Page 65 of Tempest

Bastards won’t know what hit them.

I gestured to my team, watching with grim satisfaction as they fanned out, taking their positions with practiced precision. Pride swelled in my chest, tempered by the weight of responsibility. As Sergeant-at-Arms, their lives were in my hands.

“Remember,” I murmured, locking eyes with each of my brothers. “No hesitation. No mercy.”

They nodded, faces set with determination. I took a deep breath, steadying the rage that always simmered just beneath the surface. Tonight, I’d unleash it.

With a sharp nod, I gave the signal. The air erupted with gunfire, shattering the night’s silence. I surged forward, my weapon an extension of my arm, my anger fueling each shot.

“For our fallen!” I roared, my battle cry echoing through the streets.

Chaos engulfed us, bullets whizzing past as we pushed deeper into enemy territory. The acrid smell of gunpowder filled my nostrils, mixing with the metallic tang of blood.

This is what I was made for.

A cartel guard appeared in my sights. I pulled the trigger without hesitation, watching him crumple to the ground. No time for remorse. Only survival.

“Tempest!” one of my brothers shouted. “On your six!”

I spun, narrowly avoiding a bullet that grazed my cheek. The sting of it only fueled my rage. I returned fire, my aim true and deadly.

As we advanced, the weight of my role pressed down on me. Every decision, every life lost or saved, rested on my shoulders. But I’d be damned if I let the cartel win.

Not today. Not ever.

Savior’s voice crackled through my earpiece, sharp and authoritative. “Tempest, watch your left flank. Wire’s picking up movement.”

I pivoted, scanning the shadows. Sure enough, two cartel thugs emerged, guns blazing. I ducked behind a rusted-out car, bullets pinging off the metal.

“Copy that,” I said, my heart pounding. “Saint, we need cover fire on the east side.”

“On it,” Saint’s voice came back, calm despite the chaos. “Wire, got eyes on any snipers?”

A burst of static, then Wire’s analytical tone cut through. “Thermal’s showing two heat signatures on the roof, northwest corner. Could be spotters or shooters.”

I processed the info, my mind racing. “Boneyard, take those roof rats out. Prophet, Tank, Venom, and Stone, with me. We’re pushing forward.”

Gritting my teeth against the pain in my cheek, I signaled and we moved as one, a well-oiled machine of violence and vengeance. Even though Venom didn’t remember a lot of things, he was still a Reaper down to his soul, and I knew I could rely on him. But his woman would lose her shit if he got hurt again.

The air was thick with gun smoke and screams. I fired, reloaded, fired again. Each shot was for our club, for our family.

“Tempest.” Savior’s voice filled my ear again, urgent this time. “Wire’s picked up chatter. They’re calling in reinforcements from the south.”

“Shit,” I muttered, ducking as a bullet whizzed past my ear. “Saint, can you send someone to intercept?”

“Negative,” Saint replied, frustration evident. “Everyone’s actively fighting or pinned down.”

My mind raced, anger threatening to cloud my judgment. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to focus. “Wire, how long till they arrive?”

“They’re coming in from the surrounding homes. They’re already there.”

We were outnumbered, outgunned, and running out of time. But giving up wasn’t an option. Not for me, not for the Dixie Reapers, or the other clubs fighting with us.

“Listen up,” I said into the comm. “We’ve got to end this. Hit ‘em hard, hit ‘em fast. No prisoners, no mercy.”

With renewed fury, we surged forward into the fray, the fate of our families hanging in the balance.

As we pressed forward, my eyes caught a flash of movement. Through the chaos, I spotted him -- a cartel bigwig barking orders, orchestrating the reinforcements. His crisp suit and air of authority stood out amidst the bloodshed.

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