Logan looks at me. “Cobra.”
The link comes through on Dom’s laptop. Not my phone. Not Logan’s.
Dom’s.
That matters. They’re not guessing anymore.
They’re not sending shadows or half threats through buried routes and burner chatter.
They’re reaching into the clubhouse, into our systems, into the center of the room where they know we’ll all be looking.
The message appears on the screen in a clean black box.
For the biker.
No name. Doesn’t need one.
Every man in Logan’s office goes still.
Dom’s fingers hover over the keyboard, but he doesn’t click it yet.
His jaw is locked tight enough that the muscle jumps near his temple.
Logan stands behind him, arms braced on the desk, eyes fixed on the screen.
Cain is near the door, Shadow beside him, Hammer at the window, Joker against the wall, Blaze halfway between me and Dom like he already knows someone is going to have to move fast.
Me.
He knows it’s me.
I stand behind Dom’s chair. Still. Empty. There is no sound in my head now. No blood rush. No thought breaking apart. Just the link. Just the words.
For the biker.
Logan looks at me. “Cobra.”
I don’t look back. “Open it.”
Dom’s throat works once. “I can try to sandbox it first. If it’s a tracker, if it’s—”
“Open it.”
Logan’s voice cuts in. “Do it.”
Dom exhales through his nose and hits the key. The screen goes black. For half a second, there is nothing. Then the video feed loads. The room changes. Not physically. But everything in it dies.
Olivia is on a bed. Restrained. Arms pulled out. Ankles bound. Body completely stripped. Vulnerable. Displayed.
My body registers every restraint first. Left wrist. Right wrist. Ankles. Bed frame. Distance between bindings. Slack. None. Skin rubbed red. Breathing shallow.
Alive.
That word hits once and stays.
Eli is on the floor near the wall, bound, bleeding, conscious enough now to lift his head. His face is swollen. Blood runs from a cut at his hairline. One eye is almost shut. He looks at Olivia first. Not the camera. Her.
Good kid.
A man steps into frame. Mask on. No face. Smart. Not smart enough. “Well,” he says, voice distorted through something electronic. “There he is.”
The camera shifts slightly, like someone adjusted it.
A second man laughs from off-screen.
Olivia turns her head toward the sound. Her face is pale. Terrified. Trying not to show it. Trying to breathe.
My hands stay loose at my sides.
Everyone else reacts.
Cain curses, low and vicious. Blaze moves one step forward before Shadow grabs his arm. Hammer says nothing, but his hand tightens around the back of a chair until wood creaks. Joker’s smile appears, but there is no amusement in it. Not a drop.
Logan’s voice is deadly calm. “Dom.”
“Working,” Dom says, fingers already flying. “Trace is bouncing. Multiple relays.”
The man on the screen tilts his head toward the camera. “You see her, biker?”
I don’t answer. He doesn’t need me to.
“You made this difficult,” he continues. “That was stupid. Expensive too.”
Olivia’s eyes squeeze shut for half a second at the sound of his voice. Then open again. She doesn’t scream. That hits harder than a scream would have.
“You took something that wasn’t yours to interfere with,” the man says. “And now everybody has to learn how this works.” The man steps closer to Olivia.
My vision narrows to the distance between his hand and her.
If he touches her, if his fingers land on her skin…
He lifts one hand. Stops just short of her face. Like he knows. Like he’s playing with the line. “Pretty thing,” he says. “I get why you got attached.”
Something moves through the room. A violent, collective pulse. I don’t move.
The man looks toward Eli. “And we brought your little guard dog too.”
Eli spits blood onto the floor. “Fuck you.”
Good kid.
The man laughs. “Oh, he’s got some bite left.”
He crouches near Eli. “You had one job. Keep her safe. You failed.”
Eli’s eyes flick to Olivia. Guilt. Clear as blood.
Olivia shakes her head as much as the restraints allow. “No.” Her voice is hoarse. Small. But steady enough. “No, Eli.”
The man looks between them, amused. “Sweet.”
