12. Fallout
Part one
Bones
I watch as the FBI ransacks the clubhouse, tearing through our shit like rabid dogs. Drawers yanked open, furniture overturned, patches of drywall ripped out as if we're dumb enough to stash anything there. The fury in their movements is almost amusing. Almost.
They won't find a damn thing. We made sure of that.
Our inside guy gave us the heads-up before this shitshow even started. Told us Ely turned. No surprise there. A woman scorned is a dangerous creature. And I scorned the fuck out of her.
Pops is gonna have my balls for this mess.
I take a gulp from my water bottle and immediately scowl. Whiskey would be better, but apparently, I've been hitting it too hard these past weeks. I tried to explain to the brothers that my little episode — marching out of my room wearing nothing but my cut, determined to get to Ely, like some deranged biker Winnie the Pooh — had nothing to do with the whiskey. Or the guilt rotting me from the inside out.
Definitely not the guilt.
Ghost had gotten in my head, planted the seeds of doubt I was trying like hell to ignore. And then the FBI warning hit, forcing me to postpone my plan to go to Ely. Too risky. The last thing I need is to walk into a federal setup and land my ass in a cell next to the Riders. But soon. Soon, I'll make my move.
The problem is, I don't even know where the fuck to start.
There are still so many missing pieces. But it's clear as hell I made a fucking mistake. A huge, horrible, shitty fucking mistake. Ghost screwed my head on straight with his long ass sermon. I don't know all the connections between Ely and the Riders, but I know she was treated like shit by them. And after the horrors that came out about Jinx, it's unimaginable to think that she would've voluntarily done anything for that fucker. Maybe they asked her to infiltrate us and she saw a way out for herself. She cut contact and the minute they got their hands on her again, they punished her for betraying them.
Maybe.
Or maybe I'm just reaching at straws to try to justify my own fucking shitty actions.
I can't even think about the brand I ordered to be tattooed on her skin. At least I put it on her arm, not her chest, where I almost had them place it. The forehead thing was just an empty threat. That has to count for something, right? RIGHT??
Fuck.
Where do I even begin to make this right?
The one woman I fell in love with, and I went fucking ape-shit on her. On my woman.
The brand is bad enough. But Jinx? Jinx is unforgivable. I can't even stomach the thought. How the fuck do I come back from that?
I sent her straight to a serial killer.
I still can't wrap my head around it. The fucker has been murdering women for over a decade. Thirty-seven confirmed victims. Thirty-seven.
And I put her in his hands.
When our own personal fed told me, I blacked the fuck out. Came to hours later, my office in ruins — man-sized holes in the walls, shattered furniture, whiskey glass shards embedded in the wood.
Tank, Joker, Ghost, and Reaper stood around me, out of breath, bruised to shit.
I must've gone at them like a wild fucking animal. And they let me.
Because they know.
They know I need to burn for this.
The need to see Ely, to fix this, is like an itch under my skin that won't go away. A sickness that won't pass. I need to explain, need to talk to her, need to fucking beg if that's what it takes.
Where do I fucking begin?
The FBI keeps ripping through our clubhouse, acting like they've got a shot in hell at finding something, and I barely register it. I just stare, waiting for this shitstorm to be over so I can do what I should've done long before now. Go to her.
Ghost appears out of thin fucking air and his voice cuts through my thoughts, low and calm. "The Riders are done. Like done done. Not just Jinx. Their whole operation was blown wide open by the feds. Drugs and guns were bad enough, but they found proof of human trafficking."
My stomach turns to lead.
I knew the Riders were scum. Knew they played dirty. But human trafficking? Stupid fuckers.
My fists clench. Ely was in that world. Stuck there. Suffering. How the fuck did I not see it? How the fuck did I let myself believe she was one of them?
Ghost shifts beside me, his voice dropping. "They're never getting out, man."
I exhale sharply, shaking my head, still staring straight ahead. "Good."
I need to get these feds out of my fucking clubhouse.
And then?
I'm getting on my bike, driving to Ely, and praying to whatever god is out there that she doesn't slam the door in my face.
