Chapter Nine #2
The scar around “Jason’s” neck? All the brave, incredible shit “Jason” had pulled off?
The quiet demeanor, the nerve it must’ve taken to accomplish what he had?
Eli hadn’t wanted to believe it at first. Hadn’t wanted to see what was staring him in the face.
But his gut, every instinct he had, told him Jason almost had to be Tank.
Tank had survived. Somehow, he’d fucking survived hanging at the end of a noose and made it back.
According to Freddie, he’d been working for him for weeks while Eli had been completely unaware.
If it was Tank, he’d changed his name and slipped back into Oak Grove like a ghost. And during that time, he took up with Dylan. The fucker had Dylan right now.
A sick heat bloomed in Eli’s chest, filling him with rage.
He gazed at the men still in his club who were loyal to him.
There were only a handful of them left. The rest lingered at a distance, and their silence spoke volumes.
No one had said anything yet, but the looks they cut him told him that nerves were on edge.
The lies about Tank had left a crack in their loyalty, and now that crack was starting to split wide open.
While most of his Cottonmouths had initially been told that Tank hit the road like a cowardly piece of shit, the men before him knew what really happened to him, the one he’d made an example of. The one they’d hung.
And now he was alive. Back with a vengeance and he had Dylan. His blood. His family.
Word had gotten out, too, fast and ugly.
Not just about Dylan running or who her boyfriend might be.
But the truth about Tank. They knew now that their brother hadn’t walked away.
Eli had given the order to kill him. That kind of truth wouldn’t stay buried, no matter how deep you shoved it.
It slithered through the ranks, whispered over beers and barked across backrooms. Eli could feel the trust bleeding out of his club like an open wound.
He hadn’t wanted to believe it would matter.
He was president, damn it. His word was law.
Now he wasn’t so sure. He saw it in the way some of the younger guys looked at him, like maybe they were wondering what line they had to cross before ending up on the wrong end of a noose.
Eli never would have guessed how much one ghost could shake a club until that ghost came back swinging.
And he had no Goddamn idea just how bad the fallout would ultimately be.
But deep down, he knew the answer was coming, and it wouldn’t be pretty.
“Son of a bitch,” Eli muttered, pushing away from the table. “He’s been inside our walls, watching and listening, while we sat here with our dicks in our hands.”
No one spoke. They just waited while his mind cracked like glass beneath a hammer.
“Freddie should’ve said something,” Eli said. “That scar alone -- hell, I should’ve seen it.”
Grudge finally spoke, voice low. “Freddie didn’t know. The man barely leaves his damn warehouse.”
Eli pointed at him, eyes burning. “Don’t start.
None of you figured it out either.” He took a deep breath, trying to force his fury down.
But it just sat under his skin like a live wire.
“He’s not just after me. He had a bug up his ass about Sinister Skin the entire time he was here.
” His voice dropped lower when he said, “He wants a fucking war? He’s getting one. ”
Trucker shifted in his seat, his gaze sharp beneath his ball cap. “Our scout said he’s got an MC riding in behind him, a couple of them Cottonmouths. Most of ‘em, he said, were Hounds out of Mercy.”
Eli’s blood ran cold. “The Hounds?” he said, like the word tasted foul.
Trucker nodded. “That’s what he said. Rolling deep.”
Eli’s jaw clenched. “A couple of Cottonmouths…” He leaned forward. “Shade and Ripper?”
Grudge looked up from where he’d been oiling a rifle. “Last time I saw ‘em was yesterday morning. Figured they’d skipped town, kept their heads down.”
Eli’s stomach turned. “Should’ve clipped them when I had the chance.” Pushing away from the table, he started pacing. “Those two came over from Abingdon with Tank. I should’ve known they’d come sniffing around once word got out.”
Bones muttered from the corner, “Didn’t know there was any word.”
Eli stopped in his tracks, his glare cutting through the room. “There always is. You kill a brother and bury the truth, the ground remembers. Eventually, somebody always digs it up.”
Grabbing the coffee mug in front of him, he smashed it against the floor just to hear it break like his last thread of control.
“So now he’s bought himself some Hounds?” Eli muttered, his gaze moving over each of his men.
“Well,” said Grudge, leaning forward. “Hounds don’t ride for cash. They ride for cause. And I’d be willing to bet they’re backing him because of Sinister Skin.”
Eli stilled, feeling the sting. He was losing fucking control of his chapter. And now another club, the fucking Hounds out of Mercy, no less, was rolling in like executioners. He glanced around the room again, at what was left of his inner circle.