I feel the first crack. Not outside. Inside. A line splitting down something already under too much pressure.
Logan’s voice comes from somewhere far away. “Cobra, stay with me.”
I don’t look at him.
The man on-screen stands. “We have buyers who like untouched merchandise,” he says conversationally. “Others like a girl already trained enough not to make things difficult. Your girl caused trouble twice. That lowers value unless we correct the problem.”
Blaze lunges toward the desk. “I’ll fucking kill—”
Shadow yanks him back. “Not helping.”
“Correct?” Cain’s voice is barely human.
Joker whispers, “I want him.”
No one argues.
The masked man turns toward Eli again. “So here’s the lesson,” he says. “You’re going to help break her in.”
The office goes silent. Not quiet. Silent. The kind of silence that happens when every man in the room understands something too ugly to put words around.
Eli lifts his head slowly. “What?”
The man off-screen laughs again. “You heard him.”
Olivia goes still. Completely. Her eyes find Eli. Not pleading. Not blaming. Just fear.
Eli sees it. Something changes in his face. The kid looks half-dead already. Beaten, tied, bleeding. Young enough that he should be bitching about gate duty and trying too hard to look tough in front of patched men. But right then, he looks like a brother. “No,” Eli says.
The masked man sighs theatrically. “That’s unfortunate.”
“You touch her and you die,” Eli says, voice breaking but loud enough.
The man laughs. “You’re in no position to make threats.”
Eli’s gaze cuts to the camera. For one second, he looks right at us. At me. “I’m sorry,” he says.
Olivia makes a broken sound. “No. Don’t. Eli, don’t—”
He turns back to the masked man. “Fuck you.”
The gun appears fast. Too fast. The shot is louder than it should be through the speakers.
Olivia screams. The sound tears through the office and through every layer of control I have left.
Eli drops. Not slow. Not dramatic. Just down. Blood splashes across the wall. Across the floor.
Across Olivia’s side where she jerks against the restraints, screaming his name. “Eli!”
Dom flinches back from the laptop like the bullet came through the screen.
Blaze makes a sound I’ve never heard from him and drives his fist into the wall.
Cain roars a curse, already moving, looking for something to destroy.
Hammer grabs the edge of Logan’s desk and shoves hard enough that papers scatter.
Shadow stands frozen, face carved from stone, eyes black with promise.
Logan is shouting now. At Dom. At everyone. “Trace it!”
“I’m trying!”
“Find them!”
The man on-screen looks back toward the camera. “See?” he says calmly. “Consequences.”
Olivia is sobbing now, but she’s trying to stop. Trying to pull herself back. Trying to survive even with Eli’s body on the floor and blood on her skin.
My Olivia. My girl. My fucking heart.
The masked man steps closer to her.
“No,” she whispers.
He turns his head toward the camera. “Auction’s still happening. Don’t make it harder.” Then the camera angle shifts. A hand reaches for the lens. Zooming in, focusing. The man’s hand runs lines along the length of her body. Touching what isn’t his. What’s mine. Pinching. Pulling. Feeling.
Mine.
He turns and walks back toward the camera grabbing something. “You know women accuse men of being slaves to their urges, but in reality they are worse.” He lifts his hand and he is holding what looks like a small vibrator.
No.
Olivia registers it and starts pleading, then quickly stops as his hands grips her throat.
“Don’t complain now, at least I’m prepping you. I could let them start without this and then you’ll rip like a piece of paper.” He leans down closer to the center of her legs and a buzzing sound fills the room.
Shadow and Joker flank me. I barely register it. My eyes unable to look away from her face. Fear. Shame. Sadness.
His hand descends. Her sobs fill the room. “See biker the funny thing is that she is crying, but soon she’ll be moaning. Unable to stop herself, to stop her body. I’m ready to hear how that sounds.” His eyes focus on the camera.
“Cobra,” Logan starts.
“No.” I shut it down. They will not take me out of the equation. These images may haunt me forever but they’ll also fuel me.
