Chapter 5 - Ace
Gunfire cracks through the air as I take position behind an overturned picnic table, Viper to my right. The Vultures MC have taken cover behind their bikes and a rusted-out truck at the edge of our property.
"See Wilder?" I ask, my voice low as I check the chamber on my Glock.
Viper shakes his head, peering through the scope of his rifle. "No sign. Either they got him or he's playing ghost."
The thought of Wilder down makes my stomach clench. He's a brother, family in every way that matters. But right now, I can't let myself think about that. Can't let myself think about Sarah either, locked in the safe room with Evelyn. Can't think about the baby.
Focus. Breathe. Shoot.
"Movement, ten o'clock," Viper mutters.
I spot it. A flash of leather as one of the Vultures MC tries to circle around to our flank. I squeeze off two shots, the gun bucking in my hand. The Vultures duck back behind a tree.
"Six bikes, my ass," Ghost says from his position at the front door. "I count at least eight of them."
Reaper's voice comes through on the radio clipped to my cut. "Blade spotted two more coming up through the back woods. They're trying to surround us."
The reality of our situation settles over me like a cold blanket. Sarah unwittingly drove straight into an ambush. If Wilder hadn't intercepted her, if she'd been on the road when these Vultures MC arrived...
The thought makes my blood boil. I pop up and fire three more rounds, rewarded with a shout of pain from behind the truck.
"Got one," I say, ducking back down as return fire peppers the wood above my head.
"Don't get cocky," Viper warns. "These aren't the usual foot soldiers. These are Charles's elite."
Charles. The name alone makes my trigger finger itch.
The MC president who has been waging war against our club ever since Reaper disrupted his human trafficking operation and rescued Evelyn.
The attacks have been escalating, but this is the second time they've brought the fight directly to our doorstep.
A volley of bullets strikes the clubhouse walls, the sound of splintering wood and breaking glass filling the air. Someone—Blade, I think—curses loudly from his position at the side of the building.
"We need to push them back," I say to Viper. "Can't let them get any closer to the clubhouse."
"Worried about your girl?"
"She's not my—" I stop myself. What's the point in denying it? "Yeah. I'm worried."
Viper nods, no judgment in his eyes. "Cover me. I'm going to try to get to that truck. If I can set it on fire, it'll flush them out."
I want to argue—it's a suicide run—but I know that look on his face. He's already made up his mind.
"On three," I say, checking my magazine. "One. Two. Three!"
I rise from cover and lay down suppressing fire, aiming at the flashes of movement behind the truck. Viper sprints across the open ground, hunched low, a Molotov cocktail in his free hand. The Vultures MC spot him and redirect their fire, bullets kicking up dirt at his heels.
My heart's in my throat as I watch him run. This man saved my life, brought me into the club, gave me purpose when I had nothing. If he goes down...
A bullet whizzes past my ear, close enough that I feel the air displacement. I drop back into cover, cursing. When I peek out again, Viper has reached a stack of old tires about twenty feet from the truck. He's pinned down, unable to advance further.
"Viper's stuck," I say into the radio. "Need covering fire on the truck."
"On it," Ghost responds immediately.
From the clubhouse roof, Ghost opens up with the M4, the automatic fire drowning out all other sound for a moment. Under that cover, Viper makes his move, lighting the Molotov and hurling it at the truck. The bottle shatters against the hood, liquid fire spreading across the rusted metal.
Two Vultures MC abandon their cover, running for the tree line. Reaper and Blade pick them off with military precision. The others are trapped now, caught between our bullets and the growing inferno.
"Push forward!" Reaper commands over the radio.
We advance as one, a coordinated assault born from countless hours of training together. Ghost provides cover from above while Reaper, Blade, and I move up through the yard, forcing the Vultures MC to retreat.
That's when I hear it. The distinctive rumble of a Harley coming up the road. We all pause, weapons ready.
"It's Wilder!" Blade calls out, spotting him first.
