Chapter 16
The address came through at sunset.
Forge stood in the chapel with Gallows and Blackjack, staring at the phone in his hand. Warrant had tracked Lenny Grimes to a third-floor apartment in Fishtown—a walk-up over a Chinese restaurant, the kind of place where nobody asked questions and screams got lost in the noise of the city.
"He's got three men with him," Warrant's voice crackled through the speaker. "The last of Ray's capable crew. Everyone else either ran or died at the compound assault."
"Ray?"
"Not there. Grimes is running solo—probably trying to lie low after the fire. He knows you're coming."
"Good." Forge ended the call and looked at his brothers. "We move in two hours. Hit them after dark, when the restaurant closes. Minimum witnesses."
Gallows nodded, stone-faced as always. "Rules of engagement?"
"Prison rules." Forge's voice was ice. "Fast, brutal, no mercy. Grimes lit the match that burned Dana's store—everything her mother left her, everything she built. He doesn't get to walk away from that."
Blackjack checked his weapon, movements economical. "And the others?"
"They chose their side. They deal with the consequences."
Dana was waiting in their room when he went to gear up.
She sat on the edge of the bed, watching him move through the space with the focused calm of a man preparing for violence. Weapons checked. Blade sharpened. Spare magazine tucked into his belt.
"You're going after him," she said. Not a question.
"Tonight." Forge stopped in front of her, looked down at the woman who'd transformed his life in a matter of weeks. "Warrant found his location. Three men with him. We hit at ten."
"Will it be dangerous?"
"Yes."
She nodded slowly, processing. Her eyes traced over his gear, the guns, the knife. She didn't flinch.
"Then finish it," she said quietly. "And come back to me."
Forge dropped to one knee in front of her, taking her hands in his. They were smaller than his, softer, but he'd seen them swing a wrench at a man twice her size. He'd seen them hold him together when he was falling apart.
"I need you to understand something." His voice was rough with everything he couldn't fully express. "What I'm about to do—it's not clean. It's not pretty. Grimes is going to suffer before he dies, because that's what he deserves for what he tried to take from you."
"I know."
"I need you to be okay with that. With who I am when I come back."
Dana pulled one hand free and cupped his face, her thumb tracing his cheekbone. "I've known who you are since you slit Mike Tanner's throat and I touched your bloody face anyway. I'm not going to start flinching now."
Something fierce and protective roared to life in his chest. This woman—this incredible, fierce, unbreakable woman—had seen the worst of him and chosen to stay.
He was going to burn the world down for her.
"I love you," he said.
"I know." Her smile was small but real. "Now go make that bastard understand what he destroyed."
Forge kissed her—hard, claiming, a promise and a goodbye wrapped into one—then stood and walked out without looking back.
If he looked back, he might not leave.
And Lenny Grimes was waiting.
The Chinese restaurant was dark when they arrived.
Forge led the approach, moving through the alley behind the building with Gallows on his six and Blackjack covering the front entrance. The fire escape was rusted but functional—he'd climbed worse in Graterford, scaled walls with less to hold onto than ancient iron bolts.
Third floor. Apartment 3C. Three men plus Grimes.
Four bodies by the time they were done.
Forge reached the window and pressed his back against the brick, listening. Voices inside—low, tense. The sound of men who knew they were being hunted.
Good, he thought. Let them be scared. Let them understand what's coming.
He caught Gallows' eye, held up three fingers, then two, then one—
And then he was through the window.
Glass shattered. Someone screamed. Forge was already moving, the Glock in his hand barking twice as he put down the first man before his weapon cleared the holster. The second dove for cover behind a ratty couch, but Gallows was through the window now, flanking, cutting off the escape route.
"Grimes!" Forge's voice cut through the chaos. "You can die quick or you can die slow. Your choice."
A door slammed somewhere deeper in the apartment. Running footsteps. The coward was trying to flee.
Forge left Gallows to handle the remaining guard and went after his target.
The apartment was a maze of narrow hallways and cramped rooms, the kind of place that felt like a trap even when you weren't hunting someone through it. Forge moved fast, weapon up, instincts screaming with every corner he cleared.
He found Grimes in the back bedroom, trying to climb out the window.
"Going somewhere?"
Grimes spun, gun raised, eyes wild with the desperate terror of a man who'd finally realized he'd picked the wrong fight. He was six feet of sadist—the kind of man who'd done time for assault and battery, who'd made a career out of hurting people weaker than himself.
He wasn't weaker than Forge.
"You." Grimes' voice cracked. "You're the prospect. The one from Block D."
"I'm not a prospect anymore." Forge stepped closer, letting Grimes see the death in his eyes. "And you're not leaving this room."
"Ray will—"
"Ray sent you to burn a woman's life to the ground. Ray's next." Another step. "But right now, we're going to talk about what you did. About the store you destroyed. About the sewing machine that belonged to her dead mother."
Something flickered in Grimes' expression—not remorse, never that. Just the dawning understanding that he'd miscalculated badly.
"It was just a job," he said. "Ray wanted to send a message. I didn't know—"
"You knew enough." Forge's voice was ice. "You knew it would hurt her. That's why you did it. Because you're the kind of man who enjoys causing pain."
