Page 55 of Fear

King looked around the table, voice low now. “We don’t walk into this one swinging blind. We plan. We bleed on our terms.”

Hunter met Goliath’s eyes across the table. “We get her justice. No matter what it takes.”

A silent vow passed between them. Between all of them. They’d seen each other through hell. And they were about to go back into it—together.

Chapter 23

Two days after the meeting, the Wolverines struck first. It wasn’t loud or bloody. Not yet. But it was precise.

The men moved out on marked SUVs, heading toward the edge of Rodes’ former territory, an industrial zone south of the city, tucked behind a row of fake shell companies and forgotten warehouses. Intel from Gunner and the Blood Fangs had paid off.

One name kept coming up. Eddie Vallo. A fixer. A middle-tier middleman. The kind of man who always knew more than he should, always kept just far enough from the dirt to keep his hands clean. But he’d worked with Rodes for years—moved money, cleaned paper trails, paid off dirty cops.

And according to Viper’s last trace, Eddie hadn’t left town. Big mistake.

The blacked-out SUVs rolled to a quiet stop in front of a rundown laundromat with boarded-up windows and a faded CLOSED sign. “This the place?” Frost asked, stepping out and scanning the street.

King nodded. “Back entrance. Two exits. One man inside.” Goliath was already moving. He didn’t knock, he kicked the door in. Eddie Vallo nearly fell out of his cheap office chair, spilling coffee across a stack of fake invoices. His eyes went wide, face pale. He knew exactly who they were.

“Whoa…Jesus Christ” Hunter slammed the door shut behind them while Fang and Frost flanked both exits.

Goliath walked in slowly, like a loaded weapon with a heartbeat. Eddie raised his hands. “Hey…whatever this is…”

Goliath didn’t stop. He grabbed the man by the collar and yanked him out of the chair, slamming him against the wall with a crack of drywall and plaster.

“Where is Jason Rodes?”

Eddie’s breath came in a panicked wheeze. “I—I don’t know—he cut contact after—after that girl disappeared—”

Goliath’s fist hit the wall an inch from Eddie’s head. The man flinched so hard he nearly pissed himself.

“Try again,” King said coldly.

“I swear! I just…look, he’s using a new handler. Goes through a guy named Marcus now—Marcus Cree. The guy’s a ghost. Runs shit out of an abandoned airstrip twenty miles west. Used to be one of Rodes’ black book contractors.”

Frost stepped closer. “And you’ve got the location?”

Eddie nodded frantically. “Yeah—yeah, I’ll give it to you. Just don’t kill me, alright? I don’t know anything else. I stay out of the dirt.”

Goliath growled. “You’re already neck deep.”

“Goliath,” King said firmly. “We need him talking. Not bleeding.”

Goliath’s jaw ticked, but he let Eddie go, shoving him back into the chair.

King crouched in front of the fixer; voice quiet. “You give us this location, and you disappear. Don’t show your face again. You even think of helping Rodes again—we find you first.”

Eddie nodded, already scribbling the coordinates down with a shaking hand.

Back at the clubhouse, the brothers gathered around a large map in the chapel, tracing the route to the old airstrip.

Frost pinned the paper Eddie had given them down beside satellite images. “If he’s keeping contact through Marcus, that strip’s his new base of movement. Drops. Safehouses. Maybe even a place to disappear.”

“He won’t disappear,” Goliath said. “Not before I get to him.”

King looked around the room. “We move tomorrow night. No noise, no delay. This is our shot.”

Fang cracked his knuckles. “So we hit hard and leave nothing standing?”

---