From the corner of my eye I see an FBI agent striding toward us with an entire fucking crew of agents behind him. Tall, clean-cut, looking like he gets off on this shit. He pulls out a pair of handcuffs and looks briefly at our patches.
"Bones. Ghost," he says, all business. "You and your men are under arrest."
I smirk, shaking my head. "What for? You won't find anything."
The agent shrugs. Smug as fuck. "We'll see about that. The rest of your MC is being read their rights by my colleagues right now. You're all being detained for seventy-two hours, pending investigation and interrogation."
I roll my shoulders, barely containing my irritation. Seventy-two hours. Bad enough. But the fact that today's Thursday? That means we're stuck in jail the entire fucking weekend. Just great.
Ghost exhales beside me. I can feel the anger radiating off him, but he stays silent.
I don't bother struggling as they slap the cuffs on me. I know none of my brothers will talk. We've all been through worse.
But as they march us out, the rage builds inside me. Not at Ely.
At myself.
She's getting her revenge, and fuck if she doesn't deserve it.
The interrogation room is exactly what I expected. Cold, lifeless, a box made of cinderblock and bullshit. The metal chair beneath me is uncomfortable, the overhead light flickering just enough to be annoying, and the two-way mirror on the wall screams government fuckery.
I lean back, stretching my legs out under the table, completely at ease. If they think they're gonna shake me, they're in for a surprise.
The agent sitting across from me? Some buttoned-up fed with a superiority complex. The kind of guy who probably gets off on busting men like me, who tells himself he's one of the good guys while playing just as dirty as the rest of us.
He folds his hands together, staring into my eyes like he's waiting for me to crack. Amateur.
"You've got a nice setup with your MC, Mr. Mercer," he starts, his voice smooth, calculated. "Clubhouse. Businesses. Close-knit brotherhood. Almost like a family."
I smirk. "We bake cookies on Sundays too. Real wholesome shit."
He doesn't bite, just nods, like he expected the sarcasm. "And yet, here you are. In custody. While my guys tear through every inch of your operation."
I shrug. "I hope they brought flashlights. Wouldn't want them to stub their toes on all the nothing they're gonna find."
His jaw ticks. "You think this is funny?"
"I think you're wasting your time," I reply, tilting my head. "You have nothing. And we both know it."
He watches me for a beat before flipping open the file in front of him. "We've got plenty of evidence tying the Iron Vultures to weapons smuggling, illegal gambling rings, money laundering—"
I bark out a laugh. "You sound real confident for a guy who had to pull me in on suspicion."
His lips press together. I got him.
I lean forward, resting my forearms on the table. "If you had anything real, we wouldn't be having this little chat. You'd have me locked up in max already. Instead, you're sitting here, trying to rattle me with big words and empty threats."
Silence stretches between us, thick with his frustration and my boredom.
Then, he flips the page in his file, and the tension shifts.
"We know what you did to Elyna Holloway."
I go still.
His eyes are sharp, watching me, waiting.
The words don't hit all at once. They sink in slow, heavy, suffocating.
I don't flinch. I don't move. But I feel it. The burn crawling up my spine, the weight of my own fucked up actions slamming into me again, and again, and again.
He leans forward. "We know about the tattoo. About how you gave her to the Crimson Riders. About what happened to her after."
A muscle in my jaw twitches. I don't speak.
"Assault," he continues, like he's testing the weight of the word in his mouth. "That's what it is, you know. Hell, that's the polite version."
I exhale slowly through my nose. "If that's the case, why am I not being charged?"
He lets the question hang for a second, dragging it out before dropping the final blow.
"Because she wouldn't press charges against you."
It's a gut punch. A fucking knockout blow I wasn't prepared for.
"She refused," he says, voice even. "Didn't want to ever see you again. Didn't want to have to stand in court and look at your face."
My fingers curl into fists under the table, nails biting into my palms. She wanted to erase me.
"And," he adds, a smug smirk tugging at his mouth, "because we had bigger fish to fry. Taking down the entire Iron Vultures MC was a lot more valuable than just locking up one piece-of-shit biker for a short time. We wanted life for you and your so-called brothers. And she gave us all the info we needed."
I don't blink. Don't breathe.
