Chapter Nine
Vendetta
The morning air was sharp, the perfect match for the mood, anticipation, and quiet resolve.
Vendetta stood outside the Hounds’ clubhouse with Tank’s leather cut on his back, his hands flexing at his sides.
The roar of engines echoed through Mercy as bikes lined up, headlights glaring through the thin veil of mist clinging to the road.
It wasn’t just the Hounds now. It was his brothers too, Ripper and Shade, suited up and ready to ride.
This wasn’t just payback. This was the reckoning.
Outcast stood nearby, speaking low with Razor and Beast. Snow and Axel tightened the straps on their gear.
Crash lit a cigarette with a glint in his eyes that said he hoped someone tried to stop them.
Hero ran one last check on weapons from the bed of a truck, and Player leaned on his bike like he was itching for war.
Vendetta’s eyes scanned them all. These weren’t just men with patches; they were the line in the sand.
The answer to what had been done in Oak Grove.
The last thing Eli Crizer and his crew would ever see coming.
He felt the weight of what was about to happen settle into his spine.
Dylan was safe, and as long as that was true, he could do anything.
Margot and Ryder were holding down Mercy.
But none of them would be safe, not for long, if Eli kept his grip on Oak Grove. Not after what he’d built.
When he looked up, he saw Dylan standing just beyond the line of bikes, her arms wrapped tightly around herself like she could hold all the fear in if she squeezed hard enough.
The cut on his back didn’t say Vendetta.
It said Tank. And maybe that’s what scared her the most: him going back as the man they tried to kill.
He was going back to end it.
Ryder stood beside her, quiet and watchful. Margot’s hand rested gently on Dylan’s back, grounding her. Margot wasn’t in uniform at the moment, but Vendetta sure felt better knowing Dylan would be looked after by both sides of the law if anything happened.
Vendetta studied Dylan’s face, memorizing every flash of emotion like it might be the last time he saw her.
Her jaw was set. He knew she was trying to be strong for him, but her eyes betrayed her.
They were shiny and brimming with fear she didn’t speak aloud.
He knew she wasn’t just scared for herself.
She was scared for him. Her fingers curled tightly into the hem of her hoodie like she was holding herself together by a thread.
Her shoulders were tense, but she didn’t cry or beg him not to go. That wasn’t who she was.
His Dylan stood there, rooted by loyalty and terror both, and he saw it in the way her eyes kept drifting to his throat.
To the scar. Like she was still haunted by how close the world had come to losing him once already.
She was terrified he wouldn’t make it back this time, and he felt that fear like a weight in his own chest.
“They’ll bring him home,” Margot said softly.
But Dylan didn’t answer. Her eyes were locked on Vendetta as he crossed the lot toward her, heavy boots crunching gravel.
Every step appeared to tug something loose in her chest. He stopped in front of her, close enough to notice that she was shaking.
So much emotion in her big, beautiful eyes including just how much she cared about him.
While Tank had had his share of one-night stands and short-lived old ladies, he’d never had anything like what he had with her.
“You don’t have to say it,” he said quietly, even as he saw it in her eyes. In her entire being.
“I might not get another chance,” she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes.
Vendetta cupped her cheek gently. “You will.”
“I’m scared,” Dylan admitted.
“Don’t be.” Vendetta said it as much for himself as for her. He kissed her forehead, lingered there. “No matter what happens today, I’m coming back for you,” he vowed. “Believe it. And then we can start over, build a life together. You and me. I love you, Dylan.”
Throwing herself into his arms, the tears did come then. “I love you,” she said against his chest, tears soaking into his shirt.
Vendetta hated leaving her this way, but the sooner they returned, the sooner he could keep his promises to her. Easing back, he tipped her chin up with his fingers, making her meet his gaze.
“I’m finishing this today,” he whispered. “And when I get back, I’ll know that you’re safe. I’ll know he can never hurt you again.”
