Chapter Eight
SIX
This entire thing feels daunting.
And it’s not like Houston Defiance hasn’t had its fair share of daunting.
We’ve dealt with barons, baronesses, fucking trafficking rings who surgically alter women’s faces to be high-end escorts. And let’s not forget the stalker who tried to poison me because I turned down their advances, because I am fucking happily married to my wife.
But this feels different.
I think because it’s not just Houston carrying the load.
This is all of Defiance taking the hit this time.
And we’re moving as one.
A united front to take down an organization that has secretly been infiltrating all of our cities. And no one tries to get the better of Defiance and gets away with it.
Zero has been helping me plan in the background, knowing he couldn’t be a part of this fight because of his hands, he needed to put his energy into this, the only way he can.
And with the years of presidential knowledge in that brain of his, there’s no way I was going to be stubborn and not ask for any advice I can.
I’ve been wearing his president patch for a while now, but I’m man enough to know when I need the best man for the job in a situation like this, and Zero has far more experience in the field than I have.
So, in the short time we’ve had to put this plan into action, as brothers, both in blood and as bikers, we came up with the actions we need to pull this fucker off.
Driving away from the club and leaving Zero behind while the rest of us head off to carry out Operation Darkfire gnawed at something in the pit of my stomach.
But I can’t think about that. Not for even a second while I’m in this fight.
I have to focus, not only for my brothers, but so I can get back home to my Old Lady and to my crazy, chaotic kids.
Because that is what this fight is about.
Making sure that this world is worth living in for them.
Our target tonight is to take out the financial division of Javier’s operations. The thirty-second floor of this downtown high-rise feels like another world away from the clubhouse. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Houston’s skyline glitters like a circuit board, all glass and steel.
But I know better.
Behind the mahogany desks and expensive art, behind the facade of respectability, flows the lifeblood of Javier’s operation. Money. Rivers of dirty cash that needs to be cleaned, invested, and legitimized.
Tonight, we’re going to dam that river.
I’m crouched in a maintenance corridor on the twenty-ninth floor, surrounded by my brothers. Wraith checks his equipment one final time while Kevlar adjusts his weapons, the walking tank of our group ready for whatever comes next.
Neon’s fingers dance across his tablet, streams of code reflecting on his face as he works his digital magic. “Security cameras are looped,” he whispers. “They’re seeing yesterday’s footage on repeat.”
“Elevator?” I ask.
“Controlled. I can put us anywhere in the building without triggering alerts.”
“Good. What do we know about the layout?”
Neon pulls up the building schematics on his tablet. His knowledge of their operations has been invaluable. The way he was able to hack into their systems with the help of Loki from LA has made them a dream team to help pull Operation Darkfire together.
“Main financial operations are centered around the Executive Conference Room,” he explains quietly. “That’s where they keep the physical records, the backup servers, the emergency cash reserves.”
“Security?”
“Minimal during the day. They rely on legitimacy as their cover. But at night…” He grimaces. “Armed security, probably eight to ten men. All Cartel soldiers, all loyal to Javier.”
“Weapons?”
“Assume they’re carrying everything short of RPGs.”
I nod, processing the information. This has to be surgical. We’re in the heart of Houston’s business district, surrounded by civilians and legitimate businesses. One stray bullet through these windows could kill someone sleeping in their apartment blocks away.
“Nickel, Chains, what’s the word from street level?”
“Four guards in the lobby,” Chains reports through the comms. “Two more in the parking garage. Standard rotation every hour.”
“Slick, Scout, you in position on the roof?”
“Affirmative,” Slick’s voice comes back. “Cover fire established. No sign of external security.”
“Nickel, Chains, what about our exit strategy?”
“Extraction vehicles staged at three different locations,” Nickel confirms. “We can be gone in ninety seconds once you give the word.”
I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of command settle on my shoulders. In five other cities, club presidents are making the same life-or-death decisions.
But this is my show.
My responsibility.
I key the radio for my entire team. “Listen up… this isn’t like hittin’ a warehouse or the Baron’s house.
We’re goin’ into the belly of the beast, a place where they think they’re untouchable.
Where they hide behind lawyers, accountants, and the respectability of legitimate business…
” I pause, meeting each of my brothers’ eyes in turn.