The man groans. “She’s getting close. I know you hear the small gasps, in between the manufactured cries.”
My hands grip the desk.
Olivia groans, a sound I know well enough now and I pick up whatever is in reach on the desk and throw it across the room.
She’s crying now. Still unable to move. To cover herself. To escape. She orgasms while breaking into a million pieces at the same time.
The man goes back to her face, “you’re welcome pet. Now, comes the unpleasantries. The men will need to break you in, make sure you’re compliant and ready for the auction.” He leans down his mouth biting into her neck.
The last thing I see is Olivia’s face turning toward the screen, eyes wide and wet and terrified.
Then the feed cuts.
Black.
For one second, nobody moves.
Then I do. The desk goes over first. Not shoved. Flipped. Wood cracks against the wall, Dom’s laptop barely saved because he yanks it back just in time. Papers explode through the air. A lamp shatters. The chair hits the floor hard enough to split one leg. Sound comes back all at once.
Logan yelling.
Blaze cursing.
Cain moving.
Hands grabbing me.
I don’t feel them. I grab the nearest shelf and rip it from the wall. Wood tears loose. Files spill everywhere. Something glass breaks under my boot.
They shot Eli. They touched her. They put blood on her. They made her watch. They looked into a camera and thought distance meant safety. They thought a screen would protect them from me.
I drive my fist through the wall beside the door. Pain flashes. Gone. Not enough. Not close.
Shadow grabs my arm.
I throw him off.
Cain hits me from the side, trying to pin me back against the wall. I slam my shoulder into him and send him staggering.
Blaze gets in front of me, hands up, face pale under the fury. “Brother—”
I swing.
He ducks. Barely. “Fuck!” he snaps. “Logan!”
Hammer comes from behind, arms locking around my chest. Joker grabs my wrist, twisting hard, not enough to break, enough to slow. Cain returns. Shadow too.
They pile on. It still isn’t enough. I don’t want them. I want the men in the feed.
The man with the distorted voice. The one who said auction. The one who said break her in. The one who shot Eli because a prospect had more honor tied up on a floor than they had in their whole fucking operation.
My vision blanks at the edges. Not fear now. Not even rage. Something worse. Purpose with no restraint.
Logan steps in front of me. Bad place to stand. “Cobra!”
I surge toward him anyway, dragging Hammer a step with me. Joker curses and drives his shoulder into my ribs. Cain locks one arm. Shadow the other.
Logan doesn’t move. “Knock his ass out,” he orders.
The room stills for half a breath.
Then Hammer says, “You sure?”
“Do it before he breaks someone we need breathing.”
The hit comes from the side.
Cain.
Hard. Temple. My head snaps, but I don’t go down.
Second hit. Shadow maybe. The room flashes white.
I’m still standing. Barely. Joker says something I don’t hear.
Then Hammer’s fist comes in low and brutal, driving into my ribs where Logan hit me days before.
Pain detonates through my side, stealing half a breath.
That one lands. But not enough. I grab Hammer by the cut and slam my forehead into his face.
He grunts, staggers, blood already dark at his nose.
“Jesus fuck!” Blaze barks.
Something sharp hits my neck. Not a fist. Needle.
Doc.
I didn’t hear him come in. I turn toward him, but Cain and Shadow hold long enough.
Doc’s face is grim. “Sorry, son.”
I try to move. My body doesn’t listen right.
The room tips.
Logan stays in front of me, eyes hard, face full of something that might be grief if I could process anything beyond the black hole tearing open in my chest.
“They die,” I say. It comes out low. Rough. Barely human.
Logan nods once. “Yeah,” he says. “They die.”
My knees hit the floor. Hands still on me. Holding. Not restraining now. Catching. The black starts closing in, but the last thing I see is the blank laptop screen. Olivia gone from it. Eli gone forever. The men who did it still breathing. For now.
They die slowly.
Not because I’m angry.
Not because I lost control.
Because some men deserve to learn that death can be mercy.
And I’m out of fucking mercy.