Tears still sliding from her eyes, she nodded. When he pulled away, he smiled. “We won’t be long.” Vendetta looked at Ryder next. “She’s under your watch.”
“You have my word, brother,” Ryder said, clasping Vendetta’s hand when it was offered.
Margot nodded, her presence calm and steady.
But it was the woman who stepped up beside her that drew Vendetta’s attention next.
Deva, Razor’s old lady and Outcast’s sister, was petite.
But she carried herself like she could take on a storm and walk away dry.
Her purple hair was pulled back in a loose braid, and her eyes, fierce and intelligent, missed nothing.
“Go on now,” she said, her gaze moving from Razor to him. “Fuck ‘em up and get your asses back here.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied.
He took a final look at Dylan, every part of him wanting to stay with her but knowing he couldn’t. Not until he made her life safe again. Turning, he walked back to his bike.
“That’s Eli Crizer’s niece?” Player eyed her, his skepticism obvious. “How?”
Crash smacked the back of his head, but it was the look Razor cut him that ended it.
Engines thundered to life, the war drums of men with nothing left to lose and everything to fight for.
With a nod from Razor, they rolled out, heading for Oak Grove. Into the fire.
* * *
Eli
The blinds were half-drawn, casting hard lines of light across the battered table where Eli Crizer leaned, hands fisted, knuckles white. Despite the morning chill seeping through the windows of the compound, sweat clung to his skin. His thoughts were pure chaos, but the picture was finally clear.
Now he knew the truth about Jason, the quiet delivery driver with a wicked scar around his neck.
He was the boyfriend Dylan hid from him.
The one Peggy mentioned before they put her in the hospital.
And funny enough, Jason disappeared the same night as Dylan.
Freddie, Jason’s boss at INeeda confirmed it.
Jason hadn’t shown up the next morning for his shift and they hadn’t heard from him since.
Eli didn’t believe in coincidence.
Now, he could believe this boyfriend wanted to protect Dylan, to get her out of Oak Grove and away to safety. Most decent men would consider doing that. It was the rest of the story that didn’t add up.
Dylan didn’t know when she showed up for her last shift at Ned’s that her uncle was handing her off to Earle for the night.
The only people who knew were him and Earle.
Eli had taken her phone, told her it was a private shift where she’d just serve drinks, and then watched her get into the car Earle had sent for her.
No one else knew what was really happening or where they were going.
Not even Peggy, though she’d sure as shit tried to interfere.
But all Peggy had was a picture on her phone of the license plate.
That was all. No address, nothing. And during the beating she’d taken, Peggy confessed that the minute Jason showed up behind Ned’s, she told him Dylan had been driven off, sent him the picture of the license plate.
That’s where her story ended. That was where the entire fucking story of Dylan ended.
Since then, he’d been dealing with a very pissed off Earle who had a broken jaw and broken ribs.
And he’d set off a shitstorm at Sinister Skin that had been raining down on him since.
The agreement his MC had with the organization was hanging on by a thread.
They’d made it clear that to earn his way back into their good graces, Eli needed to present them with two bodies: Jason’s and Dylan’s.
Earle had described what happened in the lake house with Dylan.
A man had broken in, took his guards down, took him down, then left with her.
The man’s description of Jason matched everyone else’s.
Tall and muscular with dark hair and nearly black eyes.
Earle hadn’t mentioned seeing a scar, but everything else tracked.
While most boyfriends would want to protect their girl, how many would even be capable of doing what was done that night?
How many would be able to track down their girlfriend to a remote location with nothing more than a description of the car she rode in and a picture of its fucking license plate?
For that to even be possible, the man would have to had experience with tracking people down and at least a basic knowledge of the operation that captured her.
Most men wouldn’t have that kind of experience.
It was more likely Jason would have learned it working for the law or in the military.
But then for a man alone to break into the house once he found it and rip through the guards, through Earle, and leave with Dylan? Yeah, a couple of his Cottonmouths had the skill set to pull that off. One of them was dead. Well, he was supposed to be dead…