Chapter Eighteen
Church was not what Tess expected.
She'd imagined something out of a movie—leather and smoke, crude jokes and cruder men, a room that smelled like violence and bad decisions.
What she found was a converted foreman's office with reinforced walls, a heavy wooden table, and brothers who sat in absolute silence while their president spoke.
Alpha stood at the head of the table, a map of the lakefront spread before him. His presence filled the room the way Lake Michigan filled the horizon—massive, unmovable, demanding respect without asking for it.
"Gregor Petrovic." He tapped the map. "East Side marina, private dock, Wednesday night crossings. That's where we hit him."
"How do we know he'll be there?" Razor leaned forward, all tactical calculation behind those cold eyes. "He's lost three lieutenants in two weeks. He could be running for Michigan already."
"He's not running."
Every head turned toward Lakeshore.
He stood at the far end of the table, arms crossed, watching the proceedings with that lake-cold calm Tess had learned meant he was already three steps ahead.
"Men like Gregor don't run. They've spent too long at the top of the food chain to believe anyone can take them down." His eyes found Alpha's. "He'll be at that marina Wednesday night. Same schedule he's kept for fifteen years. Because changing would mean admitting he's scared."
"And if you're wrong?"
"I'm not."
The certainty in his voice sent a shiver down Tess's spine. Not fear—something closer to awe. This was the man who'd told her she was his, who'd killed for her, who'd promised her a future on the water. But this was also a predator planning a hunt, and the difference was breathtaking.
"We need confirmation," Alpha said. "Something more than a hunch."
"I have it."
The words were out of Tess's mouth before she could second-guess them. Every eye in the room swung toward her—the woman standing against the wall, the outsider who'd somehow ended up in the middle of their war.
She stepped forward.
"Captain Reeves. He runs charter boats out of the harbor, been working that stretch of water for twenty years.
" She met Alpha's gaze without flinching.
"He called me this morning. Gregor's boat has been running the same route every Wednesday night for as long as he can remember.
Ten-thirty departure, midnight return. Like clockwork. "
"And he's sure Gregor runs it personally?"
"Wednesday nights are his thing. Always have been.
Reeves says it's the only crossing Gregor trusts enough to handle himself—high-value cargo, direct delivery to his Michigan contacts.
" Tess pulled out her phone, showing the notes she'd taken.
"He's scheduled for tomorrow night. Reeves saw the prep work when he came in this morning. "
Silence stretched across the room.
Then Alpha nodded slowly, something like respect flickering in his expression.
"Good intel." He looked at Lakeshore. "Your woman came through."
"She usually does."
The possessive warmth in those words made Tess's chest tight. Your woman. In front of his brothers, in front of his president, claimed without hesitation.
"Wednesday night." Alpha turned back to the map. "Razor, build me an assault plan. I want land and water approaches. Nobody gets off that dock alive except us."
Razor stood, already scanning the map with predatory focus. "Marina's got two access points by road. Chain-link fence, security cameras—civilian grade, nothing serious. Water approach is cleaner. Come in from the south, use the breakwall for cover."
"Lakeshore takes the water," Alpha said. "He knows those currents better than anyone."
"I'll need Fang with me." Lakeshore traced a line on the map. "Board from the blind side, hit them before they can cast off. Stockyard and Scout handle the land approach, cut off the retreat."
"And Gregor?"
"Mine."
One word. Final. Absolute.
Nobody argued.
The planning session lasted two hours.
Tess stayed silent for most of it, watching the brothers work through contingencies and backup plans with the kind of methodical precision she'd only seen in corporate war rooms. But this wasn't a boardroom battle over market share.
This was life and death, and every man at that table understood the stakes.
When church ended, the brothers scattered to prepare. Weapons to clean, gear to check, the hundred small tasks that preceded violence. Tess followed Lakeshore to the garage, where he opened a locker and started pulling out equipment she didn't recognize.
"What's all this?"
"Wetsuit. Dry bag. Emergency beacon." He checked each item with practiced efficiency. "The water approach means swimming the last hundred yards. Can't risk engine noise giving us away."
"That water's still cold."
"I've swum in worse."
She watched him work, methodical and focused, and felt the weight of tomorrow pressing down on her shoulders.
"You're sure about this? Going after Gregor directly?"
"I'm sure." He paused, looking at her. "Are you having second thoughts?"