“Tonight, we show them that no amount of money can buy safety from justice. But we do this clean. Professional. No unnecessary casualties, no collateral damage. We get in, we get the evidence, we get out. Questions?” Silence follows through the comms. “Good. Neon, take us up.”
The elevator ride to the thirtieth floor feels like ascending into enemy territory, even though we’re going up.
The doors open, and the carpeted hallway beyond the elevator doors appears like any other corporate office with motivational posters, fake plants, and the smell of industrial carpet cleaner.
But appearances lie.
“Motion sensors disabled,” Neon whispers, his fingers never stopping their dance across his tablet. “We’ve got a clear path to the main conference room.”
We move like shadows through the corridors, our footsteps muffled by tactical boots and years of experience. At the far end of the hall, light spills from beneath a door marked ‘Executive Conference Room.’
Voices carry through the expensive-looking wood-stained door, the casual conversation of men who think they’re untouchable. The only thing is, normal businessmen don’t have business meetings at two in the morning.
I hold up my fist, stopping my team. Through my earpiece, I hear the distant sound of gunfire. One of our other Defiance chapters has already started its attack. They’re in the middle of their own war, but I have to focus on mine.
“How many?” I whisper to Neon, who’s pressed against the door with audio equipment.
“Four, maybe five. Armed. One of them is giving orders, sounds like their financial controller.”
Perfect. The man we need most.
“Kevlar, Wraith, you take the door. Fox, Slick, cover the windows in case anyone tries to rabbit. Neon, kill their comms.”
“Comms down,” Neon confirms immediately. “They can’t call for help.”
“Scout, Chains, watch our six. If this goes sideways, we need to know about reinforcements before they arrive,” I signal through the comms to the guys on other levels.
I check my weapon one final time, then key my radio. “In three… two… one… go!”
Kevlar’s massive frame explodes through the conference room door like a human battering ram. Wraith flows in behind him, his gun already tracking targets.
“Sorry we’re late to the party,” I quip as we all circle the room, our guns trained on the men inside.
The men raise their hands, clear shock evident on their faces when we keep our guns trained on them.
The conference room is exactly what we expected, and yet, somehow worse.
Four men in expensive suits sit around a conference table covered with documents, computers, and stacks of cash.
But it’s not the money that makes my blood run cold, it’s the photographs spread across the table.
Children.
Young boys, really young boys—babies in fact—obviously trafficked, with prices written in red ink beside their pictures.
The Cartel isn’t just money laundering through here…
It’s a human trafficking auction.
“You picked the wrong fuckin’ night to shop for slaves,” I snarl, my weapon trained on the man at the head of the table.
He’s older, maybe fifty, with slicked-back silver hair and cold, calculating eyes that hold not an ounce of remorse. He stares at me with thinly veiled contempt, a smugness that makes my trigger finger twitch.
“You have no idea what you’re interfering with,” he says, his Spanish accent smooth. “The people I work for—”
“Don’t give a shit about you, or the fucker you work for…” I cut in, my voice flat. “Trust me.”
There’s a twitch, just the slightest shift in weight, and I see it coming before it happens.
Two of his men reach for their weapons, so I raise my gun, aiming at one of their heads. “Move and die,” I growl.
But it’s too late.
The first Cartel soldier clears half an inch of steel from his holster before Wraith steps in. A single shot rings out, clean, precise. The man drops before he even finishes the motion, blood blooming across his chest as he collapses like a sack of concrete.
The second one’s faster—but not fast enough.
Kevlar is a blur of motion to my right. His boot slams into the guy’s hand just as the gun comes free, sending the weapon clattering across the floor.
The Cartel bastard barely has time to register the pain before Kevlar cold-cocks him with the butt of his gun.
The sound of bone crunching echoes through the room as he crumples in a heap beside his friend.
The other two freeze.
One has his hand hovering near his waistband, the glint of a knife visible under his jacket. The other just stands there, breathing heavy, eyes darting between the bodies on the floor and the barrel of Wraith’s gun aimed directly at his forehead.
I let out a small laugh, then I tut. “See… I specifically told them. Move and die. Could I have been any clearer, guys?” I mock.