Chloe
"I will," he finally said, "just not yet."
Bowie barked out a humorless laugh. "Oh, hell no. You don't get to walk into my clubhouse, tell me my family's being hunted, then decide what information I get."
"I know,” Vengeance grumbled.
"You know?" Bowie snapped. "Then start talking."
Vengeance's shoulders tensed. "If I tell you everything right now, you'll stop listening to what I have to tell you."
"We already stopped listening," one of the older Bastards muttered. A couple of the men chuckled, but Chloe didn't. She couldn't shake the feeling that whatever Vengeance was hiding wasn't about the Syndicate—it was about him.
"You know something about me," she said quietly. His gaze snapped back to hers. "I can see it all over your face."
"I know enough,” he said.
"Like what?" she asked.
His lips pressed together. "You were kidnapped when you were eight." The room fell completely silent, and every Bastard in the clubhouse stiffened. Bowie's expression became murderous.
"How the fuck do you know that?" Bowie growled.
Chloe's stomach twisted violently because almost no one outside their family knew the details.
The club never talked about it. Her parents never talked about it.
Hell, she barely talked about it in therapy.
She still woke up sweating from nightmares she couldn't fully remember.
"I have my sources," Vengeance answered.
"That's not a good enough answer," Bowie said.
"No," he admitted. "I guess it’s not.”
Bowie took another step closer. "You got five seconds before I start breaking bones."
Vengeance didn't move. Chloe didn’t know many men who wouldn’t back down from her father when he looked this angry. "If that's what you need to do, then do it." The words surprised everyone—even Bowie hesitated. "I deserve worse than a few broken bones."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Chloe asked.
His eyes drifted toward Savage's kutte hanging behind the bar.
"Let's just say—" he said quietly, "That my family's responsible for a lot of pain.
" A strange feeling settled in Chloe's chest. It wasn’t recognition, exactly.
But it was something—she was sure of it.
Like hearing the first notes of a song she couldn't quite place.
"You weren't there," she said. He frowned at her. "When I was taken—you weren’t there.”
"You don't know that,” he said.
"No." She shook her head slowly. "I would've remembered you."
Pain flashed across his face so quickly she almost missed it. “I’m betting that you remember enough about it."
"I remember monsters." It felt as though no one in the room took a breath. Vengeance looked like someone had punched him square in the chest.
"You should." His voice had gone rough. “Because they were monsters."
Bowie folded his arms over his chest. "You're saying you were one of them?"
"No,” he breathed.
"Are you saying you weren't?" The room fell silent, and Chloe felt her heartbeat pounding harder. Why wouldn't he answer? If he wasn't involved, he'd just say so—right?
Vengeance finally spoke. "I've spent most of my adult life trying to make sure I'm nothing like the people who raised me." Goosebumps raced across her arms as a sick feeling settled in her stomach. It was like he was dancing around something enormous.
"You keep talking in circles," she whispered.
"Because the truth is complicated,” Vengeance insisted.
"No," Bowie said. "The truth usually isn't."
Vengeance laughed, but he didn’t sound amused. "It is when your last name gets people killed."
The words hit Chloe. What did he mean by his last name getting people killed? She tried to remember if he’d given her his last name and realized they still only knew him as Vengeance. She knew nothing about him—not his family or his club.
"What is your last name?" she asked.
He hesitated long enough that Bowie seemed to notice. "Yeah," Bowie growled. "Let's start there."
Another long silence before he said, "I just go by Vengeance."
Bowie rolled his eyes. "Give her your full name, kid."
"I haven't used it in years,” he said.
"Why not?" Bowie asked. Chloe was pretty sure that her dad knew exactly why he wouldn’t tell her his full name, and he was fucking with him now. But if Vengeance was right, they didn’t have time for games.
"Because I hate the man who gave it to me,” Vengeance spat. Chloe watched every tiny movement on his face and noticed his tight jaw, exhausted eyes, and the way his fingers flexed against the edge of the bar like he wanted to hit something—or someone.
