Chapter Seven
TORQUE
Operation Darkfire Commence
When the call came through from Alpha about The Rojas Cartel and their plans to take over, my stomach caved.
I thought the days of mafia and our club dealing with this kind of shit were behind me.
Chicago finally has a good thing going here with Bianca and the Andretti Mafia, who run this town alongside us.
The fact that Bianca had no clue another Cartel moved into Chicago right under her nose…
… under our nose…
… says it all.
The Rojas Cartel is stealthy, and stealth means fucking dangerous.
So, when Alpha filled us in on everything they found out about these fuckers and the shit they’ve been dealing with, it was a no-brainer.
They have to go.
So, Chicago Defiance is in.
We’re all in, no matter the cost.
I’m older than the other presidents in this fight, which means I’ve lived longer, seen more action than any of them, and I have more to protect and to fight for. My bones may be rickety, I may be a little slower than these younger guys, but I’m not done fighting for Defiance just yet.
The static crackles through my earpiece at exactly 2:00 a.m., cutting through the industrial silence like a blade. Alpha’s voice comes through clear and commanding, that presidential authority I’ve learned to respect over the years, carrying across the airwaves.
He’s seen and lived through some shit, and I have to give him props for that.
“All stations, this is Team Leader. Operation Darkfire is a go. Repeat, Operation Darkfire is a go. All teams check in with your call signs and status.”
My heart pounds against my ribs as I key my radio, crouched behind a shipping container in the shadows of Chicago’s Industrial District. The massive warehouse complex looms ahead of us, lit by security flood lights that cast everything in harsh light and shadow, as if mimicking life and death.
The stark contrast looms over me like a warning.
Maybe a hint at what is to come.
Glancing at my brothers beside me, I nod my head, making sure they’re ready for what we’re about to do. They dip their heads in response, so I exhale, then talk into my radio. “C1, locked and loaded. We are a go.”
“Copy that, C1. H2, check in,” Alpha asks.
Six’s voice comes through next, steady and controlled. “H2 is in position. We are a go.”
“N3, sound off,” Alpha states down the line.
“N3 here. We’re ready to fuckin’ party,” Hurricane states down the line in his usual witty banter.
The signal crackles again. “T4, status report.”
“T4 is good to go. These coastal assholes won’t know what hit ’em,” Nycto replies.
“V5, what’s your twenty?” Alpha asks.
“V5 is ready to light up the night. We are a go,” Sin states.
“L6, final check. We’re all locked in and ready to go.
” Alpha’s voice carries a weight that settles in my chest. “All stations confirmed. Remember, no names over comms, code words only. We have someone here manning comms, so your messages will be received. When your target is neutralized, check in with ‘Package delivered.’ If you’re compromised, ‘Weather’s turning.
’ Each team is on its own tonight. There’s no help coming.
Make your brothers proud. Make your family proud.
Let’s light ’em up! Darkfire commence. L6 out. ”
The radio goes silent, and suddenly the magnitude of what we’re about to do crashes over me like a freight train. Six cities. Six operations. Dozens of brothers are putting their lives on the line in one simultaneous attack.
If we succeed, we cripple Javier’s network and save countless innocent lives.
But if we fail…
… I don’t let myself finish that thought.
“Torque.” Trax’s voice cuts through my mental fog. My blood brother crouches beside me, his tactical gear making him look like some kind of urban warrior. “You good, brother?”
I nod, checking my weapon one more time. “Yeah. Just thinkin’ about how many ways this could go sideways, and how I’m gettin’ too fuckin’ old for this shit.”
Sensei appears on my other side, my best friend and the club’s most level-headed member.
“We have trained for this. We know the layout. We know the risks. But more importantly, we know each other. That is what is going to get us through this. We may be the old club, but does that not also make us wise?”
Around us, the rest of the Chicago team makes final preparations.
Lift adjusts his night-vision goggles, his massive frame somehow managing to blend into the shadows.
Ace checks his comms equipment one last time, his tech expertise crucial for what’s coming.
Vibe, the club’s steadiest hand, gives tactical signals to Pyro and Ace, positioning them for the initial breach.
“Thermal imaging confirms eight guards on the perimeter,” Ace whispers into his radio, studying the readout on his tablet. “Two at the main entrance, two patrolling the east side, three covering the loading docks, and one in the watchtower.”
“What about inside?” I ask.
“Harder to tell with all the metal and concrete, but I’m seeing at least fifteen heat signatures. Could be more. Some areas are shielded.”
