotes is handled. For now, focus on surviving the next week."
"Yeah. Will do."
"See you in two days, brother."
He hangs up.
I stand there in the Florida heat, phone in my hand, wondering how everything got so complicated so fast.
A week ago, I was just a Nomad.
No attachments. No complications.
Now I'm negotiating alliances, planning wars, and falling for a girl who makes me want to stop running.
How the fuck did I get here?
I find Helle in the garage.
She's working on her Kawasaki, grease up to her elbows, tools scattered around her like she's performing surgery.
Her hair's pulled back in a messy ponytail, tank top smudged with oil, and she's so focused she doesn't hear me approach.
I watch her for a moment.
The way she moves around the bike with confidence and familiarity.
She knows every bolt, every system, every quirk.
This is who she is—mechanic, racer, fighter.
Someone who fixes broken things, including herself.
She's beautiful like this. Not performing for anyone. Just existing in her element.
"You going to stand there staring," she says without looking up, "or you going to help?"
I move closer. "What do you need?"
"Hand me that wrench. The 10mm."
I find it, pass it over. She takes it without looking, fits it to a bolt, and cranks hard.
"Runes and Damon are heading to Texas in a week," I say.
Her hands still. "Texas?"
"Sharp Shooter Ranch. Phantom's territory. We're staging the operation from there."
She sets the wrench down, wipes her hands on a rag, finally looks at me. "So, you're going back."
"Yeah. In a couple days. Need to get back, help Phantom prepare for when they arrive."
"And then what?"
"Then we finalize the plan. All three clubs coordinate the assault on Los Coyotes' compound." I lean against the workbench beside her. "Hit them hard enough they can't recover."
She studies my face, reading something there. "And you don't want me to come."
"Helle—"
"I can fight. You know I can. I've proved it."
"This isn't about whether you can." I move closer, take her greasy hands in mine. "It's about whether you should."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means—" I have to force the words out. "We haven't known each other long. Less than a week. But I can't—" My voice cracks. "I can't imagine anything happening to you."
Her expression softens. "Bravos—"
"I care about you. More than I've cared about anyone in eighteen years. And the thought of you walking into that compound, of you getting shot or hurt or killed—" I can't finish.
Can't even say the word.
She squeezes my hands. "I'm a good fighter."
"I know. But thirty to forty cartel soldiers with automatic weapons? That's not a bar fight. That's war. And people die in wars."
"People you care about die," she says quietly, understanding. "Like your family."
"Yeah. Like my family." I pull her closer. "I lost everyone once. I can't—I won't go through that again."
She's quiet for a long moment, studying my face.
"You're asking me to stay behind. To be safe."
"Yes. Please. Just this once, let me protect you."
Another long moment. I can see her wrestling with it—the fighter in her wants to go, needs to prove herself. But something else is winning. Something softer.
"Okay," she says finally.
I blink. "Okay?"
"I'll stay. I won't go to the attack." She reaches up, cups my face. "But not because you're telling me to. Because I'm choosing to. For you. Because I understand what you're asking and why."
Relief crashes through me so hard my knees almost give out.
I pull her into my arms, hold her tight. "Thank you. Thank you."
"But Bravos?" Her voice is muffled against my chest. "You better come back. You hear me? You better survive this."
"I will. I promise."
"Don't make promises you can't keep."
"I'm keeping this one."
We stand there in the garage surrounded by tools and motorcycle parts, holding each other like it's the only thing keeping us both upright.
Maybe it is.
The next two days pass too quickly.
Runes and his crew are preparing to ride out.
Damon's already left, heading back to Vegas to mobilize his people before meeting everyone in Texas.
The compound has that pre-war energy.
Tense. Electric. Everyone moving with purpose.
I spend my time helping coordinate logistics.
Making sure everyone knows the plan, the timeline, the rendezvous point.
And spending every night with Helle.
We don't talk about the attack.
Don't talk about the danger or the possibility that I might not come back.
Instead, we talk about after.
About Texas.
About what home looks like.
About racing—legal tracks she could compete on instead of underground circuits.
About a future that feels both impossible and inevitable.
"I've been thinking," she says one night, lying in my bed with her head on my chest. "About what I'll do when I get to Texas. When Dad's stable enough for me to leave."
"Yeah?"
"I can't go back to Cactus Jack's. That life—Bailey, the fake names, the hiding—I'm done with that."
"Good. You deserve better than that dive bar."
She's quiet for a moment. "What if I got a job at a real garage? Worked on bikes legitimately. Maybe saved up, eventually opened my own shop."
The way she says it—tentative, like she's testing the words—makes my chest tight.
"You'd be good at that," I say. "You're fucking talented with bikes."
"You think?"
"I know." I press a kiss to her hair. "And I'd help. However you needed."
"Even if it means you're around less? If you're working on building something with me instead of constantly on the road?"
"Yeah.."
She tilts her head up to look at me. "You'd really do that? Give up being a Nomad?"
"I don't know if I'd give it up completely. But maybe—maybe I could be a Nomad who has a home base. Who has someone to come back to." I cup her face. "Someone worth staying for."
Tears shine in her eyes. "I love you."
The words still hit like a physical blow every time she says them.
"I love you too."
We make love slowly, taking our time, memorizing each other.
Because tomorrow I leave.
Dawn comes too fast.
I wake before my alarm, Helle still asleep against me.
I watch her for a moment—blonde curls messy on the pillow, face peaceful, completely unaware that I'm about to leave.
I don't want to wake her.
But, I want to memorize this moment—this peace.
But I have to go.
"Helle," I whisper, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I have to leave."
She stirs, blinks awake.
For a second she's confused, then she remembers.
"Already?"
"Yeah."
She sits up, runs her hands through her hair. "Okay. Let me get dressed. I'm walking you out."
"You don't have to—"
"I'm walking you out."
She pulls on jeans and a Raiders hoodie, shoves her feet into boots.
We don't talk as we head downstairs, out to the parking lot where my bike is already packed and ready.
The sun is just starting to rise, painting everything gold and pink.
"Two weeks," I say, pulling her close. "That's all. Your dad should be stable by then. The doctor said he can go home in a week."
"Two weeks," she agrees, voice shaking.
"Then you come to Sharp. To me. We figure out what home looks like."
"Together?"
"Yeah. Together."
I cup her face, tilt it up so she's looking at me. "I love you."
"I love you too. Be safe. Come back to me."
"Always."
I kiss her—long and deep, pouring everything I can't say into it. All the fear and hope and love tangled together.
When I pull back, there are tears on her cheeks.
"Go," she says. "Before I change my mind and make you stay."
"Two weeks."
"Two weeks."
I climb on my bike, start the engine.
The rumble is familiar, grounding.
I look back once.
She's still standing there in the parking lot, arms wrapped around herself, blonde hair catching the sunrise, looking small and alone and everything I want to come back to.
Every mile feels wrong.
Like I'm leaving part of myself behind.
But I have responsibilities. A club. A war to prepare for.
So, I ride away from Florida, away from her.
The highway stretches west, and I follow it home.
To Texas.
To Sharp Shooter Ranch.
Where in less than a week, three rival clubs will gather on Phantom's land to plan the end of Los Coyotes.
And I'll be there, coordinating it all, while counting down the days until Helle comes back to me.
Two weeks.
Then we build that home.
Together.
I just have to survive the next week first.