Wilder roars into the yard, his bike splattered with blood that I pray isn't his. He skids to a stop beside me, dropping his bike and rolling behind our cover.
"Thought you were dead," I say, unable to keep the emotion from my voice.
"Not yet. But four of them are." He pulls a second gun from his waistband. "The others broke off to come here when they realized I was alone. You get the girl inside?"
"She's safe," I assure him. "Thanks to you."
He nods once, all business. "Charles's not with them. This is just a scouting party."
The information sends a chill down my spine. If this is just a scouting party, what will the real attack look like?
"We need to end this now," Reaper says, having made his way to our position. "Before reinforcements arrive."
Wilder checks his weapons. "There's a propane tank behind the truck. If we can hit it—"
"We'll blow them all to hell," I finish for him.
Reaper considers for only a moment before nodding. "Do it."
I turn to Viper. "You still carrying those incendiary rounds?"
A slow grin spreads across his scarred face as he reaches into his pocket and produces a handful of specialized ammunition. "Never leave home without them."
We quickly load the incendiary rounds into Viper's rifle. He takes aim, his breathing slowing as he focuses on the nearly invisible propane tank behind the burning truck.
"Fire in the hole," he mutters, and squeezes the trigger.
The explosion is magnificent and terrible. A fireball erupts into the sky, the shockwave hitting us seconds later. Heat washes over us as debris rains down across the yard. The Vultures MC who survived the initial blast stagger out from their cover, disoriented and burned.
We show no mercy. They wouldn't have shown any to us.
When the last man falls, a strange silence descends over the property, broken only by the crackling of flames and the ringing in my ears from the explosion.
"Check for survivors," Reaper orders. "And Ace, go let the women know it's over."
I nod, suddenly desperate to see Sarah, to confirm with my own eyes that she's unharmed. I sprint across the yard and into the clubhouse, past the broken windows and bullet-riddled walls, down the hallway to the safe room.
My hand hesitates on the door. What will I see in her eyes when she looks at me now? Fear? Disgust? Regret that she ever let someone like me touch her?
Taking a deep breath, I knock three times.
"It's Ace," I call out. "It's over."
The heavy lock clicks and the door swings open. Evelyn steps out first, immediately looking past me, searching for Reaper. When she spots him coming through the front door, she runs to him, throwing herself into his arms.
And then Sarah appears in the doorway, her face pale but composed. Our eyes lock, and for a moment, neither of us moves.
"Are you hurt?" she asks finally, her gaze flicking to my bandaged shoulder, now stained with fresh blood where I've reopened the wound.
"I'm fine," I say. "Are you—is everything—" I can't bring myself to specifically mention the baby with others potentially in earshot.
She seems to understand, placing a hand briefly over her stomach. "We're okay."
The relief that washes over me is so intense it's almost painful. I want to touch her, to pull her against me and feel for myself that she's unharmed, but I hold back. We're not there yet. Maybe we never will be.
"I'm sorry," I say instead, the words inadequate for what I'm trying to express. "You shouldn't have been involved in this."
Her eyes harden slightly. "No, I shouldn't have. But I am now." She takes a deep breath. "What happens next?"
"We clean up," I say, focusing on the immediate. "And then we figure out how to get our revenge."
A troubling thought occurs to me. With Vultures MC attacking and Sarah caught in the middle, there's no way I can let her go home tonight.
"I need to talk to Reaper," I say, the urgency in my voice making Sarah's eyes widen. "Stay here. Please."
I find Reaper in the main room, his arm around Evelyn as Ghost and Blade report on the bodies outside.
"We need to talk," I say, cutting into their conversation. "Now."
Reaper studies my face for a moment before nodding. "My office."
Once the door closes behind us, I don't waste time. "I need Sarah to stay here tonight. At the clubhouse."
Reaper leans back against his desk, arms crossed. "The woman who just drove back here? Who is she to you, Ace?"
