Chapter 8 - Rage
"Keep moving," I growl, shoving Tommy forward as Beast secures our rear. The hallway to the chapel stretches before us, dimly lit and exposed. Not ideal for prisoner transport during an active firefight.
Tommy stumbles but catches himself, a sneer twisting his face despite the blood trickling from his split lip.
"You're dead men," he says. "Both of you. All of you. Vulture's gonna string you up by your balls."
I tighten my grip on his arm, twisting just enough to make him wince. "Keep your mouth shut unless you want to lose some teeth."
The sounds of battle echo through the building. Gunfire, shouting, the occasional explosion as the Eagles deploy more breaching charges. The fight's not going their way. Our defensive positions are holding, our brothers driving them back wherever they breach. But it's far from over.
"You think you're winning?" Tommy laughs, a sharp, unhinged sound. "This is just the first wave. Vulture's called in every Eagle from three states. They'll be pouring in all night. By morning, there won't be a Savage Rider left breathing."
Beast grunts from behind us. "Shut him up, brother. Getting tired of his voice."
"You hear that?" Tommy continues, ignoring the warning.
"That's the sound of your club dying. Your brothers bleeding out.
And after we're done with them, we're coming for the women. That blonde bitch of mine is gonna pay for running. Someone saw her riding with one of you. I know she’s here. Gonna make her watch while I—"
My fist connects with his kidney before he can finish. Tommy doubles over, gasping, and I use the moment to shove him against the wall, forearm pressed against his throat.
"One more word about her," I say, my voice deadly quiet, "and I'll cut out your fucking tongue before we even get to the chapel. Understand?"
Fear flickers across his face before the sneer returns. He nods slightly against the pressure of my arm. I ease off just enough to let him breathe and continue moving him forward. King wants information, which means we need this piece of shit alive and talking. For now.
"Contact, three o'clock," Beast warns suddenly, raising his weapon.
Two Eagles appear at the end of the corridor, spotting us immediately. They open fire without hesitation, bullets splintering the wall beside us.
I drag Tommy down behind a storage cabinet, using his body as partial cover while Beast returns fire. The sharp crack of his shotgun drowns out Tommy's curses.
One Eagle drops, chest blown open by Beast's shot. The other dives for cover, still firing in our direction.
"Move," I order, hauling Tommy back to his feet and pushing him forward in a crouching run. We need to get to the chapel—more defensible position, better odds.
Tommy tries to break my grip as we run, twisting violently.
"Vulture!" he shouts, his voice echoing down the hallway. "East corridor! They've got me! East corridor!"
I slam his face into the wall, silencing him, but the damage is done. He's given away our position, our direction.
"Faster," Beast urges from behind us. "That asshole just rang the dinner bell."
We pick up the pace, half-dragging Tommy as his feet scramble to keep up. The chapel is just ahead. Double doors, reinforced after our last run-in with a rival club. I can see Tank positioned inside, providing cover as we approach.
A burst of gunfire erupts from behind us. Beast grunts, stumbling forward.
"Beast!" I call, unable to look back while maintaining my grip on Tommy.
"Keep going," he growls. "Just clipped me. I'm good."
We reach the chapel doors, Tank covering our entry with sustained fire down the corridor. Once inside, I shove Tommy into a chair, zip-tying his hands to the armrests while Tank secures the doors.
Beast slumps against the wall, examining his arm. The bullet grazed his bicep, leaving a bloody furrow but nothing life-threatening.
"Patch kit in the corner," Tank tells him, nodding toward a first aid box mounted on the wall.
King emerges from the adjoining room, his cold blue eyes taking in the scene. "Report."
"Prisoner secure," I say. "Beast took a graze. Eagles know we're here. This asshole shouted our position."
King's expression hardens as he approaches Tommy. "How many men did you bring?"
Tommy spits blood onto the floor. "Enough to kill every last one of you."
King backhands him, the sound cracking through the room like a gunshot. "Numbers. Now."
Tommy works his jaw, glaring up at King with naked hatred.
"Thirty, maybe forty by now. More coming. Vulture’s been waiting a long time to meet you again, old man. Five years planning exactly how he's going to make you suffer before you die."
King's expression doesn't change, but I know him well enough to see the subtle tightening around his eyes. The only indication that Tommy's words have registered at all.
