Page 5 of Hellfire's Mercy

Of course she is. Journalists don't know when to shut up – it's what makes them good at their job and dangerous to people like us. But those questions of hers might come in handy in the coming war.

"Crow," I call out. "Get me everything you can on the Outlaws' businesses in town. If they want to escalate, we'll hit them where it hurts most – their wallet."

"On it, Boss," he nods, already moving to pick up his laptop.

"Wrath," I continue, "take the prospects and dump these bikes somewhere far. Butcher, get our guests comfortable in the basement. I want them scared but coherent when the Outlaws come looking."

As my men move around me, carrying out their tasks with practiced efficiency, I find myself thinking about those green eyes again. The way they flashed with defiance even when she was scared. The curve of her lip when she talked back to me.

"Fuck," I mutter.

"Something on your mind?" Butcher asks, pausing on his way to the basement.

"Just thinking this war isn't our only complication," I admit.

Ten years as brothers mean he knows me better than anyone except Angel and Ruthless.

He studies me for a moment, then grins. "The reporter?"

"Don't start," I growl, not appreciating his amusement.

"Hey, we could use someone with her connections," he shrugs. "The fact that she's easy on the eyes is just a bonus."

I shoot him a look that would make most men piss themselves, but he just laughs and heads downstairs. Asshole knows me too well.

I pull out my phone again, staring at the message screen. I should leave her alone until tomorrow, let her process everything that happened. That would be the smart play.

Instead, I find myself typing: "Sleep well, sweetheart. Tomorrow your real education begins."

The war with the Outlaws might have just become inevitable. But as I pocket my phone and turn to handle the aftermath of tonight's attack, I can't help but think that Chloe Matthews might end up being the most dangerous part of all this.

Chapter 3 - Chloe

Angel hasn't said a word since we emerged from those tunnels – and what tunnels they were, stretching beneath the streets of Cedar Falls like a secret underground city. Now she's perched by my window, peering through the curtains while I pace my small living room.

My phone buzzes for the second time tonight, and I jump. The first message from Hellfire was threatening enough:

"Don't make me regret letting you live."

This new one makes my stomach flip in a way that has nothing to do with fear: "Sleep well, sweetheart. Tomorrow your real education begins."

"You can relax, you know," Angel says, not turning from the window. "Dad's not going to reach through the phone and bite you."

I drop onto my couch, running my fingers through my disheveled hair.

"Your father... he's not what I expected."

Now, she does turn, and I see a hint of amusement in her expression.

"What did you expect? Some dumb thug with a motorcycle?"

"No, I..." I pause, trying to organize my thoughts. How do I explain that I expected a violent criminal, but not one with such intensity, such presence? Not one who could make my skin tingle with just a look? "I didn't expect him to be so..."

"Commanding?" She suggests with a knowing smirk that makes me blush.

Before I can respond, her phone rings. She answers immediately, listening for a moment before saying, "All clear. No one's followed us." Another pause. "Yes, she's behaving." She rolls her eyes at whatever response she gets. "Fine, I'll tell her."

She hangs up and turns to me.

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