Epilogue #5
"They'll send more. And they'll be looking for whoever made their boys disappear."
"Let them look." Forge's scarred hands curled into fists on the table. "We'll be waiting."
"That's not how we're playing this." Legion shook his head. "We're not sitting defensive while they pick off more veterans. We're going hunting."
He laid out the situation—Hannah's knowledge of patient patterns, the destroyed clinic, the need to protect her while they dismantled whatever operation was targeting their people.
Around the table, heads nodded. This was what they did.
What they'd always done, from the mountains of Afghanistan to the streets of Fayetteville.
"The woman." Ghost's voice cut through the planning. "She's at the compound now?"
"Guest quarters."
"And she's cooperating?"
Legion thought about Hannah—the fury in her eyes, the stubborn set of her jaw, the way she'd argued with him even standing in the ruins of everything she'd built. Cooperating wasn't exactly the word he'd use.
"She understands the situation."
Recon snorted. "That's not what I asked."
"She's under my protection." Legion's tone left no room for debate. "She stays at the compound until this is handled. Anyone has a problem with that, speak now."
Silence.
"Good." He looked around the table, meeting each brother's eyes.
"Ghost, I need everything you can find on pain clinics operating in the Fayetteville area.
Legal, illegal, anything that might be connected to pharmaceutical distribution.
Trooper, pull the files on every overdose death in the veteran community over the past year. I want patterns."
"And the muscle that's coming?" Forge asked. "Because they will come. Someone's going to want answers about their missing contractors."
"Let them come." Legion's voice went flat. "We'll give them the same answers we gave the last two."
The meeting continued—assignments handed out, resources allocated, the machinery of war grinding into motion. His brothers knew their jobs. They'd been doing this since long before the club existed, in uniforms instead of cuts.
When the last assignment was given, Legion stood. "One more thing. This operation—whatever it is—has been running for months. Maybe longer. They've gotten comfortable, gotten sloppy. That ends now."
"What's the endgame?" Static asked. "We shutting them down or sending a message?"
"Both." Legion's eyes swept the room. "Whoever's running this is going to learn what happens when you hunt in Black Ops territory. And when we find them—"
"When we find them," Forge finished, cracking his knuckles, "we're going to remind them why Special Forces doesn't play nice with drug dealers."
Murmurs of agreement around the table. Legion felt the familiar weight settling over him—command, responsibility, the knowledge that these men would follow him into any fight he led them toward.
"Church is closed. Get to work."
The brothers filed out, already pulling phones and making calls. Legion stayed at the table, staring at the photo of Hannah's destroyed clinic on his phone. Her black eye stared back at him, accusation and challenge wrapped in purple bruising.
He'd seen a lot of damaged things in his career.
Broken operators, shattered villages, the wreckage of wars that never officially happened.
But something about Hannah's defiance—the way she'd stood in the ruins of her life's work and still found the spine to argue with him—had gotten under his skin.
She wasn't just a civilian caught in crossfire.
She was his civilian now. His to protect. His to keep safe.
And whoever had put that bruise on her face was going to die screaming.
"You're taking point personally?"
Legion looked up. Recon stood in the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable. The warlord had known him longest—they'd served together before the club existed, back when they were both wearing green and pretending the things they did served a purpose larger than survival.
"Someone has to."
"Someone." Recon's eyebrow rose. "Not one of the brothers. You. The president. Running protection detail on a civilian PT."
"She's got intel we need."
"She's got something." The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. "Haven't seen you this wound up since... hell, I don't think I've ever seen you this wound up."
Legion stood, pushing back from the table. "She's under my protection. That's all that matters right now."
"If you say so."
"I do."
Recon studied him for a long moment, that flat operator's gaze that saw everything and gave nothing away.
Then he nodded once and turned to leave.
"Be careful, brother." His voice drifted back from the hallway. "Getting attached makes you sloppy. And these people have already proven they're willing to kill."
Legion didn't answer.
He was already heading for the guest quarters, where a stubborn woman with a black eye was probably plotting her escape.
She could plot all she wanted.
She wasn't going anywhere.