"What are you afraid of?" she asked softly.
His eyes found hers again. "I'm not afraid for me."
"Then who are you afraid for?” she asked.
"You,” he said simply. Her breath caught. "If you knew who I really am, you'd never believe another word I say."
Before anyone could respond, the unmistakable rumble of motorcycles echoed outside. It sounded like there were dozens of them, and every Royal Bastard in the room instinctively reached for a weapon as the clubhouse went deadly quiet.
A prospect sprinted through the front door, breathing hard. "Bowie!"
"What?" Bowie growled.
"There's a convoy pulling onto the property,” the prospect said.
Bowie's hand tightened around the grip of his pistol. "Whose colors?"
The kid shook his head. "They aren't wearing any." Every instinct Chloe possessed screamed that something was wrong. Vengeance stood so fast his stool crashed onto the floor behind him.
"Get everyone away from the windows,” Vengeance ordered.
Bowie glared at him. "The hell I will."
"You have five seconds,” Vengeance shouted. Something in his voice made even the toughest Bastards pause. It wasn't panic, but certainty. "They're early," he muttered. "They weren't supposed to make their move until tomorrow."
Chloe's blood ran cold. "You know them?" she asked.
"I know how they operate." He looked directly at her.
"When the shooting starts, don’t run outside.
" She stared back at him. The words barely left his mouth before the first explosion rocked the parking lot.
Glass shattered around them as the front windows blew inward.
The clubhouse erupted into chaos, and Vengeance lunged across the room—not toward the attackers, but toward Chloe.
He tackled her behind the heavy oak bar just as bullets ripped through the spot where she'd been standing.
The deafening gunfire drowned out every scream, and as Chloe lay beneath him, trying to catch her breath, only one thought echoed through her mind. Who are you?
Chloe hit the floor hard. The breath rushed from her lungs as Vengeance's body covered hers, shielding her from the shower of broken glass and splintered wood raining down behind the bar.
The deafening crack of gunfire echoed through Savage Hell, mixing with the roar of motorcycles outside and the shouts of Royal Bastards scrambling for cover.
For one terrifying second, she couldn't hear anything but the ringing in her ears before chaos crashed back in all at once.
"Get down!" Bowie shouted.
"Incoming!" a prospect yelled.
"They're on the east side!" The smell of gunpowder filled the air. Vengeance's forearm remained braced over her head, protecting her as another volley of bullets ripped through the bottles lining the back shelves. Glass exploded, showering whiskey over both of them.
"You hit?" he shouted.
"What?" she asked, not sure that she had heard him correctly.
"Are. You. Hit?" he asked again.
She shook her head frantically. "No." His shoulders sagged with visible relief before he rolled off her just enough to draw the pistol from the small of his back.
"Stay here,” he ordered.
"The hell I will,” Chloe shouted back.
He rolled his eyes at her. "This isn't a debate."
"My family's out there!" she said, nodding to the parking lot.
"They're exactly where they need to be, and you’re where you need to stay,” he said.
"You don't know that!"
"I know Bowie enough to know that he’ll protect them." That stopped her cold. She wanted to believe him—God, she wanted to, but the thought of losing her other dad scared the hell out of her.
Another explosion shook the building, and the lights flickered before emergency lighting bathed the clubhouse in an eerie red glow. Someone screamed, not in fear, but in pain.
"Dad!" Chloe shoved past Vengeance before he could stop her.
"Chloe!" he shouted, but she ignored him.
She crawled on her hands and knees behind the bar and peeked around the corner.
The clubhouse looked like a war zone. Tables had been overturned into makeshift barricades, and Royal Bastards crouched behind them, returning fire through shattered windows.
Smoke drifted through the room and near the front entrance.
One of the prospects clutched his shoulder while another member dragged him behind cover.