“You all with me?” he asked, voice cold.
There was a beat of silence. He knew Trucker, Creep, and Bones were in. Eagle and Grudge? He wasn’t so sure.
Trucker gave a stiff nod. “We’re in.”
“Then dig in,” Eli said, turning toward the door. “This place is going to be a fucking fortress by nightfall.”
But even as he marched out, barking orders and rallying his men, a dark thought gnawed at the back of his mind.
Tank hadn’t merely run away from them. He’d risen from the grave.
And a man who came back from the dead didn’t have limits, didn’t know fear.
He wouldn’t care about rules or consequences.
No, he was looking for more than payback.
Tank was coming to end everything Eli had built from the inside out.
You couldn’t outplay a ghost no matter how loud you shouted or how many guns you stacked at the door.
That meant he had nothing left to lose -- except Dylan.
That gave Eli an idea. If Tank was coming for him, it wasn’t just vengeance driving him anymore. It was her. Dylan had to be in Mercy, especially since he’d buddied up to the Hounds.
Eli didn’t know how the showdown would end when Tank rolled into Oak Grove… but he had one last card to play. If he couldn’t stop the ghost head-on, he’d hit him where it hurt most.
He’d take out Dylan.
* * *
Vendetta
The roar of their bikes faded when they stopped and dismounted in the dense tree line just outside Oak Grove.
They weren’t far from the Cottonmouth compound now.
The sun cast long shadows across the abandoned logging road Razor had suggested they use as cover.
Vendetta crouched beside Shade and Outcast as they gathered around the map they’d brought, his gaze scanning the ridgeline.
Vendetta felt calm in that moment, the kind of calm earned by surviving the worst. His heartbeat was steady, his breathing even.
Beneath the surface, every nerve he had was lit with purpose.
He wasn’t just after revenge anymore. Now he was chasing justice, reckoning, and elusive closure, all of it wrapped in one cold, focused mission.
The weight of the cut on his back -- Tank’s cut -- reminded him what had been taken.
His brothers beside him reminded him of what he still had.
He was ready to finish this.
“This is it,” Razor said, voice low and even. “We go quiet until it’s time.”
“The compound is about a mile out,” Ripper added, adjusting the scope on his rifle. “They have spotters on the roof.”
Vendetta nodded. “Then we don’t walk in the front door. Shade, you still remember the drainage tunnel?”
“Yeah,” he said grimly. “Runs up behind the equipment shed. Low tech, low visibility.”
Vendetta looked toward the fading sun, thinking about the best ways to hit the Cottonmouths. “We take two teams. One goes in quiet through that tunnel. The other circles and keeps them busy once we’re in. We hit hard and fast. No hesitation.”
“What about Eli?” Crash asked from behind, shotgun resting on his shoulder.
Crash’s question lingered in the quiet, and all eyes turned to Vendetta. His gaze swept the horizon like he could already see the fire coming. His gaze cut to Razor and Outcast, wanting their take because they knew what it meant to take back what had been stolen.
Razor gave a short nod, his hazel eyes sharp. “We’ll split the crews. My team will circle east with Crash, Beast, and Player. We’ll raise hell, draw eyes. You take the tunnel team with Shade and Ripper and a few of ours.”
Shade adjusted the strap of his rifle, glancing at Vendetta. “Once we breach, I’ll lead right. You take left with Ripper. We clear the main floor, then converge in the center.”
Vendetta nodded. “That will work.” He blew out a breath. “Leave Eli to me. I want him alive long enough to look me in the fucking eye.”
Crash gave a dark grin. “Copy that. We’ll bring the fireworks.”
Razor stepped closer, his voice low but steady. “This ends tonight, brother. No more girls disappearing. No more needles on our streets. No more cowards wearing cuts they didn’t earn, selling out kids to line their pockets.”
His gaze swept across the men gathered around him and every one of them was ready to bleed for the patch on their back. “I want Sinister Skin out of our Goddamn territory for good. We’re shutting down what they never should’ve gotten away with in the first place.”
Clapping Vendetta on the shoulder, Razor’s voice was firm and final. “Let’s burn it all down.”
* * *
Dylan
The sun dipped low behind the hills of Mercy, painting the sky in streaks of crimson and gold.
The Hounds’ compound was almost too quiet.
Dylan sat near the window, watching the dusky horizon with restless eyes, her knees drawn up beneath one of Deva’s old quilts.
It was peaceful, but that peace felt borrowed. Fragile.