Fifteen armed cartel members, plus however many innocent workers might be caught in the crossfire. The intelligence suggested Javier used legitimate businesses as fronts, employing regular people who had no idea they were working for a Cartel.
That’s what makes this so fucking complicated.
I talk into the comms for my team, “Remember, we separate the innocent workers from the Cartel. No civilian casualties. We’re the good guys here, let’s make sure we stay that way.”
A chorus of acknowledgments comes back through the comms.
“Lift, Vibe, you’re with me on the main approach. Trax, Sensei, take the east entrance. Surge, Pyro, Ace, loadin’ dock is yours. We breach simultaneously in sixty seconds.”
I check my watch—2:03 a.m.
In Chicago, Houston, New Orleans, Tampa, Vegas, and Los Angeles, brothers are making the same final preparations, saying the same silent prayers, facing the same life-or-death stakes.
“Fifty seconds,” I whisper.
My hands are steady despite the adrenaline coursing through my system. Years of running Chicago’s streets have prepared me for moments like this, but nothing quite compares to a coordinated, simultaneous assault of this scale.
“Thirty seconds.”
Through my earpiece, I hear the subtle sounds of my brothers getting into position. The soft click of safeties disengaging. The barely audible whisper of tactical gear against concrete.
“Ten seconds.”
This is it.
For Chicago.
For Defiance.
For every innocent person Javier has hurt or plans to hurt.
“Go, go, GO!” I sprint from cover, Lift and Vibe flanking me as we rush the main entrance. The two guards at the front door barely have time to register our approach before Lift’s massive form tackles one, and Vibe drops the other with a precise strike to the pressure point at his neck.
The guard chokes as he falls to the ground, grasping at his neck for air before Vibe brings up his gun, shooting a single round into his forehead.
He flops back, blood pooling as Lift continues to wrestle with the other guard on the floor.
I step over the dead body toward Lift, and Vibe chuckles, watching Lift struggle.
I shake my head, stepping up to the pair as the guard rolls on top of Lift, wrapping his hands around Lift’s throat, effectively choking him.
I press the muzzle of my gun to the guard’s head. He stills, his body tense, but he doesn’t have a moment to think before I pull the trigger. The front of his face explodes, and the guard’s body drops on top of Lift like a sack of potatoes.
“I had him, Pres!” Lift groans, shoving the dead asshole off him.
Vibe laughs, placing his hand out to help his best friend up. “Sure, looked like it, bro.”
“Shut up, man. I could have taken him,” Lift mumbles, and I smirk, reaching for my comms.
“Front entrance is ours,” I mutter into the radio, my voice low as I drag an unconscious guard into the shadows.
His blood leaves a dark smear across the concrete, but I don’t flinch—this is war, not some clean-cut hit job.
Vibe and Lift are right behind me, their boots scuffing the ground as they drag the other bodies, dumping them into the cover of stacked pallets.
No ceremony.
No hesitation.
Just bikers doing what needs to be done.
“East side clear,” Trax growls over the comms, his tone tight.
“Loading dock’s locked down,” Ace follows, breathless but steady.
“Watchtower’s down,” Surge adds. “I got eyes on the yard. Anyone twitches, I’ll drop ’em.”
So far, it’s easy.
Yeah, too fucking easy.
Experience tells me clean starts usually lead to messy finishes.
And this?
This is setting off every alarm in my gut.
We move through the front entrance, sticking to shadows, boots silent against concrete but heavy with tension. The warehouse is a goddamn labyrinth, cold steel beams stretching into the dark, hanging lights buzzing faintly overhead, flickering like they’re bracing for chaos.
“Thermal’s picking up movement,” Vibe murmurs, sweeping his modified goggles. “Three heat signatures ahead. Near that office wing.”
“Are they movin’ like shooters?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. Slower. Could be workers.”
“Keep it tight,” I say, glancing at the others. “No civvie blood. We’re not here to be monsters.”
We round a stack of crates and walk straight into a vision of hell. Tables stacked with bricks of white powder, bundles of heroin, fentanyl, there’s enough to take out a city. Mountains of cash sit beside it, bundled like fucking candy.
But it’s the weapons that freeze me in place.
Rocket launchers.
Assault rifles.
Crates stamped with the Cartel bird logo.
“This ain’t a storage facility,” Lift mutters, stunned.
“Torque, you seeing this?” Trax’s voice crackles over the radio.
“Oh, yeah,” I say darkly. “This place is ready for a fuckin’ insurrection. I think that’s Javier’s plan. Get people in the government on his side so he can take it over.”