Chapter 18
The compound buzzed with a tension Dana could feel in her bones.
Two days since Grimes. Two days of waiting while Warrant tracked Ray Stoltz to his final hiding place. Two days of watching Forge sharpen his blade and check his weapons and pace the courtyard like a caged wolf waiting to be unleashed.
Tonight, it ended.
Dana sat in the main room of the clubhouse, nursing a beer she wasn't drinking, watching brothers file into the chapel for church. They moved with purpose, grim-faced and focused—men preparing for war, not a meeting.
Forge paused at the door and caught her eye. The look he gave her said everything words couldn't: Wait for me. I'm coming back.
She nodded once, and he disappeared inside.
The chapel doors closed, and Dana was left alone with the silence.
The meeting lasted two hours.
Dana knew because she watched the clock, counting every minute like it might be the last peaceful one she'd ever have.
She tried to read, couldn't focus. Tried to eat, couldn't stomach it.
Ended up pacing the same circuit Forge had worn into the floor, understanding now why he couldn't sit still when violence was coming.
The waiting was worse than the fight.
Grace found her around hour one, settling onto the couch with the comfortable ease of a woman who'd done this before.
"First time's the hardest," Grace said.
Dana stopped pacing. "What?"
"Waiting while they plan something big. The first time Patriot rode out to handle a threat, I nearly lost my mind." Grace's smile was wry. "Now I just drink whiskey and trust that he knows what he's doing."
"Does the fear ever go away?"
"No." Grace's voice softened. "But you learn to live with it. You learn that the fear is the price of loving a man like this—and the love is worth the price."
Dana sank onto the couch beside her, some of the tension bleeding out of her shoulders. "How do you do it? Watch him ride into danger and not fall apart?"
"I remind myself that he's the most capable man I've ever known. That he's survived things that would have killed anyone else. And that he has every reason in the world to come home." Grace's hand found hers, squeezed. "Forge loves you. That's a powerful motivation to stay alive."
"I love him too."
"I know. Everyone knows." Grace laughed softly. "The way you two look at each other—it's like watching a house fire. Impossible to ignore and twice as hot."
Dana felt heat rise to her cheeks. "Is it that obvious?"
"Honey, you held his bloody hands and kissed them after he killed a man. Obvious doesn't begin to cover it."
Before Dana could respond, the chapel doors swung open.
Brothers poured out, moving with renewed energy—some heading for the garage, some for the weapons cache, all of them ready for what came next. Dana searched the crowd for Forge and found him near the back, deep in conversation with Pounder.
The smaller man—compact, manic energy barely contained—was gripping Forge's arm with visible emotion. Dana couldn't hear what they were saying, but she didn't need to. The history between them was written in every line of their bodies.
Pounder was the reason Forge had gone to prison. The man he'd protected at the cost of five years of his life.
As she watched, Pounder pulled Forge into a fierce hug—brief but intense, the kind of embrace that spoke of debts that could never be repaid. When they separated, Pounder's eyes were bright with something that might have been tears.
Forge clapped him on the shoulder, said something that made Pounder laugh despite the tension, and then turned to find Dana watching.
He crossed to her immediately, his focus narrowing to exclude everything else in the room.
"Hey." His hand found the small of her back, possessive and grounding. "You okay?"
"I should be asking you that." Dana leaned into his touch. "What did Pounder say?"
"That he's riding with me tonight. That he's been waiting five years to repay what I did for him." Forge's mouth curved slightly. "I told him he doesn't owe me anything. He told me to shut up and let him have this."
"He loves you."
"He's my brother. They all are." His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her against his side. "But you're the reason I'm coming back. You know that, right?"
Dana's throat tightened. "I know."
"Ray's holed up in a warehouse on the east side.
Skeleton crew—maybe five guys, all hired muscle.
He's got no one left from his prison days.
" Forge's voice was matter-of-fact, like he was discussing the weather instead of an assault plan.
"We hit at midnight. Patriot's leading, I'm on point. Should be over by one."
"Should be."
"Will be." He turned her to face him, hands gripping her shoulders. "This ends tonight, Dana. One way or another, Ray Stoltz stops being a threat. And tomorrow, we start rebuilding."
She wanted to believe him. Wanted to trust that he'd walk back through those gates the same way he'd walked out. But fear was a cold knot in her chest that wouldn't loosen.
"What if something goes wrong?"
"Then Gallows gets you out. Takes you somewhere safe, somewhere Ray can't find even if he survives.
" Forge's eyes were steel, absolutely certain.