I hesitate only briefly. Reaper is my president, but more than that, he's the closest thing to a father figure I've ever had. "She's pregnant. With my kid."
To his credit, he doesn't look shocked. "You sure it's yours?"
"Yes." My voice is firm, leaving no room for doubt.
He nods slowly, processing this information. "And you think she needs to stay here because...?"
"It's not safe out there. Not with Vultures MC clearly watching our movements." I run a hand through my hair, agitated. "She's a civilian, Reap. A first-grade teacher. She doesn't know how to protect herself from people like Charles's men."
Reaper sighs. "You're asking me to let a pregnant civilian who isn't even an old lady stay at the clubhouse during an active war?"
"I'm not asking." I meet his gaze without flinching. "I'm telling you what needs to happen. She stays here, under our protection, or I stay with her at her place."
A tense silence stretches between us. Challenging the club president isn't something done lightly, but this isn't negotiable for me. I will protect Sarah and our child, even if it means going against Reaper.
Finally, he nods once. "She stays. But you're responsible for her. And Ace—" his voice takes on a warning edge, "—if this complicates things for the club in any way, it's on you."
"Understood."
As I turn to leave, Reaper adds, "Congratulations, by the way. On the kid."
Despite everything—the attack, the blood on my hands, the danger still lurking beyond our walls—I feel a small smile tug at my lips. "Thanks, Reaper."
When I return to Sarah, she's sitting on a chair in the hallway, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She looks up when my shadow falls across her.
"You need to stay here tonight," I say without preamble. "Maybe longer."
Her eyes widen. "What? No, I can't. I have work tomorrow, and my apartment, and—"
"Sarah." I crouch down in front of her, bringing us to eye level. "Those men today? They're dangerous. And now that you've been seen here, they could connect you to me, to the club."
She goes very still. "You think they'd come after me?"
"I don't want to find out." I keep my voice steady, trying not to scare her more than necessary. "Just stay tonight. We can figure out the rest tomorrow."
"I can't just disappear from my life," she says, but there's less conviction in her voice now. "I'm a teacher. I have twenty-six first-graders who are counting on me to be there tomorrow."
"Call in sick," I suggest. "Just for a day or two, until things cool down."
"This is really serious, isn't it?"
"Yes." I don't sugarcoat it. She deserves the truth, however ugly. "These men aren't playing games. And neither am I when it comes to your safety."
Her hand moves to her stomach again, a protective gesture that squeezes something in my chest. She's thinking of the baby, weighing its safety against her responsibilities.
"Okay," she says finally. "One night. And then we reassess."
"Thank you."
She stands, smoothing her pink dress with trembling hands. "I'll need some things from my apartment."
"I'll send someone to get them for you. Just make a list."
A flash of irritation crosses her face. "I'm not helpless, Ryan—Ace—whatever I'm supposed to call you."
"Ace. In here, with the club, it's Ace." I straighten up, my height allowing me to look down at her. "And I know you're not helpless. But right now, you need to let us protect you. Please."
Something in my tone must convince her, because she nods reluctantly. "Fine. I'll make a list."
As I lead her back to the main room, now buzzing with activity as the brothers clean up the aftermath of the attack, I'm struck by the surreal nature of our situation.
Just hours ago, her biggest concern was telling me about the pregnancy.
Now she's in the middle of a war zone, depending on rogue bikers for protection.
And I'm faced with the stark reality that bringing a child into my world means exposing it to dangers most people never have to face. It's a sobering thought, one that makes me question everything I've chosen to be.
But as I watch Sarah take in the scene around her… The weapons being cleaned, the blood being mopped up, the grim faces of my brothers, I make a silent vow.
I will find a way to keep them safe. My child. Sarah. Whatever it takes, whatever I have to do, I will create a world where my son or daughter doesn't have to fear men with guns and vendettas.
Even if it means becoming something darker than I already am.
Even if it means Sarah might never look at me the same way again.