Page 2 of Wrath's Redemption

"Never better." I check my burner phone – it's club business only tonight. "Ready to make those fuckers pay?"

He grins, but it's all teeth and fury. "Been ready since I put that bullet in the guy’s leg."

Our bikes line up like soldiers ready for war – chrome gleaming under the security lights, leather seats waiting. The rumble of seven engines turning over breaks the silence, a battle cry that echoes through our compound.

Angel's already mounted on her bike, ready to take her position on the ridge. Ruthless kisses her hard before mounting his own ride, and I see Hellfire pretend not to notice. Some things never change.

"Remember," Butcher's voice carries over the engines. "No witnesses. No mercy."

We pull out in formation, our headlights cutting through the darkness. The weight of my gun pressed against my side reminds me of what's coming. My blood starts singing that familiar song – the one that earned me my name all those years ago.

The Outlaws thought they could hide. They thought wrong.

Tonight, Wrath isn't just my name. It's a promise.

The road stretches ahead like a black ribbon, our bikes eating up the miles in perfect formation. No cars in sight – just as well. Tonight isn't a night for witnesses. The moon hangs low and full, casting everything in a silvery glow that makes the world feel surreal.

My thoughts drift to the intel as we ride. Five of their top guys, including that piece of shit Joey "The Snake" Martinez. He's the one behind all of it. The fact that he's still breathing is a personal insult.

We take the turn onto the back roads, cutting our lights. Angel peels off first, her bike disappearing into the darkness as sheheads for her vantage point. The rest of us continue, the rumble of our engines the only sound for miles.

Three minutes out, Hellfire gives the signal. We kill the engines and coast to a stop, the silence suddenly deafening. The safehouse is just ahead – a rundown two-story at the end of a dirt road. No lights visible, but we know they're in there. Rats always hide in the dark.

"Comms check," Butcher whispers into his earpiece.

"Clear," Angel's voice crackles through. "No movement on the perimeter. Two cars parked out back. Dark SUV and a black sedan."

We spread out, moving like shadows through the trees. My boots make no sound on the damp earth – years of practice. Crow flanks my left, Maverick my right. Hellfire and Butcher take point, with Ruthless covering our six.

The house looms closer. No security cameras – they're either stupid or overconfident. Probably both.

"Movement," Angel's voice is barely a whisper in our ears. "Second floor, west window. Looks like they're playing cards."

A cold smile spreads across my face. Perfect. Let them think they're safe.

Hellfire raises his fist, and we freeze. The hand signals come next – quick, practiced movements in the darkness. Butcher and Maverick will take the back door. Ruthless, the side entrance. Crow and I follow Hellfire through the front.

My heart pounds against my ribs, but my hands are steady as I draw my Glock. This is what I was made for. This is what we do.

"On my mark," Hellfire breathes.

I catch Crow's eye in the darkness. He nods once – a gesture that says everything. We're brothers. We finish this together.

"Three..."

I thumb off the safety.

"Two..."

Blood rushes in my ears.

"One..."

The world narrows to a single point of focus.

"Go."

All hell breaks loose at once. The front door splinters under Hellfire's boot, and we surge forward like a tide of violence. The first Outlaw appears at the top of the stairs, reaching for his piece – too slow. My bullet catches him in the chest, the sound deafening in the enclosed space. He tumbles down the steps like a broken doll.

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