Chapter 12
"Kovac just hit the pawn shop." Gallows' voice was tight with controlled fury. "Dozen men, broad daylight. They're cleaning out the inventory and making a fucking statement."
Forge was already moving, grabbing his cut from the back of the chair. Five days of peace. Five days of Dana in his bed, of learning the shape of her laugh, of letting himself believe the threat might pass. He should've known better.
"How many inside?"
"Two of ours. Both alive, both pinned down."
"On my way." He ended the call and turned to find Dana watching him from the kitchen doorway, a mug of coffee frozen halfway to her lips. She read his expression in an instant.
"What happened?"
"Kovac's making a move. I've got to go."
Her face paled, but her voice stayed steady. "I'm coming with you."
"No." The word came out harder than he intended, but he didn't soften it. "You're staying here. The compound has defenses, and there'll be brothers on guard. I need to know you're safe while I handle this."
"Forge—"
"Dana." He crossed to her, gripped her shoulders hard enough to feel her bones. "Ray is desperate. That makes him unpredictable. If you're at that pawn shop and something happens to you—" He couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't even think it. "Stay here. Please."
Something flickered in her eyes—frustration, fear, something that looked like love. She nodded once.
"Come back to me."
"Always." He kissed her hard and fast, then forced himself to walk away.
The pawn shop was chaos when Forge arrived.
Gallows had positioned himself behind an overturned display case, exchanging fire with three of Kovac's men near the back exit.
Blackjack was somewhere in the storage room—Forge could hear the distinctive bark of his .
45 cutting through the symphony of gunfire.
The two Sons employees were hunkered behind the counter, one bleeding from a graze to the arm but still holding a weapon.
Pete Kovac himself was visible through the shattered front window, coordinating from a black SUV parked across the street. Talking into a phone. Directing traffic like this was a military operation instead of a smash-and-grab.
The brains, Forge thought grimly. Ray's planner. Take him out, the whole operation falls apart.
He slipped in through the side door, moving low and fast, using the display cases for cover. A burst of gunfire pinged off the metal shelving to his left—someone had spotted him. He returned fire without looking, felt the satisfying kick of the Glock, heard a body hit the floor.
"Forge!" Gallows' voice cut through the chaos. "Kovac's trying to pull them out! He's aborting!"
Like hell he was.
Forge broke from cover and sprinted for the back exit, trusting his brothers to handle the remaining shooters.
The alley behind the pawn shop was narrow and dim, stinking of garbage and gunpowder.
Two of Kovac's men were already loading stolen merchandise into a van—they spun at his approach, hands reaching for weapons.
Too slow.
Forge put them down with two clean shots, center mass, their bodies crumpling against the van's bumper. The van's engine was running, driver's door hanging open—Kovac's escape route.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it. Nothing mattered except ending this.
He circled the van, weapon raised, and found Pete Kovac trying to climb behind the wheel. The former accountant—the brains of Ray's operation, the man who'd turned a prison crew into a functioning criminal enterprise—froze with one leg in the vehicle.
"Wait." Kovac's voice was high with fear, nothing like the cold confidence he'd displayed coordinating the assault. "We can negotiate. Ray will—"
"Ray's not here." Forge's voice was ice. "Ray sent you to do his dirty work while he hides. What does that tell you about your value to him?"
Kovac's eyes darted to the gun, to Forge's face, to the bodies of his men bleeding out on the asphalt. Calculating. Always calculating—it's what made him dangerous.
"I have information," Kovac said quickly. "Ray's location. His plans. Everything you need to end this. I'll give it to you. All of it. Just let me—"
"You coordinated the assault on the safehouse." Forge stepped closer, close enough to see the sweat beading on Kovac's forehead. "You planned the attack that almost killed the woman I love."
Something shifted in Kovac's expression—the dawning realization that negotiation wasn't going to save him.
"I was just following orders—"
"That's what Tanner said." Forge raised the gun. "Right before I cut his throat."
