Chapter 53
The basement smells like blood and metal.
It clings to the air, heavy and damp, mixing with the cold bite of concrete and the faint oil residue that never quite leaves a place like this. The overhead lights hum, harsh and unforgiving, casting everything in sharp edges and hard shadows.
This is where control lives. Not upstairs with the noise and the people and the weight of expectation. Down here. Where things are simple. Where pain has purpose. Where men talk or they don’t… and if they don’t, they learn why they should.
The five of them are dragged in one after the other, boots scraping, bodies half-conscious, blood trailing behind them in uneven streaks across the floor. Cain and Shadow handle most of the hauling, efficient and quiet, while Joker lingers just enough to enjoy the process without slowing it down.
No one jokes now. Not really. Not like they usually do. This isn’t the kind of night for that.
Chains are already set into the floor and the support beams, heavy links bolted into place from years of use. Each man is forced down, wrists yanked behind their backs, metal locking around them with a finality that settles into the room.
No escape. No confusion about what comes next. One of them groans, trying to lift his head. Another coughs, spitting blood onto the concrete. The third just stares, eyes wide and unfocused, trying to understand how fast everything went wrong.
I don’t say anything. I move. That’s enough. I check each restraint myself, not because I don’t trust the men who put them on, but because I don’t trust anything right now except what I see with my own eyes. Chain tension. Lock placement. Positioning. Details.
One of them finds his voice. “You don’t understand—”
My hand comes down on the back of his neck, slamming his face into the concrete hard enough to shut him up mid-word. I don’t look at him. I don’t need to. The others go still.
Good. They’re learning. Silence is safer.
For now.
I move to the next one, adjusting the chain at his wrist, tightening it just enough that he feels it bite.
He flinches. Doesn’t speak. Inside, there’s no rage anymore.
Not the kind that burns hot and fast and makes men sloppy.
That version of me already ran its course.
This is something else. Colder. Sharper.
Every thought lined up in a straight path.
You’ll talk.
Not when you want to.
When I decide you do.
Joker steps closer, crouching in front of one of them, tilting his head like he’s studying a piece of art he might destroy later. “They look better like this,” he murmurs.
“Shut up,” Cain mutters, though there’s no real heat behind it.
Joker just grins.
I ignore both of them. This isn’t the part where they talk. This is the part where they understand what’s coming. I straighten slowly, eyes sweeping over the line of them one more time.
Five men. Breathing. Hurting. Useful. For now.
“Don’t touch them,” I say finally, my voice low and even. That gets everyone’s attention. Not loud. Doesn’t need to be.
Joker sighs dramatically. “You’re taking all the fun out of it.”
“Later,” I say. That’s enough.
He leans back on his heels, satisfied with that promise.
I don’t stay. I turn and head for the stairs without looking back. They’ll still be there. And when I come back. They’ll talk.
Upstairs feels different. Warmer. Louder. Real. The shift hits the second I push through the basement door, the sounds of the clubhouse bleeding back in, voices, movement, the low hum of people waiting for something they don’t have yet.
Answers.
Her.
Logan and Landon are just ahead of me, coming in from the side entrance. Landon’s holding his arm tight against his body, blood soaking through the makeshift wrap Carter threw on him earlier. His face is pale, jaw clenched hard enough to crack teeth, but he’s upright. Still moving.
Logan is worse than he’s pretending to be. His gait is off, a subtle hitch that most wouldn’t catch unless they’re looking for it. His knee twisted during the fight, and now it’s paying the price. He doesn’t lean on anything. Doesn’t ask for help. Doesn’t need to. But I see it.
Doc meets us halfway down the hall, already moving before we even reach him. “Gunshot?” he asks, eyes going straight to Landon’s arm.
“Yeah,” Landon grits out.
“Sit down.”
“I’m fine—”
My hand lands on his shoulder, firm enough to stop the argument before it starts. Not gentle. Not optional. He looks at me for half a second, then exhales sharply and drops into the nearest chair.
“Through and through?” Doc asks, already cutting the fabric away.
“Feels like it.”
“Good,” Doc mutters. “You’ll live.”
Landon huffs something that might be a laugh if it didn’t hurt so much.
Doc shifts his attention to Logan. “And you?”
“I’m fine.”
Doc doesn’t even pretend to believe that. “You’re not. Sit your ass down.”
Logan glares at him for a second, then lowers himself into the chair opposite Landon with a controlled movement that says it costs him more than he’s letting on.
I stay there long enough to see Doc start working. Long enough to know they’re handled. They’re hurt. But they’re here. That matters. Then I move.
The main room goes quiet when I step into it.
Not completely. There’s still movement. Still breath.
Still life. But the conversations die down, voices lowering, eyes shifting.
Everyone is here. Women gathered near the couches, tension in their posture even when they try to hide it.
Brooke’s hands are clasped tight in front of her, Carter hovering just behind her.
Mac sits with Kya, both of them watching the door like they’re expecting it to open any second.
Prospects line the walls, standing straighter than usual, unsure what to do with themselves.
Brothers scattered through the space, not relaxed, not settled.
Waiting. The kids are gone. No small voices.
No chaos. No normal. It’s too quiet. Intentional.
This isn’t a place for them tonight. This is where things get decided.
The air feels heavy. Like something’s pressing down on it.
I step farther into the room, my eyes moving once over everything. Then I stop on Carter. He’s already watching me. He knows what I’m going to ask before I say it. “Where is she?” The words come out low. Flat. No edge. No emotion. That’s what makes them worse.
No one needs clarification. No one needs a name.
Olivia.
Carter’s hand is already in his pocket, pulling his phone out before I even finish speaking. “I’ll call him,” he says.
Matteo.
He hits the call button and lifts it to his ear. The room holds its breath.
Ringing.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
No answer.
Carter pulls it away, glances at the screen like it might change something, then hangs up.
Calls again. Ringing. Longer this time. Still nothing. The unease starts to spread. Subtle at first. A shift in weight. A glance exchanged.
Mac’s hand tightening on Kya’s.
Carter tries a third time. The room feels smaller. Tighter. Like the walls are inching in. He lowers the phone slowly. “Nothing,” he says.
That’s not good enough.
I turn to Dom. “You still connected?”
He’s already moving, fingers flying over his laptop, pulling up feeds, trying to reconnect to something that should still be there. A second passes. Then another. He shakes his head. “No feed.”
My chest tightens.
“No signal,” he adds.
That lands harder than anything else tonight. Not anger. Not panic. Something worse. Unknown.
I take a step forward without thinking. My jaw locks. My breathing stays even. Barely. “Where the fuck is she?” The question isn’t loud. It doesn’t need to be. It cuts through the room anyway. No one answers. No one can. And for a second, everything threatens to come apart.
Then… the front door opens.
Every head turns. Instinct. Movement. Hands shift closer to weapons without anyone thinking about it. The air changes. And then he walks in.
Matteo Vittorio.
Like he owns the space. Like he owns every space he steps into. Calm. Controlled. Untouched by everything that just tore through our night. Two men behind him. Solid. Silent.
And then… she steps in.
Behind him. Smaller than the room. Than the moment. Than everything that’s been building toward this. But there.
Alive.
Everything in me locks. I don’t move. I don’t breathe. Nothing exists except that.
Her.
Standing there. Real. Not a memory. Not a thought. Not something I’m chasing. She’s here.
My body finally responds.
One step forward…
And everything breaks.