Bowie stood in the middle of it all—completely exposed. He fired two controlled shots through the doorway before ducking behind a support beam. "Dad!" she screamed.
His head whipped toward her. "What the fuck are you doing out here? You need to stay behind the bar."
"I'm helping!" Chloe said.
"The hell you are!" Bowie shouted. A bullet slammed into the beam inches from his face, but Bowie barely flinched. He fired back without hesitation.
Vengeance appeared beside her again. "I told you to stay down."
"I don't take orders from strangers,” she spat.
"So I’ve noticed," he muttered. She looked at him and realized that he wasn't even watching her anymore. His attention was fixed outside as he calculated his next move, like he'd seen attacks like this before.
"Three SUVs," he murmured to himself.
"What?" she asked.
"They're missing one,” he said.
Her stomach tightened. "What do you mean they're missing one?"
"They always run four, and there are only three SUVs,” Vengeance said. How did he know that? Before she could ask, he spun toward Bowie. "They're setting up a second breach!"
Bowie looked furious. "You seem awfully damn familiar with their tactics."
"I told you I know how they operate,” Vengeance shouted.
"You know too much,” Bowie said.
"No shit." The front doors suddenly burst inward, and three masked men stormed inside, firing automatic weapons.
Everything happened at once as the Royal Bastards opened fire.
The room erupted into a hail of bullets.
One of the attackers fell almost instantly.
Another disappeared behind an overturned pool table, and the third grabbed a flashbang from his vest.
Vengeance's eyes widened. "Down!" He threw himself over Chloe again just as the device detonated. A blinding flash swallowed the room. The explosion was followed by an ear-splitting bang that left Chloe completely disoriented. She couldn't see or hear, and everything spun around her.
Hands grabbed her—strong hands. She looked back and realized that they weren’t Vengeance's. Chloe screamed, or at least she thought she did, but she couldn’t hear anything.
A rough arm wrapped around her waist and yanked her backward.
She fought wildly, elbowing whoever had hold of her, and the man grunted as she stomped on his foot—hard.
His grip loosened just enough that she was able to twist free and stumble blindly into another body.
Large hands caught her shoulders. "Easy,” Vengeance breathed in her ear.
She recognized his voice even through the ringing.
"They're trying to take you!" She blinked until shapes slowly came back into focus.
One of the masked men had ignored everyone else.
He ignored the gunfight, ignored Bowie, and ignored the entire club.
He'd come straight for her. The realization hit like a freight train.
"They weren't just attacking the clubhouse," she whispered.
Vengeance's expression darkened. "I know."
"They came for me.” Another burst of gunfire echoed through the room.
The attacker who'd grabbed her was dead now, lying only a few feet away.
His mask had slipped during the fall. He couldn't have been older than twenty-five.
Chloe's eyes landed on the tattoo peeking above his collar—a black veil, wrapped around a skull.
It was the symbol from the photographs of the Black Veil Syndicate.
Vengeance crouched beside the body, his face hardened. He reached into the dead man's pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "What is it?" she asked.
His jaw clenched. "Nothing."
"Liar." He looked at her, and for the first time since they'd met, she saw fear—real fear.
"Give it to me,” she ordered.
"No,” he breathed.
"Why not?" she asked.
"Because once you read this, everything changes.” His voice was barely above a whisper. Before she could grab it from him, Bowie stormed over, blood running down one side of his face from a cut above his eyebrow.
He ripped the paper from Vengeance's hand. "What the hell's so important?"
Vengeance actually reached for it. "Bowie, don't—" Bowie unfolded the single sheet, and his face went completely still. Every ounce of color drained away.
"What is it?" Chloe demanded. He didn't answer. Instead, he slowly turned the paper toward her. Across the top was a recent photograph of Chloe, and beneath it, typed in bold black letters, were five words that made her blood run cold.
CAPTURE ALIVE. DO NOT DAMAGE.
And beneath those words was a signature. Just one name?—
Dante