Chapter 5 - Reaper
She stares at the gun in my hand, her green eyes wide.
"I don't."
I hesitate, weighing the decision. Putting a weapon in the hands of someone untrained is dangerous but leaving her defenseless feels worse.
"It's simple," I say, turning the gun to show her the basics. "Safety is here. On now, which means it won't fire. Off when you push it down." I demonstrate without actually disengaging it. "Point and pull the trigger. It's got kickback, so be prepared for that."
She reaches for it, her slender fingers wrapping around the grip with unexpected determination.
"Like this?"
"Move your index finger off the trigger until you're ready to shoot," I correct. "And keep it pointed down."
She adjusts her hold, the concentration on her face reminding me of Emma when she was learning something new.
"I hope you don't need it," I say, retrieving a spare magazine from the drawer. "But if someone comes through that door who isn't me or one of my brothers, safety off, aim for center mass, and keep pulling the trigger until they stop moving."
She nods, and I can see her memorizing the instructions. "I understand."
I should leave it at that. Should tell her to lock herself in my room until I return. Should keep her as far from danger as possible. But something in her expression stops me.
"You'll be safe here at the clubhouse," I say, watching her reaction. "Ghost is leaving two prospects behind as security."
"I want to come with you," she says, her voice stronger than I've heard it yet.
"No." The response is automatic. Protective.
"Please." She sets the gun down. "I need to see it. I need to see them taken down."
"It's not going to be pretty, Evelyn."
"Nothing about this is pretty." Her eyes harden. "For once, I want to be on the outside. I want to see them caged, hurt, afraid. Like they made us feel."
I understand the need for vengeance better than most. It's a visceral hunger that can consume you if you let it. But it can also bring a closure nothing else provides.
"You could get hurt."
"I've already been hurt." She takes a step closer, and I resist the urge to back away. Not out of fear, but because her proximity does something to my self-control. "I need this. Please."
The word "please" from her lips shouldn't affect me the way it does. I've had women beg me for many things over the years—for mercy, for pleasure, for forgiveness. None have moved me like this simple request from a woman who's lost everything but still has the courage to seek justice.
"You stay in the vehicle," I finally say. "You stay down if I tell you to. You follow every order without question. Clear?"
Relief floods her face. "Clear."
"Get changed. There are clothes in the dresser in my room. Bottom drawer has smaller items that might fit better. Three minutes."
She nods and hurries out. I take a moment to center myself, to shift into the mindset required for what's coming. This isn't just a territorial defense or a business operation. This is a rescue mission, with the additional complication of having Evelyn along.
Ghost appears in the doorway, eyebrow raised. "Everything okay, boss?"
"She's coming with us."
His other eyebrow joins the first. "That's a bad idea."
"Probably."
"And you're doing it anyway."
"Yep."
He sighs, shaking his head. "She's got you twisted up."
"Focus on the job," I say, not denying it because there's no point. Ghost knows me too well. "What's our count?"
"Seven of us, fully armed. Blade is still watching the warehouse. The rest and one of the prospects are prepping the van."
"The sheriff?"
"Conveniently responding to a situation on the other side of town. Anonymous tip about a meth lab."
I nod, appreciating Ghost's thoroughness. "We go in fast and quiet. Primary objective is securing the girls. Secondary is capturing anyone we can question."
"And if they resist?"
I meet his eyes. "Then they die."
Ghost nods, understanding the finality in my tone.
"And her?" He tilts his head toward the hallway where Evelyn disappeared.
"She stays in the van with Wilder."
"You sure about that?" Ghost's voice drops. "Taking a civilian into this kind of situation... it's not like you, Reaper."
He's right, of course. I'm breaking protocol. Risking complication. Potentially endangering not just Evelyn but the mission.
"She needs this," I say simply.
Ghost nods. "Your call."
Evelyn returns before I can respond. She's found a black t-shirt that's still too large but less swallowing, and a pair of jeans she's rolled at the ankles and cinched with what appears to be a shoelace as a belt. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, her face set with determination.
"Ready," she says.
I hand her the gun again, along with a holstered knife. "Tuck the gun in your waistband at the small of your back. Knife goes in your boot."
She follows instructions with surprising efficiency.
"Let's go," I say, leading them through the clubhouse to the lot where vehicles are being loaded.
