31. Nora #2
Goodbyes happen quickly because I think dragging them out would make this worse for everyone involved.
The children cling harder than normal. Lena hugs all three men twice each before finally stepping back.
Paxton wraps himself around Viper’s neck first, then Blade’s waist, then Stryker’s leg with enough seriousness that even some of the surrounding bikers look away awkwardly.
I feel strangely unsteady watching it. Stryker stops in front of me last. For a second neither of us says anything.
Then quietly, “Lock your door tonight.”
“We’re inside a compound full of armed bikers.”
“Still.”
I nod once.
His hand slides briefly around the back of my neck, grounding instead of possessive. “We’ll come back, babygirl.”
The certainty in his voice almost convinces me. Almost. Then they’re gone.
The convoy pulls out in waves. Motorcycles first. Then trucks and SUVs behind them kicking dust across the desert roads while engines echo off the surrounding hills. I stand beside the children watching until the last taillights disappear completely.
The silence afterward feels immediate.
Lena looks up at me. “I hate war stuff.”
I crouch beside her carefully. “Me too.”
That night the clubhouse tries very hard to pretend things are normal.
Dinner still gets cooked. Card games still happen downstairs. One of the prospects starts a movie for the younger kids while Eva helps two rescued women sort donated clothes nearby. Life continues, because apparently that’s what survival looks like inside the Wolves.
But the absence of the patched members hangs over everything.
The building feels hollow without them.
By the next morning communications start acting strange.
At first it seems minor. Delayed radio responses. Static interruptions. One of the generators flickering briefly before stabilizing again. The prospects staying behind blame weather, then old infrastructure, then overloaded systems from too many people using electricity simultaneously.
Nobody actually believes those explanations.
I’m helping Isa reorganize donated supplies in one of the storage rooms when Callum walks past carrying a rifle.
“Everything okay?” I ask automatically.
“Yeah.”
Lie.
His expression says otherwise.
Isa notices too after he disappears down the hall. “That boy looks one inconvenience away from committing homicide.”
“That feels normal around here now.”
She sighs dramatically. “Unfortunately true.”
The day keeps moving anyway.
Lunch gets served downstairs. Paxton and Lena build another blanket fort near the common room while several rescued women help them string lights through the fabric walls. Tori teaches one survivor how to play poker badly enough that arguments keep breaking out every ten minutes.
Normal.
Almost normal.
Then every light in the clubhouse flickers hard enough to plunge half the first floor into darkness for two full seconds. People freeze. The generators kick back immediately afterward, but the mood changes instantly.
One of the prospects grabs his radio. “Report.”
Only static answers. Another explosion hits outside before anyone can react. The entire building shakes. Women scream downstairs. Every instinct in my body locks instantly onto the children.
I run.
Paxton and Lena are halfway out of the blanket fort already looking terrified. I grab both of them automatically just as automatic gunfire erupts somewhere near the lower entrance of the compound.
Chaos detonates through the clubhouse instantly.
“MOVE!” somebody screams from down the hallway.
More gunfire. Heavy. Close.
Eva appears around the corner shoving terrified women toward the rear stairwell while Isa pulls another crying survivor behind her by the wrist.
“Basement!” Eva yells. “Everybody downstairs now!”
The children cling to me hard enough to hurt.
I scoop Lena against one side while grabbing Paxton’s hand with the other. The entire hallway floods with people trying to move at once. Crying. Screaming. Prospects barking orders over radio static that barely works anymore.
Another explosion rattles the building.
Dust rains from the ceiling.
Callum appears at the far stairwell carrying an assault rifle already firing bursts down the corridor behind him. I see one armed man hit the ground near the blown-out entrance before three more rush through the smoke immediately afterward.
Too many. There are too many.
“GO!” Callum roars at us.
Automatic gunfire tears through the hallway walls behind him.
A rescued woman beside me screams when blood splatters across the concrete from somewhere I can’t fully see. People shove harder toward the basement stairs while prospects try desperately to hold choke points long enough to move civilians deeper inside.
Paxton is shaking.
I grab his face briefly so he looks directly at me.
Stay with me, I sign hard and clear.
He nods immediately.
Another prospect slams the basement door open below us. “MOVE MOVE MOVE!”
The staircase becomes chaos.
Women crying. Children screaming. Gunfire overhead loud enough to vibrate through the walls. Somebody falls behind me and doesn’t get back up immediately because the crowd keeps pushing forward too fast.
I hear Aiden yelling somewhere upstairs. Then abruptly not yelling anymore.
The sound cuts off in a way that makes my stomach turn cold instantly.
We barely reach the lower hallway before more explosions hit above us. The power flickers again. Emergency lights wash everything red.
The basement isn’t safe either. It just feels slower down here.
Temporary.
Callum appears again covered in blood that I can’t tell is his or somebody else’s. “Barricade the lower doors!”
Prospects shove furniture against reinforced exits while survivors huddle together crying near the walls. Eva moves through the crowd frighteningly calm, despite everything happening overhead.
“Stay low,” she orders one of the younger women firmly. “Breathe first. Panic later.”
Gunfire erupts closer. One of the basement doors explodes inward. The remaining prospects open fire immediately. The noise becomes unbearable.
I throw myself over both children instinctively while bullets slam into concrete somewhere nearby. Screaming fills the hallway. Smoke. Dust. Men shouting in Spanish.
Cartel. The realization hits hard and immediate. This was planned.
The Wolves were never meant to come home. They’re on a goose chase and we are the real war zone.
Callum grabs one attacker before he fully clears the doorway and drives a knife into his throat brutally enough that blood sprays across the wall. Another armed man shoots him point blank almost immediately afterward.
I choke on a scream. The line breaks after that.
The prospects fight viciously. God, they fight hard. Every hallway becomes hand-to-hand chaos and gunfire and blood and screaming women trying to shield children behind overturned furniture.
But there are too many attackers. Way too many. Somebody grabs my arm violently. I spin automatically, ready to fight, before realizing it’s Eva.
“We need to move now.”
“Where?”
“Interior rooms.”
Another burst of gunfire answers for her. We run.
I drag both children through smoke-filled hallways while armed men storm deeper into the compound behind us. Isa shoves three survivors into a locked storage room while Tori cracks somebody across the face with the butt of a shotgun hard enough to drop him instantly.
The Wolves women fight too and I do my best to keep up. The building feels like it’s shaking around us and I can’t tell if that’s real or just the chaos of everything. Then suddenly armed men pour through the opposite corridor too.
We stop cold as we realize we are thoroughly trapped.
One of the cartel soldiers shouts something in Spanish while raising his weapon. Paxton presses hard against my side. Lena starts crying quietly.
Around us, terrified women cry openly now. Some of the rescued survivors look horrifyingly familiar with this situation.
Like they expected captivity eventually anyway. That realization makes me feel sick.
Every bit of this was planned.
They never expected the Wolves to win whatever operation pulled them away from the clubhouse. They expected this instead.