"No. Just..." She struggled to find the words. "Wondering what happens after. If something goes wrong."
Lakeshore set down the gear and crossed to her, his hands finding her hips with the easy familiarity of a man who'd learned her body and wasn't afraid to show it.
"Nothing's going to go wrong."
"You can't promise that."
"I can promise I'll do everything in my power to come back to you." He tilted her chin up, making her meet his eyes. "I didn't survive eight years on the lake just to die in some smuggler's marina. I've got too much to live for now."
"That's not reassuring."
"It's the best I've got." He kissed her forehead. "I need you to do something for me."
"What?"
"Stay at the compound tomorrow night. I know you wanted to be there when we took Gregor down, but—"
"No."
"Tess—"
"I said no." She pulled back, steel threading through her voice. "We agreed. I earned the right to see this through."
"This isn't the same as watching from a distance. This is a full assault on a fortified position. There will be guns, explosions, men dying—"
"I know what it is." She held his gaze. "I've watched my shop get destroyed. I've seen your brothers fight and bleed. I've been part of this since the beginning, and I'm not sitting in the dark while you finish it."
His jaw tightened. She could see the war in his eyes—the need to protect her versus the knowledge that she wasn't the kind of woman who accepted protection she hadn't asked for.
"You stay with Scout," he said finally. "Land approach, away from the water. The moment things go sideways—"
"I run toward brothers, not away. I remember."
"I mean it, Tess."
"So do I." She rose on her toes and kissed him, fierce and brief. "I'll be careful. You be careful. And tomorrow night, when Gregor Petrovic is dead and this is finally over, we go home together."
"Together."
"Promise me."
He pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her like he could shield her from everything that was coming.
"I promise."
The compound buzzed with controlled chaos as night fell.
Brothers moved through the garage with purpose, checking weapons, loading vehicles, the grim choreography of men preparing for war.
Tess helped where she could—holding lights while Stockyard adjusted his bike's exhaust, bringing coffee to prospects running errands, staying useful because staying still made her want to scream.
The old ladies gathered in the kitchen, their own ritual of waiting. Claire caught Tess's eye and nodded toward the coffee pot.
"First big one?"
"What?"
"First time watching them ride out for something like this." Claire poured two cups and handed one over. "It doesn't get easier. But it does get more familiar."
"How do you handle it?"
"Same way you're handling it. Stay busy. Stay focused. Trust that they know what they're doing." Claire's eyes drifted toward the garage, where Alpha was conferring with Razor. "And remind yourself that they always come home. One way or another, they always come home."
It wasn't the comfort Tess had been hoping for. But it was honest, and she appreciated that more than empty reassurances.
At nine o'clock, Lakeshore found her on the loading dock.
He was dressed for the assault now—dark clothes, tactical gear, the kind of outfit that meant he expected to swim and fight and possibly bleed. His face had gone flat and focused, all the softness from their bedroom burned away by what was coming.
"It's time."
"I know."
She stood and faced him, drinking in the sight of him one more time. This man who'd walked into her shop three weeks ago and changed everything. Who'd claimed her with words and actions and the kind of fierce, possessive love she'd never expected to find.
"Come back to me," she said.
"Always."
"I mean it. Whatever happens out there, whatever you have to do—come back. I don't care if you're bloody or broken or carrying new ghosts. Just come back."
He cupped her face in his hands, the calluses rough against her skin.
"I'm not dying in Gregor Petrovic's marina. I've got too many mornings on the lake left." He kissed her, deep and thorough, a promise sealed with breath and heat. "I love you."
"I love you too."
He stepped back, and the predator slid into place behind his eyes.
"Stay with Scout. Stay safe. I'll find you when it's over."
Then he was gone, striding toward the garage where his brothers waited.
Tess followed at a distance, watching the Wolves mount their bikes with the practiced ease of men who'd done this a hundred times. Alpha at the front, Razor beside him, Fang and Stockyard falling into formation behind. Lakeshore climbed onto his bike last, and his eyes found hers across the lot.
One nod. That was all.
Then the engines roared to life, and the compound emptied as the bikes headed for the lakefront.
Tess stood in the lot, watching them go, knowing that the man she loved was riding toward violence for her. For her shop, her boats, her father's legacy.
The man who pulled people from the water was heading out to put someone under it.
And all she could do was wait.