The walls press in. The truth presses in.
She didn't fight me. Didn't even want to punish me, personally.
She just wanted me gone.
I sit back, dragging my tongue over my teeth, nodding slowly. "You done?"
The agent closes his file, leans forward. "Not even close."
I smirk, but it's hollow. So fucking hollow.
Five days. That's how long I have to sit in that goddamn cell.
Five days to let her final revenge sink in.
"She's gone into witness protection. They moved fast, and I don't have access to her new identity. I'll see what I can dig up, but I can't promise anything. I'll send you her testimony tapes as soon as I can," David, our FBI inside man, says, his unease bleeding through the phone. What else is there to say? Ely, my Ely , dropped from the face of the earth like she never existed.
The room spins, the air sharp and thin, and suddenly I can't fucking breathe.
David's voice drones on, but it's just noise, just a distant hum beneath the violent roar in my head. My fingers twitch at my sides, aching for something, someone to destroy, to shatter, to make feel as fucking wrecked as I do in this moment.
But nothing in this goddamn world could feel as ruined as me.
I end the call without a word. I force myself to swallow, but it does nothing to ease the tightness in my throat. Gone . The word slams into my chest, a wrecking ball straight to the ribs, crushing everything in its wake.
I waited too long. I fucking
waited.
While I was cleaning up the mess with the feds, making sure our operations weren't exposed, Ely was slipping through my fingers. I should have gone to her first. I should have fucking gone to her first.
But I didn't. And now she's vanished into thin air. A new identity. A new life. A life without me.
My breathing turns ragged, uneven, and the walls of my office feel too fucking close. My pulse pounds, the blood in my veins boiling over, and for the first time since I lost her, I realize she might actually be gone forever.
My stomach twists, a sick, gut-wrenching feeling crawling up my throat, because this? This is worse than death.
She's out there, breathing, moving, existing without me. And I will never find her.
I slam my fist into the desk, the wood cracking beneath the force, splinters digging into my knuckles. It's not enough. I shove the chair back, pacing like a caged animal, my mind racing, replaying every single second of every single mistake that led me here.
I put that fucking "TRAITOR" tattoo on her. I made her wear my rage, my blind stupidity, inked it into her skin like I had the right. Like I wasn't the real fucking traitor.
I sent her back to Jinx.
Jinx.
The name alone makes my vision go red. I see his hands on her, his breath on her skin, the pain she must have endured, the fear she must have felt... and I did that.
I let that happen.
I broke the only woman I ever fucking loved and left her for dead.
My fists clench so tight my nails dig into my palms, but it's nothing compared to the agony tearing me apart from the inside. I want to rip my own skin off. I want to bleed, to hurt, to suffer the way she suffered.
Ghost's voice cuts through the storm raging in my head. "Bones..."
"Don't." I snap, my voice raw, guttural. I can't hear it. I can't hear the pity, the regret, the fucking truth.
Because the truth is, this is all on me.
I let my anger blind me. I should have investigated more. I should have waited, should have given her the same she gave me. She was mine, and I let her think she meant nothing.
And now I still don't know the whole story and I sure as fuck don't have Ely anymore.
I dig my fingers into my scalp, my nails scraping against my skin. "Find her."
Ghost exhales slowly, carefully, but I don't want careful. I want fucking results.
"Bones..."
"Find. Her." My voice shakes with fury. With desperation.
Ghost doesn't respond right away, and I know what that means. He doesn't agree. He wants me to leave her alone.
Just like that, the rage shifts, morphing into something more dangerous. Something worse.
I stagger back, sinking into the chair, dragging a hand down my face. I close my eyes, but it doesn't matter. She's there. She's always fucking there.
Her laugh. Her touch. Her goddamn eyes. The way she used to look at me before I destroyed her.
I would do anything to have that look again. To go back. To fix it. But there's no fixing this. Not when I don't even know where the fuck to start.
I exhale, slow, sharp, lethal. I will find her. Even if it takes the rest of my life.
She is mine.
And no matter how far she runs, I will bring her home.
