34. Nora
NORA
Valentina’s face doesn’t look real.
That’s the first thing my brain fixates on while smoke curls through the ruined hallway around us and distant gunfire rattles through the lower level of the clubhouse.
Her dark hair hangs in damp strands around her face.
Blood runs down one side of her ankle from the gunshot wound in her foot.
There’s dirt smeared across her cheekbones beneath drying tears, and her hand shakes hard enough that the gun pointed at my chest wavers visibly.
But it’s still her.
I still see the girl who used to sit cross-legged on our apartment counter eating cereal directly from the box while complaining about rich tourists tipping badly in Vegas clubs. The girl who stole my hoodies constantly and blasted music too loudly while getting ready for work.
But standing in front of me now is also somebody else entirely. Somebody harder.
The gun remains aimed at me loosely while her chest rises unevenly beneath black tactical gear, splattered with blood that probably belongs to several different people.
Her eyes finally meet mine fully.
“Nora,” she says.
Her voice breaks apart on my name. Mine probably would too if I trusted myself enough to speak.
Instead, I stare at her, because I genuinely cannot process this fast enough.
My body still shakes from adrenaline. My ears ring from gunfire.
Somewhere nearby people are still screaming and fighting and dying, but all of it feels strangely distant compared to the impossible reality standing ten feet away from me.
“You’re alive,” I finally whisper.
Valentina laughs once. It sounds horrible.
“Barely.”
Neither of us moves.
The hallway flickers dimly from damaged overhead lighting while smoke drifts thicker from somewhere downstairs. Blood stains the floor between us in muddy streaks. I can still feel the weight of Paxton and Lena in my arms from seconds ago when I shoved them into the safe room.
Safe. Please still safe.
Valentina notices my glance toward the hidden door immediately.
“He’s okay,” she says quickly. “I wasn’t going to let him get hurt. I didn’t know he was yours, but I’d never hurt a kid.”
My throat tightens violently.
“You held a gun to his head.”
Pain crosses her face so fast I almost miss it.
“I know.”
I grip the handgun tighter automatically even though hers still points at me too. My hands ache from shaking now. Blood smears across my fingers from somewhere I don’t remember getting cut.
“How?” I ask quietly. “How are you alive?”
Valentina closes her eyes briefly, like the question physically hurts.
“When the masquerade went bad,” she says slowly, “and they separated us. You disappeared during the shooting. I thought you got out.” Her mouth twists bitterly. “They tried to sell me twice,” she continues. “Didn’t work either time.”
Her voice stays strangely calm now. Controlled through obvious effort.
“I kept attacking handlers. Buyers. Guards. Anybody who touched me.” She wipes angrily at tears still falling down her face. “Eventually the Bratva stopped trying to profit from me and started using me instead.”
I stare at her silently. She looks weaponized.
That’s what it is. That word keeps replaying through my head because I understand it now looking at her.
The way she stands. The way she tracks sounds automatically.
The way she keeps adjusting her grip on the gun despite crying hard enough her shoulders tremble.
She became something meant to survive violence. Something built inside it.
“They trained you,” I say.
Valentina lets out another rough laugh. “That’s a pretty word for it.”
I don’t ask for details. I can see enough of them already.
Scars disappear beneath the collar of her tactical vest. Burn marks flash briefly near her wrist when she shifts. Her eyes never stop scanning exits even while talking to me.
“What happened to you?” she asks suddenly.
The question catches me off guard. I almost laugh myself because where the hell do I even start?
“I had Paxton,” I answer quietly. “I ran to New York and I raised him there.”
Valentina’s expression changes immediately at his name.
Something softer flickers there. I suddenly feel sick.
“Why didn’t you come find me?” I ask though even I know it’s stupid.
Still, the question leaves my mouth before I can stop it. Valentina stares at me like she doesn’t understand how I could ask that.
“Look at me.”