"Look, we can work something out—"
"No. We can't."
Grimes fired.
The shot went wide—panic throwing off his aim—and then Forge was on him.
He grabbed the gun hand and twisted, feeling bones grind, hearing the satisfying crack of a wrist breaking under pressure. Grimes screamed, the weapon clattering to the floor, and Forge drove his knee into the man's gut hard enough to fold him in half.
"You know what I learned in Graterford?" Forge grabbed Grimes by the hair, yanked his head back to expose his throat. "I learned that the quiet ones are always the most dangerous. I learned that patience is a weapon. And I learned exactly how long a man can suffer before his body gives out."
"Please—"
"She said please." Forge's grip tightened. "When your men broke into her store the first time. When they threatened to make her an example. She said please, and you didn't listen."
He threw Grimes against the wall hard enough to crack the plaster. The sadist crumpled, gasping, trying to crawl away with his broken wrist clutched against his chest.
Forge didn't let him get far.
He grabbed Grimes by the ankle and dragged him back, flipped him over, planted a boot on his chest to hold him down. The man who'd burned Dana's dreams to ash stared up at him with terror-glazed eyes.
"You wanted to send a message," Forge said quietly. "Consider this one received."
He drew his knife.
What followed was brutal. Efficient. Everything Grimes had earned through a lifetime of cruelty paid back in a single, visceral accounting. Forge didn't rush—he'd promised Dana that Grimes would understand, and understanding took time.
By the end, Lenny Grimes was begging. Crying. Offering everything he had—information, money, his own mother—if Forge would just make it stop.
Forge made it stop.
The final cut opened Grimes' throat from ear to ear, and the man who'd burned Second Chances died gurgling on his own blood.
Forge stood over the body, breathing hard, letting the kill settle into his bones. His hands were covered in blood. His shirt was ruined. But somewhere deep in his chest, a knot of fury he'd been carrying since Dana's phone rang at 3 AM finally loosened.
Done, he thought. It's done.
"Brother." Gallows appeared in the doorway, surveying the carnage with his usual stone-faced calm. "We clear?"
"Clear." Forge wiped his knife on Grimes' shirt and sheathed it. "The others?"
"Handled. Blackjack's doing cleanup." Gallows' eyes lingered on the mess Forge had made of Ray's last lieutenant. "You left a message."
"That was the point."
They moved through the apartment quickly, professionally. Anything that could identify the Sons was cleaned. Anything that could tie the bodies to Ray's operation was left visible. Let the cops find what was left of Grimes' crew and draw their own conclusions.
Let Ray understand that his empire was crumbling around him.
The compound was quiet when Forge pulled through the gates.
Most of the brothers had gone to bed, the clubhouse dark except for a few lights in the windows. Normal night. Normal silence. Like violence wasn't still dripping from his hands.
He parked the bike and sat for a moment, letting the engine die, letting the silence settle. His knuckles ached. His shirt was stiff with dried blood. He could still smell copper and gunpowder and the particular metallic stench of a man bleeding out.
Dana was waiting on the steps.
She rose when she saw him, crossing the courtyard with measured steps. Her eyes swept over him—the blood, the torn jacket, the exhaustion carved into every line of his face—and she didn't stop. Didn't hesitate.
She walked right up to him and took his bloody hands in hers.
"Is it done?"
"It's done." His voice came out rough, scraped raw. "Grimes is dead. His crew is dead. Ray's got nobody left."
"Good."
She lifted his hands to her lips and kissed his knuckles—the ones that had broken Grimes' face, the ones that were still stained with another man's life. Something cracked open in Forge's chest at the gesture.
"You should be horrified," he said.
"I should be a lot of things." Dana's eyes met his, steady and fierce. "But when I look at you, all I see is the man who avenged what they tried to take from me. All I see is the man I love."
"Dana—"
"Come inside." She tugged his hands gently, leading him toward the clubhouse. "Let me clean you up. Let me take care of you for once."
Forge let himself be led.
The bathroom was small but functional—the same one he'd used a dozen times since coming to the compound. But it felt different tonight, with Dana running warm water over his hands, carefully washing away the evidence of what he'd done.
"Ray's next," he said quietly. "Now that Grimes is gone, he's got nothing left. No enforcers, no planners, no crew. Just him and whatever hired muscle he can scrape together."
"How long?"
"Soon. Days, maybe. We're tracking his location now."
Dana nodded, her fingers gentle as she cleaned a cut on his knuckle he hadn't noticed. "And then it's over."
"Then it's over." He caught her wrist, stilled her hands. "And we rebuild. Your store. Our life. Everything they tried to burn down."
Her smile was small but real. "You really think we can?"
"I think you can do anything." He pulled her close, heedless of the water still running, of the blood still drying on his clothes. "And I'm going to be right there beside you, holding tools or fetching coffee or whatever you need."
Dana laughed—a small, broken sound that was half sob. "You remembered."
"I remember everything you've ever said to me." His forehead dropped to rest against hers. "I love you, Dana. And when this is done—when Ray is dead and the war is over—I'm going to spend the rest of my life proving it."
She kissed him then, soft and sweet and tasting of tears.
And for the first time since the phone rang at 3 AM, Forge felt something like peace.