The feds spent way too much fucking time tearing through our clubhouse, and for what? Jack shit. Of course, they found nothing, but the aftermath? A huge disaster. We lost an entire week sweeping every inch of the building for bugs, making sure they hadn't left behind any nasty little surprises. And then came the real pain in the ass: fixing the goddamn wreckage.
Walls? Ripped open. Floors? Fucking destroyed. Every single piece of furniture? Smashed, splintered, or flipped upside down like a tornado hit. Nothing was left untouched, and it cost us.
And that wasn't even the worst of it.
Add another cool ten million to restructure our entire operation with the Romanos. Arcangelo, the famiglia's capo, wasn't feeling generous. Rightfully so. The loss was on us. His people took a hit because we didn't keep our house clean, and he made damn sure we paid for every last fucking cent. Every brother had to fork over a painful chunk of cash.
Ely might not have landed us in prison permanently, but she sure as hell made a dent in our piggy bank. It's going to take months to recover what we lost, maybe even longer.
And I don't even care.
Fuck the money. I'd burn every last dollar, drain the club's accounts, sell my bike, my cut, my cursed soul if it meant I could just have her back.
But she's gone. Vanished.
And I have no idea where to even fucking start. FUCK!
The second Pops walks into the clubhouse, I know I'm about to get my ass handed to me.
"What the fuck did you do, boy? What was the first lesson I taught you?" His voice is sharp, cutting through the noise like a whip.
He doesn't waste a single second, doesn't wait to pull me aside. No, he's ripping into me right in front of everyone. The brothers are gathered around the bar, watching this like prime entertainment, eager to see their Prez get verbally whipped by one of the founders of the club.
Fucking assholes. They knew this was coming.
Pops was like a second father to half these bastards. They've all been on the receiving end of one of his lectures before.
I let out a slow breath and lean against the bar, playing it cool. "Rule number one: Don't piss off a good woman. She'll get her revenge one way or another."
Pops narrows his eyes.
I push off the bar and motion toward my office. No way I'm putting on a full-blown show for my brothers. We make our way there, and the second the door slams shut, he goes straight for the jugular.
"Your mama is furious."
My stomach drops. "Fuck."
Pops grins. "Yeah, you're done for. You know what that means, don't you?"
"I'm about to die," I mutter.
"Oh yeah. She put on her war gear. Red leather pants, a whole damn bandana. Had to stop for gas for her bike before getting here, but she's coming, boy."
I scrub a hand down my face. "You two never even met Ely in person because you were too busy traveling the world on your so-called second honeymoon. What the hell are you so pissed about?"
Pops scoffs. "Ghost called me. Layla called me. Tank called me. Reaper, Grizz, all of 'em. They complained. A lot. Gave me a shit-ass headache. Apparently, this ain't a biker club anymore, it's a therapy support group 'cause our Prez lost his goddamn mind ." He throws up air quotes, dragging out the words in a whiny imitation that makes me want to punch something.
Those fuckers snitched.
I swear, there will be hell to pay.
Pops shakes his head. "And another thing: you might have only introduced us to Ely that one time on video call, but your mama kept in touch with her. They talked. Quite a few times."
I blink. "What?"
Pops smirks. "Layla gave your mama Ely's number, and they had themselves 'virtual' baking sessions while you fuckers were in church. Sometimes it was just Ely and your mama. Sometimes Layla or other old ladies were there, too. Your mama was smitten with Ely. Now? She's furious. You hurt that girl. Deep. And your mama don't like when good people get hurt."
I drop my head back. "Shiiiit."
Pops crosses his arms. "She's mad as hell at you, boy. And you got the feds on your back because of your own stupidity. Good job."
"I handled the feds. Nothing unfixable happened. The Romanos are still solid. We moved our stock. They found jack shit," I say evenly.
Pops lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "You were always brilliant at club business, Kane. But apparently, you're a fucking idiot when it comes to women! And it's affecting the club. It's made me wonder if I left too early."
Before I can respond, there's a loud knock. No. A violent bang.
The door flies open, slamming into the wall, and there she is.
Mama.
And I have never feared for my life more.
She steps in, closing the door behind her. Her glare is like a goddamn sniper shot.
