Chapter 10
The warehouse loomed ahead, dark and silent against the night sky. We cut the engines a quarter-mile out, the silence between the brothers a sharp contrast to the hum of adrenaline coursing through us. This wasn’t just another fight. This was a message, and it was personal. Dylan had made the mistake of thinking he could take what was mine. Now, he’d learn the price of crossing the pack.
Cutter was the first to speak, his voice low and measured. “What’s the play, Wolf?”
I glanced around, the shadows of my brothers blending into the darkness. Each one of them was a force on their own, but together, we were something more. A pack. Unstoppable.
“Ironhead,” I call, jerking my chin toward him. “Shift. Get eyes on how many we’re dealing with.”
Ironhead gave a tight nod and disappeared into the trees. A moment later, the faint sound of bone and muscle reshaping carried through the still air. The rest of us waited, tension coiled tight, hands on the grips of our weapons. The air was thick with the scent of oil and metal, and the promise of violence hung heavy.
Ironhead returned minutes later, his human form slipping from the shadows. “Fifteen, maybe more,” he said, his voice rough. “Spread out across the main floor. They’ve got firepower, but they’re sloppy. Won’t expect us to hit hard and fast.”
“Then that’s what we do,” I said. My wolf stirred, itching for the fight. “Cutter, take Rocco and a few of the others and flank left. Finn, you’re with me on the right. Ironhead, hold back with the rest of the men until we’ve cleared the way. When we move, we don’t stop.”
The brothers nod, their expressions grim but ready. This was what we did. This was who we were.
The first shot rang out the second we breached the door. Dylan’s men were waiting, but their aim was wild, bullets punching into the walls and crates around us. I ducked low, returning fire with calculated precision. The sharp crack of gunfire filled the air, mingling with the shouts and curses of the enemy.
Cutter’s group moved in from the left, their advance swift and unrelenting. Rocco took out two men with clean headshots, his sniper-like precision unmatched. On the right, Finn and I pressed forward, cutting through the chaos like a blade. My shots found their marks, and the men who didn’t fall ran for cover, their panic palpable.
“Move!” I bark, signalling Finn to cover me as I closed the distance to the centre of the room. Dylan wasn’t among the grunts—he was smarter than that. He’d be waiting, watching, biding his time like the snake he was.
The brothers worked as one, a machine of precision and brutality. Ironhead shifted mid-charge, his wolf tearing through the men who dared to get too close. His growls and the screams of his victims blended with the chaos, a symphony of carnage that only fuelled my fury.
I found Dylan on an upper platform, his smirk lit by the dim overhead lights. He was flanked by two men, their weapons aimed and ready. But I didn’t stop. I didn’t hesitate.
“You really think this is going to end well for you?” he taunted, his voice dripping with false bravado.
I didn’t answer. Words were wasted on men like him. Instead, I charged, taking out one of his guards with a shot to the chest before slamming into the other with a force that sent him sprawling. Dylan’s grin faltered as he backed away, the predator in him finally recognizing he was prey.
“You think she’s yours?” Dylan spat, his voice rising in desperation. “You think you can just take what you want?”
“She was never yours,” I growled, my voice low and lethal. “And you’ll never touch her again.”
He lunged at me, wild and reckless, but I was ready. My fist connected with his jaw, the force of the blow sending him crashing into the metal railing behind him. He scrambled to his feet, swinging wildly, but his punches were no match for my precision. I dodged, countered, each strike calculated to break him down piece by piece.
Blood dripped from his nose, his lip split and swollen. His breaths came in ragged gasps, but still, he fought, his desperation driving him beyond reason. I let him exhaust himself, absorbing his blows like they were nothing. He didn’t deserve a clean fight. He deserved to know fear, to feel the weight of his choices crushing him.
When he finally staggered, his body beaten and broken, I grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the railing. His eyes widened, the realization dawning too late.
“You don’t get to walk away from this,” I said, my voice a low growl. “You don’t get to breathe the same air she does.”
His protests were cut short as I delivered the final blow, my fist driving into his chest with enough force to send him crumpling to the ground. He didn’t move again.
The fight was over, the warehouse eerily quiet except for the sound of heavy breaths and the occasional groan of the injured. The brothers regrouped; their faces bloodied but victorious. Rocco clapped me on the shoulder, his grin sharp.
“That was a hell of a show,” he said. “Dylan didn’t stand a chance.”
“He never did,” I replied, my voice flat. The rage that had fuelled me during the fight lingered, simmering beneath the surface.
The aftermath of a fight was always the same: chaos, blood, and the grim task of cleaning up. As the adrenaline began to fade, the brothers moved like a well-oiled machine, their roles defined by experience.
“Axel,” I called out, spotting the lean, wiry figure near the entrance. Axel was the club’s cleaner—the guy who made sure no evidence remained after the dust settled. His sharp eyes darted over the carnage, calculating, assessing. He gave me a nod, already pulling on gloves.