"But nothing's going wrong. I didn't survive five years in Graterford to die in a warehouse fight with a bully who couldn't beat me then and can't beat me now. "
"You're very confident."
"I'm very motivated." His forehead dropped to rest against hers. "I've got a woman waiting for me. A future to build. A life I actually want to live for the first time in longer than I can remember. Ray Stoltz doesn't get to take that from me."
Dana closed her eyes, breathing him in. Leather and gun oil and the warm scent underneath that was purely him.
"Come back to me," she whispered.
"Always." He kissed her—hard, claiming, a promise sealed with heat. "Stay here. Stay safe. I'll be home before you know it."
"I'm not sleeping until you walk through that door."
"Stubborn."
"Learned it from you."
His laugh was low and warm, wrapping around her like armor. "That's my girl."
The hours between church and midnight felt endless.
Dana watched the brothers prepare—weapons checked, bikes inspected, cuts donned like sacred armor. The ritual of it was oddly comforting, the precision of men who'd done this before and knew exactly what they were doing.
Pounder appeared at her elbow around eleven, his usual manic energy subdued but not absent.
"You're Dana." It wasn't a question. "Forge's woman."
"I'm Dana." She studied the man who'd changed Forge's life. Missing fingers on one hand, burn scars climbing both arms, eyes that were a little too bright and a little too knowing. "And you're the reason he went inside."
Pounder flinched. "Yeah. That's me."
"He doesn't regret it."
"I know." Pounder's voice was rough. "That's what makes it worse. Five years he gave for me, and he acts like it was nothing. Like any brother would've done the same."
"They would have."
"Some of them, maybe. But most would've taken the deal. Eighteen months instead of five years? Anyone with sense would've pointed the finger and walked." Pounder shook his head. "Forge didn't even hesitate. Told the cops he acted alone and never looked back."
Dana thought about the man she loved—his quiet strength, his absolute loyalty, his refusal to compromise even when it cost him everything.
"That's who he is," she said. "Who he's always been."
"I know." Pounder met her eyes, something fierce burning in his gaze. "That's why I'm riding beside him tonight. That's why if anyone tries to touch him, they go through me first. I can't give him back the five years I took. But I can make damn sure he lives to spend the next fifty with you."
Dana's throat tightened. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet." Pounder's grin was sharp, slightly unhinged. "Thank me when we're toasting over Stoltz's body."
He walked away before she could respond, leaving her with a complicated knot of emotions she didn't know how to untangle.
Midnight came too fast.
Dana stood in the courtyard, watching the brothers mount their bikes. The rumble of engines filled the night, a thunder that vibrated in her chest and echoed off the compound walls.
Forge was the last to mount, his eyes finding hers across the distance.
She walked to him without thinking, stopped beside his bike, and reached up to touch his face. His skin was warm under her fingers, his jaw rough with stubble.
"I love you," she said. Simple. Certain.
"I love you too." His hand covered hers, pressing it against his cheek. "When I get back, we're going to talk about the future. About making this official. About what it means to be claimed in front of the whole brotherhood."
Dana's heart stuttered. "Are you asking me something?"
"I'm telling you to think about it." His smile was small but real. "Because when this is over, I'm not letting you go. Not ever. And I want the whole world to know you're mine."
"I'm already yours."
"Then it won't be a hard decision." He turned his head, pressed a kiss to her palm. "Now go inside. Stay with Grace. And when I walk back through those gates—"
"I'll be here." Dana stepped back, letting her hand fall away. "Waiting."
Forge held her gaze for one more heartbeat. Then he pulled on his helmet, kicked the bike to life, and fell into formation with his brothers.
Patriot was at the head of the column, cold authority radiating from every line of his body. Gallows on his right, Gunner on his left. Pounder just behind, practically vibrating with barely contained energy. And Forge—her Forge—third row back, face obscured by the visor but presence unmistakable.
The President raised his fist, and the column began to move.
Dana watched them go, watched until the last taillight disappeared through the gates and the night swallowed them whole. The silence that followed was deafening.
Grace appeared at her elbow, a glass of whiskey in each hand. "Come on. We'll wait together."
Dana took the glass but didn't drink. She stood in the courtyard long after Grace went inside, long after the cold seeped through her clothes and into her bones.
Somewhere in the Philadelphia night, the man she loved was riding toward violence.
And all she could do was wait.
Ray Stoltz's prison rules end tonight, Forge had said.
Dana lifted the whiskey to her lips and took a long, burning swallow.
Tonight, everything changed. One way or another.
She just had to believe he'd be there to see it.