"Kane," she says, low and lethal. More terrifying than if she'd screamed.
Fuck. This is bad. Really bad.
"What have you done to Ely?" she demands. "Tell me you brought her back. Tell me you apologized on your forking knees!"
I wince and immediately defend myself. "Mama, she gave the feds information on us."
Mama folds her arms, eyes burning into me. "Good for her. Where is she? Her number's not working."
I hang my head. "I don't know."
Silence.
Then —
"WHAT?!" she shouts, making the damn walls shake.
"I don't fucking know! She made a deal. The Feds put her in witness protection. New name, new life. Gone."
She inhales sharply, nostrils flaring. Eyes misting over. "Layla told me everything you did to her. Everything. You branded her a traitor. You handed her to a man who tortured her. And you thought she was just going to sit around and wait for you to show up with your half-assed apology? Why didn't you go to her sooner?"
I exhale, defeated. "The feds were watching her constantly. And then I got fucking arrested! I'm working on finding her. Luca Romano is helping. He can find anyone."
Mama shakes her head. "Peanut..."
I freeze. Mama hasn't called me that since I was ten.
Then, softly, with disappointment so deep it cuts me to the bone—
"You are a fucking idiot."
My head snaps up. Mama never swears. Ever.
My chest tightens. "Mama..."
She sighs, rubbing her temples. "That girl? She won't want to be found. And even if you do find her, she won't want to hear even one word you have to say. You broke her, Kane. You destroyed her. And you think she's just waiting for you to show up and fix it?"
I shake my head. No. No, I won't accept that. "I can't let her go."
Mama's eyes soften just a fraction, but her next words hit like a bullet to the chest.
"I don't think you'll have a choice, Kane."
Part two
I'm back on the whiskey.
I don't think I'll ever stop drinking again. Not after this.
David sent me the audio of Ely's testimony. Before hanging up the phone, he told me they verified every last thing she said. Some of it before the raid on the Riders and some of it after. I pressed play thinking I was prepared, but nothing, nothing , could've braced me for the sound of her voice. Soft. Hollow. Broken.
She told them everything.
Every fucked-up thing that ever happened to her inside the Riders' clubhouse. Every night she spent trapped, every bruise, every betrayal. All of it. And I just sat there, listening, my chest caving in, my lungs refusing to work.
She even told them about me. About the night I branded her like she was nothing. About how I stood there, let her plead, let her break, and still I didn't stop.
The puzzle pieces are all on the table now. Nothing is hidden anymore.
And the worst part? She will hate me forever.
But I'm still going after her.
One year since the betrayal
It's been a fucking year. A YEAR. And Ely is nowhere.
Not even Luca Romano could find her. I threw every resource, every contact, every goddamn trick I had at this. Nothing.
I even sent Ghost on the hunt. The entire country.
Still nothing.
I punch the wall of my office, my knuckles splitting open. The pain is nothing. Just another reminder that I failed.
Two years since the betrayal
Two years, and I still haven't found her. Two fucking years.
I haven't even looked at another woman. Not once. The thought alone makes my stomach turn.
The brothers started calling me "Monk." Real fucking funny, considering we already have a brother named Monk. But I don't care.
Because she was mine. And I let her go.
Where the hell are you, Ely?
Luca Romano walks into my office like a predator looking for his next kill.
He moves as silent as a panther, not a single wasted motion, smooth, effortless, deadly. The man is Death in a tailored Italian suit, all sharp edges and ease, a permanent smile carved onto his face. But it never reaches his eyes. Dark, cold, calculating.
I don't offer him a seat. I don't need him comfortable.
He takes the liberty anyway, lowering himself onto the chair across from me, crossing one leg over the other, his fingers tapping lazily against his knee. Too at ease. Too fucking smug.
I lean forward, planting my forearms on the desk, my voice flat. "You gonna tell me why you're here, Luca, or are we just gonna sit here eye-fucking each other until someone gets bored?"
His lips twitch. "You know why I'm here, Bones."
I don't answer. I just wait. Let him play whatever little game he thinks he's playing.
Finally, he exhales, dramatic as hell, like he's about to drop some earth-shattering news. Like I don't already know he's here to be a pain in my ass.
