Page 47 of Total Carnage
"Two legs. Plan. And soon," I confirmed, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. This was more than just another run-in with trouble; it was personal, and it cut deeper than any knife ever could.
"Your call, Raven," Vin assured me, and I knew he meant it. He was with me, come hell or high water, and that kind of loyalty you couldn't buy—it was earned, mile by bloody mile.
"Let's circle back, see what else we can find before we crash this fucked-up party," I decided.
"Lead on," he obliged, and together we turned, slipping back into the darkness of the woods. Every instinct screamed to charge in, to confront the heart of the mystery head-on, but the chill in my bones told me patience would be our salvation—or our doom.
The scent of danger was a tang on the tip of my tongue as we retreated into the forest's embrace. Vin and I moved in sync, our paws pounding against the dirt with the urgency of a ticking bomb.
"Got a bad feeling about this," I heard Vin's voice in my head—a growl wrapped in concern that didn't need a human tongue to be understood.
"Me too," I admitted, my thoughts a silent snarl as I led the way deeper into the woods, branches whipping past, leaving thin red lines on our fur that stung less than the thought of whatawaited us. We were hunters by nature, but even predators knew when to bide their time, wait for the dark to turn in their favor.
As the familiar clearing came into view, my heart pounded harder than my feet on the forest floor. It was showtime. With a last glance at Vin, a silent nod passed between us, and the world blurred around the edges as we shifted. Skin prickled and bones ached in that sweet agony of changing form, fur receding into flesh, until two humans stood where wolves once were. We stepped out of the trees, barefoot and as ready as we'd ever be, the moonlight illuminating the hard-set lines of determination on our faces.
"Meeting," Vin barked out, his voice a serrated knife cutting through the thick air of cigarette smoke and liquor. Heads snapped up, attention honed in on us as if pulled by invisible strings. The crew knew that tone, the one that meant shit was about to get real, and they filed into the main room with the kind of efficiency born from too many close calls. Several old ladies parked their asses at the bar. I joined them but kept my ears pinned to the conversation at hand.
I watched them settle, a pack ready for the hunt, their faces etched with lines of lives lived hard and fast. Vin's presence filled the room, the leader, the eye of the storm we were all willingly caught in. And when he spoke, it was like thunder rolling over the desert plains, demanding to be heard.
"We found a cabin. Guarded. Deep in the woods." His words were precise, like bullets loaded with the gravity of our discovery. "Raven's old man is there."
I stepped forward, feeling their eyes shift to me. My place beside Vin wasn't just given; it was earned, and the respect that came with it could silence a room quicker than a shotgun blast. "We've got a narrow window to act," I said, my voice slicing through the tension. "We need to hit them hard and fast before they see us coming." Nods met my words, the silent language ofwarriors ready to back my play. I scanned the faces, every pair of eyes telling a story of loyalty, and something more—faith. In Vin, in me, in the road, we were about to burn down.
We spent the next hour planning, talking with Jameson, and talking with other chapters. My history with Vin taught me that when something went down with one chapter of an MC, every MC was affected. Once we were satisfied with a plan, Vin and I stepped out of the clubhouse, and for a moment, I let the chaos behind us fade into the background. The sun was sinking low, its last rays throwing long shadows across the gravel like fingers reaching out to drag the day into night. Vin's hand pressed against the small of my back—solid, reassuring.
"Look at that," I said, nodding toward the horizon where the sky burned with a fire that matched the one in our veins. It was beautiful, in a savage kind of way, mirroring the storm brewing within us.
"Looks like the world's about to end," Vin replied, his voice rough, the way I liked it. I watched him as he watched the horizon. Beneath that rough exterior and rough voice, beneath the man who looked like he could crush another man’s skull, was a special human being. He cared deeply for others. Even more so for me and the club. When he wanted, his touch could be like the stroke of a feather, his lips satin against whichever of my body parts he placed them against. In essence, we were made for each other as if we were cut from the same cloth.
"It could be an omen," I mused. I leaned against his shoulder, and he moved his arm around me, shedding the world around us. I knew too many women who had never felt protected by their significant others. This was not my case. In his arms, the world belonged to us.
"Or a promise." Vin's reply was terse, but the corner of his mouth twitched up in a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Let's just hope it's not our sunset," I quipped, even though the thought had already crossed my mind. We were walking into the lion's den, and there was no guarantee we'd all walk back out.
He turned and wrapped his arms around me, his lips on mine, his large hands dropping to my ass. He chuckled. “Guess we gave new meaning to doggie style.”
With both of us laughing, we went back inside to prepare for the showdown. Live or die, we were going to do it our way.
Vin
The roar of engines died behind us as the Royal Bastards dismounted, our boots hitting the dirt in unison. We were a storm of leather and rage, moving toward the cabin with deadly intent. I could smell the pine in the air, mingled with the sharp tang of fear. The guards didn't stand a chance; they were taken out swiftly, their bodies crumpling to the ground like rag dolls. As we cleared them, I noticed the Cyrillic tattoos on one's arm—Russian fuckers mixed up in the Black Market Railroad.
"Vin!" Raven's voice was a beacon, but I couldn't spot her in the chaos.
"Clear!" someone shouted, and that's when I kicked down the door to Stansfield's office. The place reeked of money and bullshit, all polished wood and pretensions. There he was, my nemesis, sitting pretty behind his desk like some kind of throne. He looked up with a smirk plastered on his aging face, and Icould tell he thought he was untouchable. I almost sent him outside to see his dead guards.
"Looking for someone?" he drawled, smug as ever. I resisted the urge to put a bullet between his eyes.
I strode over, my boots thudding against the planked floor, each step echoing the pounding in my chest. "You, asshole." I demanded, my voice low, simmering with a promise of violence. Keep your shit together, I told myself. Killing Raven’s dad while she was outside would fuck everything up.
"Ah, you make it so personal," Stansfield replied, leaning back in his chair as though we were just two old friends having a chat. But I caught it—the slight widening of his eyes, the way his fingers gripped the armrests just a little too tight. The leather chair creaked. The birds outside had gone back to chirruping. The sun had set outside and on Stansfield.
"Cut the shit, Stansfield." I leaned across the desk, close enough to see the pulse ticking in his neck. "You're gonna tell me everything about that bombing. Who did you sell us out to? Why the fuck you’re in bed with the Russian Mafia and anything else we need to know. "
"Vin, always straight to the point," he said with an affected chuckle. "But really, is this how you want to play it? I'd expect more... finesse."
"Guess I left my manners back at the club you blew to hell," I snapped back, my anger a living thing, coiled tight inside me. I wanted to reach across the desk and wipe that look off his face, but I needed answers first.