The scene outside is chaos. My brothers are checking weapons, loading gear, coordinating through earpieces. Wilder stands beside the black van we use for operations.
"Who's this?" he asks, looking Evelyn over with curiosity rather than judgment.
"Evelyn," I answer. "She's with me."
That's all the explanation needed in our world. If the president says someone's with him, questions end.
"She rides with you and me," I continue. "Ghost, you're with Ace, Venom and the prospect in the second vehicle."
The men move into position as I guide Evelyn to the van, opening the passenger door for her.
"Middle seat," I tell her. "Wilder drives. I need the window position."
She climbs in without argument, sliding to the center of the bench seat. Wilder takes the driver's side, and I join them, closing the door with a solid thunk. The interior smells of gun oil, leather, and the faint trace of Wilder's strong perfume.
"Two-minute drive," Wilder says, starting the engine. "Blade says minimal movement at the target now. Four guards visible. Cargo already inside."
"Cargo," Evelyn repeats softly, and I know she's thinking of the girls. Girls like her, who've been reduced to inventory.
"Not for long," I promise her.
The van pulls out, followed by the SUV carrying the rest of our crew. Evelyn sits rigid beside me, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. I can feel the tension radiating from her.
"You can still change your mind," I tell her. "Say the word, and Wilder turns around, takes you back."
She shakes her head. "No. I need to see this through."
"It might get bloody."
"I know." Her voice is steady. "I've seen blood before. Mine and others'."
The simple statement, delivered without drama or self-pity, reminds me that this woman has endured things I can only imagine. She's not some fragile flower needing protection. She's a survivor.
"Why are you doing this?" she asks. "Really. Not just the territory explanation."
I consider deflecting but decide on honesty. "I have a daughter. Emma. She's nineteen. These girls... they could be her."
"Where is she now?"
"University. Criminal forensics." Pride creeps into my voice despite my attempt to remain neutral. "She wants to work for the FBI someday."
"Far from the MC life."
"That's the idea." I check my weapon one last time, a habitual gesture before action. "She deserves better than what I am."
Evelyn looks at me, and I feel exposed under her gaze. "You're not what I expected."
"And what did you expect?"
"Someone who enjoys the pain he causes. Who takes what he wants without remorse." She looks down at her hands. "That's what I knew before."
Before I can respond, Wilder's voice cuts in. "Approaching target."
The building looms ahead, industrial and imposing in the afternoon light. Two vehicles are parked outside—a white van similar to the one Evelyn described and a black sedan.
"Stay in the van," I tell Evelyn as Wilder brings us to a stop behind a stack of shipping containers that shields us from view. "Wilder stays with you."
"But—"
"That's the deal," I say firmly. "You watch. You don't participate."
She nods reluctantly. "Be careful."
When was the last time someone other than my brothers cared if I came back in one piece? Emma used to say it, before she saw too much, knew too much about what her father really was.
"Always am," I reply.
I check my earpiece, hearing the confirmation signals from my brothers now positioned around the warehouse. "Wilder, you're on protection detail. Anyone approaches the van who isn't wearing our colors, shoot them."
"Copy that, boss." Wilder's massive hand rests on his sidearm.
I turn to Evelyn one last time. "Lock the doors after I'm gone."
She nods, her eyes never leaving mine.
"I feel safer around you," she admits quietly. "I know that doesn't make sense, but it's true."
This woman, who has every reason to fear men like me, feels safer in my presence. It's a responsibility I didn't ask for but find myself desperately wanting to honor.
"I'll be back," I promise, and then I'm out the door, signaling to Ghost as I move toward the warehouse.
We approach from multiple angles, using the shipping containers and abandoned equipment for cover. Through my earpiece, I hear Blade's steady voice: "East entrance clear. Two guards inside main door. One roaming the perimeter."
"Take the roamer," I instruct. "Quietly."
Seconds later: "Roamer down. Unconscious, secured."
We converge on the main entrance, moving like shadows despite our size. Years of operating together have made us efficient, anticipating each other's movements without need for constant communication.
Ghost and I position ourselves on either side of the door. The two guards are visible through the small windows—smoking, laughing, oblivious to what's coming.
I catch Ghost's eye, hold up three fingers. Three. Two. One.