"My brother and I believe it's time to strengthen the bond between the Famiglia and the Iron Vultures," he says smoothly, adjusting the cuff of his shirt, meticulously perfecting the already perfect. "We've been good for each other. Business is solid. Trust is stronger than ever."
I raise a brow. "And?"
Luca smiles, but it's all teeth, all menace hidden beneath silk and charm. "And we believe a marriage would solidify this alliance. Our sister, Francesca, is a beautiful girl. Smart. Strong. She will be good for you."
My blood runs cold.
My hands tighten into fists against the desk, but I force my face to stay neutral. Expressionless. Unaffected. "Let me get this straight," I say, voice low, sharp as a blade. "You want me to marry your sister? For convenience?"
Luca tilts his head slightly, watching me. "Call it whatever you want."
I bark out a laugh. Cold. Hollow. Borderline unhinged. "You do realize I'm not some virginal bride from the 1600s, right? I don't get sold off for political gain."
Luca sighs, looking almost bored. "It's been two years, Bones."
My spine locks up. That number punches me straight in the ribs. Two years.
Two fucking years since Ely vanished into witness protection. Since she disappeared without a trace, without a goodbye, without a chance to fight for her.
Luca leans in slightly, voice dropping, like he's talking to a man he actually gives a shit about. "She's gone, Bones. You should give up on finding her."
My pulse pounds in my ears. Loud. Deafening. Fucking unbearable.
"She doesn't exist anymore," he continues, his voice almost gentle, like he's pitying me. "You're chasing a ghost."
I see red.
The rage erupts, surging through me like a fire I can't contain, and before I can stop myself, my fist connects with his face.
The impact is sickeningly satisfying.
Luca grunts, his head snapping to the side, a smear of blood already trailing from his nose. He exhales, slow and measured, and then... He fucking laughs. Laughs. Like a maniac.
"Jesus," he mutters, shaking his head, wiping the blood with the back of his hand. "You are so in love with that woman, it's pathetic."
I don't answer. I don't need to. Because he's right. I am. I always will be.
I exhale sharply, my voice calm, lethal. "I won't marry Francesca. I won't marry anyone. I have an Ol’ Lady. And in my mind, I'm already married."
Luca stares at me, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. "You sure about that?"
I hold his gaze. Unflinching. Unyielding. "I'd rather slit my own throat than touch another woman."
Something flickers across his face. Something darker. "Then find another high-ranking member of the club to do it. Another virginal bride to be sold-off. "
I narrow my eyes.
"The Famiglia demands this alliance, Bones," he continues, brushing invisible dust off his sleeve. "Doesn't have to be you. Could be your VP. Could be another top-ranking officer. We're not picky."
I clench my jaw so hard I feel the crack of pressure in my skull. I won't let them force this onto my club.
Luca stands, smooth and unbothered, like we didn't just have this conversation, like I didn't just put my fist through his nose.
He straightens his suit, adjusting the lapels before flashing me one last, easy fucking smile.
"I'll be expecting a name, Bones. And soon."
And with that, he walks out, leaving behind nothing but the scent of expensive cologne, blood, and my absolute fucking rage.
Three years since the betrayal
Three years, and my heart is still an open wound.
I've closed up completely. There's nothing left. No parties. No drinks with the brothers. Just the work.
I lead. I handle business. I run the club.
And I search.
That's it. That's all I do.
And I'll never stop.
Four years since the betrayal
My phone vibrates on the nightstand, cutting through the silence.
4 AM.
Definitely not good news.
I grab the phone, my body already bracing for a hit. The screen lights up. Luca Romano.
Fuck.
I answer, voice rough, empty. "What?"
Luca chuckles, too damn cheerful for this hour. "Get that stick out of your ass and your corpse out of bed. I found your girl."
I'm instantly up.
The room spins, my pulse roaring in my ears.
Ely.
I grip the phone tighter, my throat closing. "Where?"
Luca laughs. "Now that's the reaction I was looking for."
I'm already grabbing my keys, my cut, my gun. Everything.
I'm coming for you, Ely.
Fucking finally.