Page 85 of Property of the Hellfire Riders

Hawk’s expression hardens. “Three seconds, and this is over.”

Before the pledge can react, Hawk moves. It’s a blur of motion—Hawk’s fist connecting with the kid’s jaw, the knife clattering to the ground. The pledge crumples, unconscious before he hits the floor.

“Three seconds flat,” I mutter, impressed despite the situation. Three more come rushing down the tunnel. Two once belonged to our club, the other some Dead Demon fuck. As far as I’m concerned, they’re all dead men walking at this point.

“God dammit,” Vance mutters.

“Looks like it’s time to dance, ladies,” I chuckle, cracking my knuckles.

We launch ourselves at them, fists flying, adrenaline pumping. The tunnel echoes with the sound of flesh meeting flesh, grunts of pain, and the clatter of weapons hitting the ground. It’s chaotic and brutal, but we’ve been through worse.

I grapple with one of the former members, my massive form overwhelming the guy. I deliver a bone-crunching punch that sends the traitor sprawling, out cold. Hawk takes on the other, moving with lethal grace, his strikes precise and devastating. Within moments, the Dead Demon is on the ground, clutching his side in agony.

Vance tackles the last guy, a Dead Demon with a nasty scar, pinning him to the ground with a knee to the chest. The guy thrashes, but Vance’s grip is unyielding. He leans down, his voice low and dangerous.

“You’re going to tell me everything I want to know.”

The guy spits blood, defiance in his eyes, but Vance doesn’t waver. He tightens his grip, making the guy wince. “Trust me, you don’t want to test my patience.”

“You really don’t, buddy,” I say.

Hawk and I stand over the other two, ensuring they’re not getting up anytime soon. Hawk glances over at Vance, who’s still pinning the guy down. “What do you want to do with him?”

Vance’s eyes gleam with a cold determination. “I want to get some info out of this one. He knows something. I’ll catch up with you guys.”

Hawk and I exchange a look, understanding the unspoken agreement. “Alright,” I say. “Don’t take too long.”

Vance nods, his focus never leaving the guy beneath him. “I won’t. Just make sure Izzy stays safe.”

With a final glance at Vance, Hawk and I turn, moving deeper into the tunnel.

The passage narrows before opening into a larger chamber, dimly lit by a few hanging bulbs. The sight that greets us stops me cold.

Rows of marionette dolls hang from the ceiling, their painted faces eerily lifelike in the flickering light. Shelves are lined with art supplies—paints, brushes, sculpting tools. It looks like a twisted artist’s studio, and at the center of it all stands Reynolds, his back to us as he works on something at a cluttered workbench.

Gunnar stands to the side, his eyes flicking nervously between Reynolds and the entrance. He hasn’t noticed us yet.

Then there’s Izzy, sitting in the corner of the room, her hands and feet bound with rope. Her face is bruised and there are tears streaking down her cheeks. Her shirt’s been ripped and I can’t even imagine what she’s just endured.

Reynolds turns, finally noticing our presence. His eyes widen in surprise, and his mouth drops open. He knows he’s fucked. Gunnar leaps forward, drawing a gun from his waistband. “Drop your weapons,” he commands, his finger tightening on the trigger. “Don’t try anything, or I’ll put a bullet in your fucking head.”

“Is this what it’s come to, Gunnar?” Hawk asks with a cold, calm voice.

I can see the conflict in Gunnar’s eyes. His previously unwavering loyalty to Reynolds seems to be faltering. “You always thought you were better than the rest of us! Well, not anymore.”

“Better?” Hawk's voice is low, steady. “No, Gunnar. I never thought I was better. I thought we were brothers. But I guess I was wrong about you.”

Gunnar's grip on the gun wavers, and I see a flicker of doubt in his eyes. Reynolds notices too and steps closer, his voice ahiss. “Don’t listen to him, Gunnar. Remember why we’re here. Remember what we’re fighting for.”

Gunnar swallows hard, his eyes darting between Hawk and Reynolds. “You promised me power,” he says, his voice shaking. “You promised me respect.”

“And you’ll have it,” Reynolds says smoothly. “As long as you follow orders. Now, shoot them.”

In that split second, I see the decision weighing heavily on Gunnar's face. Then, he lifts the gun and aims it straight at Hawk’s chest. Izzy lets out a cry in fear.

Hawk’s expression hardens. “You’re just a pawn, Gunnar. Don’t you see? Reynolds is using you.”

Reynolds smirks, his eyes cold and calculating. “Oh, Hawk. You really think you can turn him against me? You’re delusional. This whole operation—Hellfire Riders, the Puppeteer—it’s all mine now. And no one will believe a bunch of bikers over a decorated detective.”

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