He fired twice. Both rounds found their home in Kovac's chest.
The former accountant collapsed against the van, sliding down the metal with a wet gurgle. His mouth moved, trying to form words that wouldn't come. His hands clutched at wounds that wouldn't stop bleeding.
Forge stood over him and watched the light fade from his eyes.
"You should've stayed in a cell," he said quietly. "At least in there, you knew the rules."
Pete Kovac died with his calculator brain still trying to figure out where his math had gone wrong.
Forge's phone buzzed again. This time, he answered.
"Forge." Pounder's voice was tight. "We've got a problem."
His blood went cold. "Dana—"
"She's fine. She's fine, brother, but Ray sent a secondary team to the compound. Six men, hit us while you were dealing with the pawn shop. Tried to breach the back gate."
"Tried?"
"Your woman's got a hell of an arm." Pounder sounded almost impressed. "She beaned one of them with a wrench before we even got there. Rachel had a shotgun, Grace barricaded the main doors—by the time the prospects arrived, Ray's guys were already pulling back."
Forge's heart was pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. She'd fought. While he was killing Kovac, she'd been fighting for her life at the compound.
"Casualties?"
"One prospect got clipped in the shoulder, nothing serious. Three of Ray's guys are down—two dead, one bleeding out in the courtyard. The other three ran." A pause. "Ray's getting desperate, brother. Two-pronged assault, simultaneous strikes—he's throwing everything he's got at us."
"Is Dana hurt?"
"Shaken. Not hurt. She's asking for you."
"I'm on my way."
He ended the call and looked down at Kovac's body one last time. The brains were dead. The enforcer was dead. Ray's operation was crumbling around him, and he was getting desperate enough to launch suicide missions.
Desperate men made mistakes.
"Forge." Gallows appeared at the alley entrance, blood on his cheek but moving steady. "Pawn shop's clear. We lost merchandise, but no brothers down."
"Compound was hit at the same time."
Gallows' expression darkened. "Ray's splitting our forces. Smart play."
"It was Kovac's play." Forge gestured at the body. "Kovac was the one with the strategy. Ray just has muscle. Without his brains, he's running on instinct."
"Instinct made him hit the compound while you were here." Gallows' eyes were sharp, reading the implications. "He's targeting Dana specifically."
"He's trying to take something that's mine." Forge holstered his weapon, feeling the familiar cold rage settle into his bones. "He's about to learn why that's a mistake."
The compound looked like a war zone when Forge roared through the gates.
Bullet holes stitched the back fence. The courtyard was littered with debris—overturned tables, shattered bottles, the remnants of the life they'd built here torn up by violence. Two bodies lay covered by tarps near the garage, blood seeping into the concrete.
But the gates were intact. The main building was standing. And Dana was alive.
He found her in the clubhouse, sitting at the bar with a glass of whiskey she wasn't drinking. Her hands were shaking—he could see the tremors from across the room—but her eyes were clear and fierce.
"Forge."
He crossed the distance between them in three strides and pulled her into his arms.
She came willingly, burying her face against his chest, her whole body trembling as the adrenaline finally found its release. He held her so tight he might have been hurting her, but she didn't complain. Just held on like he was the only solid thing in a world that had gone sideways.
"You fought," he said against her hair.
"They came through the back gate." Her voice was muffled against his chest. "I heard the shots and—I couldn't just hide. I couldn't just let them—"
"You beaned a guy with a wrench."
A shaky laugh escaped her. "He wasn't expecting it. I think I broke his nose."
Pride swelled in his chest, mixing with the terror that still hadn't fully subsided. "That's my girl."
"I was so scared." She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, and he saw the tears she'd been holding back finally start to fall. "Not for me. For you. I knew you were out there, fighting, and I couldn't—I didn't know if—"
"Hey." He cupped her face in his hands, thumbs brushing away the tears. "I'm here. I came back. I told you I would."
