Page 54 of Fear

“They found me and tackled me to the ground, one of them hit me.” Her hand touched her cheek, not from pain—from memory. “I bit him and fought until I couldn’t fight no more, but I lost. They took the gun from me and dragged me back like I was nothing.”

Her voice trembled. “I think that was the moment I broke a little. Not from pain or from fear but from the... helplessness. Knowing I was that close and still didn’t make it.” She looked up at him now.

“I kept waiting for you, not because I didn’t trust myself—but because I knew you were the only one who could make it stop.” Goliath leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, his eyes dark and unreadable. His voice, when it came, was low and guttural.

“You never should’ve had to go through that.” She reached out then, her fingers brushing his knuckles.

“But I did,” she whispered. “And I survived it, because of you.”

His hand turned, wrapped around hers gently, like even now he was afraid of hurting her. But his grip trembled. “I should’ve killed him before he even got to you,” he growled. “Every second he breathed after laying hands on you is a second, I’ll regret until I make it right.”

Sofia leaned toward him; her voice quiet but firm. “You’re making it right. Every second you’re here, every breath you take beside me—you’re healing me.”

Goliath’s jaw clenched, his throat working hard as he forced down the rage and guilt threatening to choke him. “You’re mine, Sofia. My mate. I’ll never be able to forget what they did.”

“You don’t have to forget,” she said softly. “You just have to stay.”

His hand came up, gently cradling the side of her face. “You think I could leave after this? You’re in my blood. You’re in my soul. There’s no world where I walk away from you.”

She leaned into his palm, closing her eyes. “Good. Because I don’t think I could survive losing you either.” They stayed like that for a long moment—two broken pieces finally finding peace in each other.

And in the quiet that followed, nothing else mattered. Not the blood spilled, not the war waiting to be finished. Only this. Only them.

***

The main room of the clubhouse was packed, the air thick with, tension was palpable.

The long oak table at the centre, scarred from years of knives, bottles, and bloody strategy, was once again the battlefield. King stood at the head, arms braced on the wood, his expression stone cold. His eyes swept over every man in the room.

Goliath sat to his left, silent but pulsing with energy like a storm tethered to flesh. He hadn't spoken since walking in. He didn’t need to. The fury radiating off him was enough to set the whole place on fire.

Beside him, Frost leaned back in his chair, arms folded, ice in his stare. Dixon sat with his hand curled around a half-drunk beer, knuckles white. Fang’s jaw was locked, Hunter drumming his fingers on the table, too still for comfort. Blue has a scowl adorning his face as he looks around at everyone.

Even Diesel was in the room, standing along the wall with the prospects, tension lining his usually calm face. They were all here, and they were all ready.

King dropped a stack of printed surveillance photos onto the table.

“Jason Rodes is still off the radar,” he said, voice hard. “We’ve checked his properties in the city. Nothing. We've had contacts watching his financial movements—he’s gone dark.”

“Someone’s hiding him,” Dixon muttered.

“No doubt,” King nodded. “And they’re good. But not better than us.”

Frost leaned forward. “When we find him, we don’t just hit him. We erase him.” A low growl of agreement rolled around the table.

Goliath finally spoke, his voice hoarse and razor-edged. “I think we should have eyes on every man who’s ever worked with Rodes. Gunrunners. Launderers. Club presidents he’s dealt with. No contact is off the table. We find the weak link, and we tear it open.”

King gave a sharp nod. “Already happening. I’ve got Gunner and two of the Blood Fangs tracking his courier routes. Viper from Iron Claws is sweeping the south end of his old network.”

“They owe us,” Fang said darkly.

“They know it,” King replied. “They’re with us. All of them.”

That was the thing about Wolverines, they didn’t beg, they didn’t plead, but when they called for war—brothers answered.

The room fell silent for a beat. Not from hesitation—but from something heavier. Loyalty. Each man seated at the table would give his life for the others. They’d taken bullets together. Buried brothers together. Stood over burning buildings and walked into gunfire without flinching, but this wasn’t just about club business. This was personal.

Jason Rodes hadn’t just messed with the Wolverines. He had taken Goliath’s mate. He had crossed the one line you didn’t come back from. And that made it all their fight.

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