Her voice cracks completely this time. I do look and suddenly I understand. She stayed away because she thought she’d poison anything she touched. Tears burn my eyes instantly.
My chest physically hurts listening to this.
Valentina wipes at her face furiously again.
“I considered it once, but I’d have to find a way out of the Bratva’s control. And I realized if anybody followed me there, you and I would both die.” Her mouth trembles violently. “So I left you be and stayed where I belonged.”
Six years. Six years she was alive somewhere, thinking she was protecting me by disappearing. And now she stands bleeding in front of me after helping save my son’s life.
“You killed my father,” she says suddenly.
The words come out shredded. Not angry exactly, but some weird mix of that and sad.
I know who she’s talking about. I’ve only killed one person.
Literally minutes ago. But processing her words takes effort.
I close my eyes briefly because there is no version of this conversation that doesn’t destroy both of us.
When I answer, my voice sounds steadier than I feel.
“Your father tried to kill my son.”
Valentina flinches like I hit her. Neither of us speaks after that. The truth sits between us brutal and immovable.
Gunfire rattles somewhere upstairs again followed by shouting in Spanish. The clubhouse groans around us from structural damage while smoke thickens farther down the corridor.
Valentina lowers her gun first. Then she breaks. A sob tears out of her so violently it doubles her over against the wall. The gun nearly slips from her fingers entirely while tears stream harder down her face.
“I didn’t know what else to do,” she chokes out. “He was awful, Nora, he was fucking awful, but he was my dad.”
The sound that leaves her barely sounds human anymore. I move before thinking. One step. Then another.
Every instinct in my body screams caution because she’s armed and unstable and trained to kill people, but none of that matters enough to override six years of missing her.
I reach toward her carefully.
And the entire clubhouse explodes for the second time tonight.
The blast hits hard enough the floor jumps beneath my feet. The wall behind Valentina erupts in splintered drywall while lights blow out overhead instantly. We both crash sideways violently as another deafening explosion tears through the compound exterior.
Gunfire detonates everywhere again.
Valentina grabs my arm automatically dragging me down behind overturned storage crates just as bullets rip through the hallway entrance.
“What the hell?—”
Then I hear it. Motorcycles. So many motorcycles. The sound tears through the compound outside like thunder.
The Wolves. They’re back.
Everything happens too fast after that.
Gunfire explodes from the lower floors while shouting erupts through the clubhouse in overlapping English and Spanish. Men scream. Walls shake from impact somewhere downstairs. Somebody crashes through a door nearby.
Valentina immediately shoves herself upright, despite her injured foot.
“They breached the perimeter,” she says breathlessly.
Then heavy boots pound toward the hallway. I recognize Stryker before I fully see him.
He storms around the corner with Reyes beside him, rifle raised, expression so cold it barely looks human. Calder follows behind them alongside Moreno and three other Coyotes covered in dust and blood.
Stryker sees Valentina first. Gun up instantly.
“DOWN.”
Everything in his body shifts toward killing her before thought even enters it.
“No!”
I throw myself directly in front of Valentina without thinking. Stryker stops hard enough his boots skid slightly against blood-slick flooring.
“Nora move.”
“She saved Paxton! It’s Valentina!”
The hallway goes still for a moment despite the gunfire still echoing downstairs.
Valentina stays behind me breathing unevenly while blood continues dripping from her foot.
Reyes looks ready to shoot her anyway. Calder keeps scanning exits automatically even during the standoff.
I have a feeling he is purposefully avoiding looking at Valentina.
No one really knows what to do with her right now and now one wants to scare her off.
Stryker’s eyes lock onto mine.
“Explain quickly.”
“Joaquín ordered her to shoot Paxton,” I say rapidly. “She turned on him instead.”
Confusion flickers briefly across several faces.
Then Calder swears softly under his breath.
“Where’s Joaquín now?” Reyes asks.
I point shakily toward the kitchen.
“Nora shot and killed him,” Valentina says quietly.