“We’ve got at least a dozen bodies,” Axel said, his voice calm and detached. “Two of them might still be breathing. What’s the call?”
“Take the wounded,” I said. “Dump them far enough away that they can crawl back to whoever’s left to take them in. Make sure they remember who put them down.”
Axel grinned, a flash of white teeth in the dim light. “And the rest?”
“Burn it,” I said, my tone leaving no room for argument. “This place goes up tonight. No bodies, no evidence. Make it clean.”
Axel nodded and got to work, motioning for two other brothers to start dragging the bodies. He moved with practiced efficiency, his hands steady even as the weight of what we’d done filled the air. This wasn’t his first time, and it wouldn’t be his last.
Ironhead approached me, his face splattered with blood and sweat. “That’s one way to send a message,” he said, his voice carrying a note of approval. “Dylan’s crew won’t forget this.”
“They’d better not,” I replied, watching Axel and the others work. The fire in my chest was fading, the fury that had driven me during the fight replaced with cold resolve.
Ironhead leaned against a crate, folding his arms. “You feel better now?” he asked, his tone teasing but curious.
I thought about it, the weight of Dylan’s lifeless body still fresh in my mind. “It’s a start,” I said. “He’s gone, and Bella’s safe. That’s what matters.”
Ironhead grunted, his expression thoughtful. “Funny thing about fury. You think letting it out will fix things, but it’s like a fire. You’ve got to let it burn itself out, or it’ll just find something else to consume.”
I glanced at him, his words striking deeper than I wanted to admit. Ironhead wasn’t just muscle—he had a way of seeing through people, even me. “Maybe,” I said. “But tonight, it’s done.”
“For now,” he said, pushing off the crate. “Go for your run. Clear your head. We’ve got it handled here.”
I nodded, grateful for his understanding. “Keep them in line,” I said, gesturing to the others.
Ironhead smirked. “Always do.”
The forest stretched out before me, a wall of shadows and possibilities. I walked slowly at first, my senses heightened, every step deliberate. The air was cool, filled with the earthy scent of moss and pine. The moon hung high above, its silver light filtering through the canopy like a blessing.
Shifting wasn’t just a physical act; it was a release, a surrender to the beast within. I stripped off my shirt, next I kick off my Harley boots and finally dispose of my low cut jeans, letting the cool air bite at my skin. My breath came faster as the anticipation built, my wolf stirring just beneath the surface.
Pain and pleasure mingled as my body began to change. My muscles stretched, bones twisting and reshaping. Fur erupted along my skin, claws replacing fingers. The transformation was raw, primal, and utterly freeing. When it was done, I stood on all fours, the forest sharper and more vivid through the eyes of the wolf.
I threw back my head and let out a howl, the sound echoing through the trees. It wasn’t just a call—it was a declaration. The fight was over, the pack was safe, and the wolf…the wolf was free.
I ran, the earth flying beneath my paws. Each stride carried me further from the fire and blood of the warehouse, the tension in my body easing with every step. The forest welcomed me, its ancient rhythms soothing the parts of me that still burned with anger.
When I finally stopped, the moon was high, its light bathing the clearing in silver. My mind was clearer now, my fury tempered but not forgotten. Dylan was gone, and Bella…Bella was waiting.
When I finally returned to my human form, the moon was high, its light bathing the forest in silver. My mind was clearer now, my rage tempered but not forgotten. Dylan was gone. Bella was safe. And that was all that mattered.
It was time to go home.
The ride back to the clubhouse was silent but heavy with meaning. The low hum of the engines vibrated through me, a steady rhythm that felt like the heartbeat of the pack. Cutter rode at my left, Ironhead on my right, and the others fell into formation behind us, their presence a wall of solidarity. The night air was cool against my skin, the scent of pine and earth mingling with the lingering traces of blood and smoke.
As the miles passed, my thoughts turned to Bella. She’d been on my mind the entire night, her face flashing behind my eyes with every move I made. Everything I’d done tonight—every shot, every blow—had been for her. To keep her safe. To show her that she wasn’t alone anymore.
Bella was different. She wasn’t just another woman passing through, someone to fill the emptiness for a night or two. She was the only one who’d ever made me think about a future, about more than just the club and the fight. The way she looked at me, the way she saw past the tattoos, the leather, the wolf—she made me believe I could be something more. Something better.
I thought about what that future might look like. Bella at my side, finding her place within the pack. I didn’t doubt for a second that she could handle it. She was tougher than she gave herself credit for, and the brothers would see that in time. She’d carve out a space for herself, just like she’d carved her way into my life.
But there were still fears. What if the pack’s world was too much for her? What if my world, my violence, my wolf, was too much? I didn’t know how to be anything else, and the thought of losing her because of it gnawed at me. Still, if there was one thing I’d learned tonight, it was that Bella was worth the fight. She always would be.
By the time the clubhouse came into view, the tension in my chest had eased, replaced with a quiet determination. The fight was over, and Dylan was gone. Now, it was time to start building something real. For me. For her. For us.