The intercom crackles to life. Luna's voice, tense but controlled: "King. Vulture confirmed on premises. East entrance, moving toward the chapel with four Eagles. They're coming for Tommy."
I move to a defensive position near the door while Tank takes up station at the window, peering through a gap in the blinds.
"They're coming up the east corridor," he confirms. "Five of them, moving in formation. Vulture in the lead."
Beast finishes wrapping his arm and checks his shotgun. "How do you want to play this?"
King considers for a moment. "Let them come. We've got the position, the numbers. When they breach, we take them all. End this tonight."
The radio on King's belt crackles. Shadow's voice comes through: "King, Eagles retreating from west and south entrances. Looks like they're consolidating, moving toward your position."
"Copy that," King responds. "Hold your positions. Don't pursue. Let them come to us."
Tommy laughs from his chair, the sound edged with hysteria. "You hear that? They're not retreating. They're repositioning. Surrounding you. Vulture's going to burn this place to the ground with all of you in it."
I ignore him, focusing on the approaching threat. Through the gap in the blinds, I can see movement at the end of the corridor. Shadows advancing cautiously, weapons at the ready.
"Incoming," Tank warns. "Thirty seconds."
King moves to a position behind the large oak table that dominates the chapel, providing good cover while maintaining line of sight to the door. "Remember," he says, "Shoot on sight."
The seconds stretch like hours as we wait, weapons trained on the door, each of us locked in position. Even Tommy has fallen silent.
A voice calls from the corridor, deep and commanding: "King! I know you're in there. Send him out, and maybe, just maybe, I let one or two of you live."
Vulture. His voice sends a chill down my spine. Not from fear, but from the cold, clinical hatred it contains. This is a man who's nurtured his vengeance like a precious plant, watering it with rage, pruning it with fantasies of retribution.
King doesn't respond, just shifts his position slightly, getting a better angle on the door.
"No answer?" Vulture calls. "That's fine. We'll do this the hard way."
Gunfire erupts against the door, bullets splintering wood but not penetrating the reinforced core. They're trying to weaken the hinges, create a breach point.
"On my mark," King says quietly. "Three... two... one..."
The doors burst inward, blown off their hinges by what must be a small explosive charge. Smoke billows into the room, and through it come the Eagles, weapons blazing.
Everything slows down, the way it always does in combat. I see each figure as they enter. First two foot soldiers, then a taller man who can only be Vulture, followed by two more Eagles covering their rear.
Our response is immediate and coordinated. Beast's shotgun roars, catching the first Eagle in the chest and throwing him backward into his companions. Tank and I open fire simultaneously, dropping the second Eagle before he can get off more than a single wild shot.
Vulture dives behind an overturned table, returning fire with precise, controlled bursts that force King to duck for cover. The two remaining Eagles fan out, trying to flank us.
I focus on the one moving toward my position, tracking him through the smoke.
He fires, the bullet whizzing past my ear close enough that I feel its heat.
My return shot catches him in the shoulder, spinning him but not dropping him.
He staggers, brings his weapon back up. I fire again. This time he falls and doesn't move.
Beast has engaged the other Eagle, the two of them locked in close-quarters combat. Beast's size gives him the advantage, and within seconds, he has the Eagle pinned, delivering a knockout blow that leaves the man limp on the floor.
Through it all, Tommy remains tied to his chair, unable to move but twisting his head to follow the action, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and excitement.
"Vulture!" he shouts. "Here! I'm here!"
Vulture rises from behind his cover, firing a sustained burst that forces all of us to duck. In the moment of reprieve, he makes a dash toward Tommy, clearly intent on freeing his cousin.
King emerges from cover, his weapon trained on Vulture. "Stop," he commands. "It's over. Your men are down. The Eagles outside are being pushed back. Surrender now, we'll make it quick."
Vulture freezes, still several feet from Tommy. For the first time, I get a clear look at him. Tall, lean, with the same sharp features as Tommy but harder, crueler. His eyes burn with hatred as he stares at King.
"You murdered my brother," he says, his voice vibrating with rage.
"Your brother pulled a knife in a fistfight," King replies evenly. "I defended myself. Everyone there saw it."
"Lies!" Vulture spits. "Talon would never—"
"He was high," King cuts in. "Meth, according to the autopsy. Makes men do stupid, reckless things."