Every head turns toward me instantly.
Stryker blinks once. “You what?”
“I—”
The words stick, because now that they’re here, now that I’m not actively fighting to survive second by second. Everything starts crashing into me all at once.
My hands start shaking harder.
“I shot him,” I repeat weakly.
Stryker stares at me for half a second longer before moving immediately. Straight toward me.
He grabs my face gently with both hands checking me over so fast it almost feels frantic beneath his control. “Are you hurt?”
I shake my head automatically.
Before I can say anything else, Viper appears at the end of the hallway beside Blade.
Both of them look wrecked. Viper sees me first and physically stumbles with relief before his eyes immediately dart over my body checking for injuries.
Blade’s gaze lands on the blood covering my hands and clothes and his expression goes frighteningly still.
Then Viper sees Valentina behind and Joaquín’s blood trail leading toward the kitchen. His face changes completely.
“What happened?”
Nobody answers fast enough.
Blade steps closer carefully. “Angel?”
I open my mouth and try to speak.
“I killed?—”
The sentence collapses entirely. So do I. The sob hits so hard I fold forward before I even realize it’s happening. Every ounce of control I’ve held onto for six straight years finally gives out at once.
I can’t breathe. I can’t stop shaking.
Everything pours out violently and humiliatingly while tears blur the ruined hallway around me completely. Stryker catches me before I hit the floor while Viper grabs the gun gently from my hand.
“It’s okay,” Blade says quickly, even though none of this is okay at all.
“Nora,” Stryker says firmly. “Breathe for me, babygirl.”
I try. God, I try.
But all I can hear is Joaquín ordering Paxton’s execution over and over in my head while Valentina cries behind me and blood soaks into my sleeves.
“I shot him,” I choke out finally. “He was going to kill Paxton and I shot him and?—”
“You protected our son.”
Viper says it instantly. Without hesitation.
Our son.
The words break me even harder somehow.
Blade crouches beside me checking my arms, shoulders, face automatically for injuries while Stryker keeps me anchored upright against his chest. Viper brushes hair back from my face with shaking hands that are probably almost as unsteady as mine.
“Where are the kids?” Blade asks again gently.
I point weakly toward the hidden door. Viper moves instantly. Blade follows him without another word.
Behind us Reyes finally moves toward Valentina cautiously while Calder begins barking orders into a radio about clearing remaining hostiles and securing medics. The clubhouse around us still sounds like a war zone, but the fighting is shifting farther outward now.
The Wolves are retaking control. Stryker keeps one arm around me while staring at Valentina over my head.
“You saved my son?”
Valentina looks suddenly exhausted. “Yes.”
Stryker studies her silently for several long seconds before finally lowering his weapon completely. That small movement almost makes me cry again.
Then the hidden safe room door opens. Paxton bursts out first.
The second he sees me he runs full speed directly into my arms making terrified broken sounds in his throat while clinging to me hard enough it hurts. Lena crashes into Stryker and Viper almost simultaneously sobbing openly while Blade kneels immediately checking both children over for injuries.
Mom, Paxton signs frantically through tears. Bad men gone?
I grab his face with both hands immediately.
Gone, I sign back shakily. You are safe.
He throws himself against me harder.
Lena curls against Stryker crying into his shirt while Viper kisses the top of her head repeatedly like he can’t stop touching her long enough to reassure himself she’s real.
Around us the clubhouse burns and bleeds and groans beneath the aftermath of war but somehow all six of us are alive.
I look up finally at Valentina again.
She still stands near the wall bleeding heavily while Reyes keeps cautious watch nearby. Her face is wrecked from crying. Her shoulders shake from shock and blood loss. She looks completely lost standing there alone while the rest of us cling desperately to each other in the ruined hallway.
And suddenly I understand something awful. Six years ago I survived because I ran.
Valentina survived because she played their game.
Those are not the same kind of survival at all.