Page 1 of Wrath's Redemption

Chapter 1 - Wrath

The thick cloud of cigarette smoke inside the clubhouse does nothing to calm my nerves as I grip my whiskey glass tighter.

Around the wooden table, faces I've known for years – my brothers in all but blood – wear the same grim expression I'm sure is etched on mine.

"Those bastards thought they could hide forever," Crow, my actual blood brother, says through gritted teeth. He's been itching for more action since he put a bullet through that Outlaw piece of shit's kneecap two days ago.

Hellfire, our President, leans forward in his leather chair, his weathered face reflecting years of battles won and lost. The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across the scars that mark his skin – each one telling a story of survival.

"We've got their location. No more playing nice."

"Nice went out the window when they targeted Angel," Ruthless growls, his arm protectively wrapped around Angel's shoulders.

My President's daughter – our fierce little warrior – still bears the fading bruise on her cheek from their last attack. Nobody touches our Angel and lives to tell about it.

I knock back my whiskey, welcoming the burn. "We're ending this tonight."

"Damn straight," Angel pipes up, her voice steel wrapped in silk. She might be Hellfire's daughter, but she's earned her place at this table.

Butcher, our VP, spreads a crude map across the table, pushing aside empty beer bottles and overflowing ashtrays. His fingers, still stained with dried blood from his interrogation sessions, point to a marked location.

"Five of their top guys, holed up in this shithole. Think they're safe from the cops and us." His laugh is cold, calculated. "The intel's solid. I made sure of that."

We all know what that means. The screams from our basement in the past two days are a testament to his methods. Butcher might be a sick bastard, but he's our sick bastard, and he gets results.

Maverick, usually the quiet one, speaks up from his corner. The youngest of our crew, but already proven himself ten times over.

"We go in hard and fast. No survivors this time."

My hand moves to the gun holstered at my side. The familiar weight grounds me and reminds me of what I am – what we all are. Killers when we need to be, protectors always.

"They crossed every line," I say, my voice low but carrying across the smoke-filled room. "Trafficking kids, attacking our home, going after Angel..." I pause, jaw clenching. "Then they had the balls to ambush Crow. Would've killed him if he hadn't had his piece with him." I stand up, unable to contain the rage anymore. The chair scrapes against the floor, the sound harsh in the tension-filled room. "It ends tonight."

"Seven bikes," Hellfire states, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Me, Butcher, Wrath, Crow, Ruthless, Maverick." He looks at Angel. "You're our eyes from the ridge. Any movement, any surprise visitors, you let us know."

Angel starts to protest, but Ruthless squeezes her shoulder. We all know she's lethal, but she's also our best spotter. Those bastards won't see us coming.

Hellfire nods, his decision made. "Gear up."

As everyone moves to prepare, I catch my reflection in the clubhouse's grimy mirror. The man staring back at me lives upto my road name – Wrath. Tonight, I'll earn it all over again. The rage that's been simmering since they first crossed us is about to boil over.

Some might call what we're about to do revenge. I call it justice. The Outlaws forgot the first rule of our world: you don't fuck with family. And Iron & Blood? We're family.

I check my weapons one last time, the familiar ritual steadying my hands. My Glock, cleaned and loaded. The knife strapped to my boot. The brass knuckles in my cut pocket – sometimes you want to make it personal.

Tonight, we'll paint the night red. And I won't feel a damn bit sorry about it.

Because when you come after Iron & Blood, there's only one way it ends – in blood.

The sound of boots on hardwood and leather cuts sliding on fills the clubhouse as we prepare. Every movement is practiced, efficient – we've done this dance too many times to count.

"Ten minutes," Hellfire barks, checking his own piece.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and for a split second, my mind flashes to that night a year ago. Lucy. Sometimes, in quiet moments like these, right before all hell breaks loose, I remember her. Wild honey-colored hair spread across my pillow, those green eyes that seemed to see right through my bullshit, soft curves pressed against me. One night of peace in this chaos we call life.

I shake the thought away. There's no room for softness tonight.

"You good?" Crow asks, coming up beside me. His dark eyes, so similar to mine, search my face.

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