"Kovac?"
"Dead."
Something shifted in her expression—not horror, not disgust. Relief. The relief of someone who understood that some threats only ended one way.
"Good," she whispered.
He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, the corner of her mouth. Claiming. Reassuring. Making sure she knew she was still his and he was still hers.
"You held the compound," he said. "You, Grace, Rachel, the prospects—you held the fucking compound against Ray's assault team."
"We didn't have a choice."
"There's always a choice." He pulled back, looked at her with something approaching awe. "Most people would've hidden. Would've waited for someone else to handle it. You picked up a wrench and fought back."
"I learned from watching you." She reached up, touched his jaw with fingers that were still trembling. "You don't hide. You don't wait for someone else. You protect what matters."
"You matter." The words came out rough, scraped raw by everything he'd felt in the last hour. "You're what matters, Dana. The club, the territory, the war with Ray—none of it means shit if you're not okay."
"I'm okay." She managed a smile that was watery but real. "A little traumatized. Definitely in need of a shower. But okay."
He pulled her close again, just breathing her in. Leather and smoke and that soft floral scent underneath that was purely her. She was alive. She was here. She'd fought for her place in this world and proven she belonged.
Mine, the savage voice growled in satisfaction. My woman. My warrior.
Patriot appeared in the doorway, surveying the scene with cold blue eyes. "Kovac?"
"Dead," Forge confirmed without releasing Dana. "So is his getaway crew. The pawn shop's secure."
"Good." The President's gaze shifted to Dana, still wrapped in Forge's arms. "Heard you made yourself useful."
Dana lifted her chin, meeting the most dangerous man in the room without flinching. "They came into my home. I wasn't going to let them take it."
Something like approval flickered in Patriot's expression. "Get cleaned up. Both of you. Church in two hours—we need to figure out Ray's next move before he makes it."
He disappeared, and Forge let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"He called it your home," Dana said softly.
"It is your home." Forge tilted her face up, made sure she saw the truth in his eyes. "If you want it to be."
"I want it to be."
"Then it is." He kissed her once more, slow and deep, sealing the promise. "Now come on. We've got two hours before church, and I need to make sure you're really okay."
"I'm really okay."
"Let me check anyway."
The smile she gave him was worth every bullet he'd ever dodged.
Two hours later, Forge sat in church with Dana's taste still on his lips and her mark still on his skin—fingernail crescents on his shoulders where she'd held on while he reminded them both they were alive.
Patriot stood at the head of the table, laying out the situation in blunt terms.
"Kovac's dead. Tanner's dead. Ray's lost his enforcer and his brains in less than a week." The President's eyes swept the room. "He's desperate, and desperate makes him dangerous. Today's assault was a suicide mission—he had to know he wasn't getting his men back."
"He's running out of options," Gallows said. "Running out of crew, too. The guys we took down today—that's probably half his remaining muscle."
"Which means he'll do something stupid soon." Forge leaned forward, feeling the weight of every brother's attention. "Ray's a bully. Always has been. Without Kovac planning his moves, he's got nothing but instinct. And his instinct is going to tell him to come at us with everything he's got left."
"Then we hit him first," Gunner growled. "Before he can regroup."
Patriot nodded slowly. "Forge. You know this man better than anyone. Where does he go when he's cornered?"
Forge thought about Graterford. About the yard, the hierarchy, the way Ray had operated inside those walls. About the connections he'd built and the men who still owed him favors.
"He's got one lieutenant left," he said. "Lenny Grimes. Sadist. Did time in the same block as me. If Ray's planning something big, Grimes will be running point."
"Then we find Grimes," Patriot said. "And we end this."
The brothers around the table nodded in grim agreement. The war wasn't over—Ray was still breathing, still dangerous, still threatening everything they'd built.
But tonight, the Sons had held their ground. Tonight, Pete Kovac's body was cooling in a Kensington alley.
And tomorrow, they'd hunt down the rest.