Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 52851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Turns out, the bastard had a twenty-eight-year-old daughter—Olivia. I vaguely remembered hearing about her, but what we hadn’t known was that he had sold her out to traffickers. To the same fuckers we were fighting.
We had trusted him, let him into our conversations, given him intel on our operations. All the while, he had been lining his pockets with blood money, feeding information straight to the enemy.
We barely had time to plan our next move when the first rounds of gunfire struck the side of the building. They had snuck up on us. Somehow, they had gotten past our guards. Worse, they knew the layout of our compound—knew exactly where to hit, where we were vulnerable.
Preacher’s roar split through the air. “Fucking shit!”
We ran for the armory, grabbing our assault rifles as standard defense protocols kicked in. Kyle, Duke, and the Ghosts, they knew what to do. But the fact that Kyle wasn’t at my side was a distraction I couldn’t afford right now. I had to trust her. She was lucky her arm hadn’t been broken that night, just bruised, so she could still fight and defend herself.
And fuck, was she fighting.
The second we took position, I got a good look at the sheer number of men that had breached our perimeter. This wasn’t just a warning, it wasn’t intimidation, and they weren’t here to scare us. They were here to wipe us out.
The first shots rang out from inside the building. The Ghosts were already picking them off, moving with practiced precision. I barked orders to the MC, and together, we unleashed hell. Bullets tore through the night, bodies hit the ground, the air thick with gunpowder and blood.
Then, Gauge’s voice cut through the chaos. “Anyone else notice they’re not shooting at us anymore?”
I blinked, my grip tightening on my rifle. Then, I saw it—their firepower had shifted. They weren’t firing at random, they had a target.
And then the explosions hit. I didn’t need to look to know it was Kyle.
She had brought out the prototype weapon we’d taken from Demingo’s men, and it fucking worked. The force of the blast sent bodies flying, the sheer destruction of it making the attackers hesitate. They realized, too late, that they were outmatched. One by one, they turned tail, bolting for the open gates, scrambling over each other to escape.
I had one rule—never shoot a man in the back. But these fuckers had come onto our land. Attacked us in our home. These were different rules forced by their decision, so I lifted my rifle back up and started shooting at them again.
I didn’t call the stand-down until I was damn sure they were all gone.
As the smoke cleared, I stepped outside and took in the damage. Bullet holes pitted the walls, but none had made it through the thick structure. We had held our ground and had survived. But something wasn’t right. My eyes lifted, scanning the rooftop, and that’s when I saw it.
Kyle, perched above, rifle still in hand.
And beneath her position was proof of where they’d concentrated their firepower. The deliberate targeting. They hadn’t just come for us, they had come for her.
A roar ripped through the air, loud and furious. I turned just in time to see Preacher’s face twisted with rage. He had seen it too—they had tried to take out his daughter. That was why they hit us here. They had used the battle as a distraction, long enough to single her out.
Preacher’s voice boomed through the clearing, his fury echoing like thunder. “Get the President of the 412.” His tone left no room for argument. “Find him and bring him here.”
This shit was ending. Now.
Chapter 11
Jagger
The sun was rising, casting long, golden streaks over the Compound, but there was no warmth in it. No relief. Just a grim reminder that we’d barely survived the night. The grounds were secured again, the bodies of our fallen gathered, and the damage being assessed, but it wasn’t over. Not even close.
Exhaustion weighed heavy on my bones, but the rage still pumping through my veins kept me upright. My hands trembled—not from fear, not from exhaustion, but from the sheer fury of it all. They had come for Kyle, right under my fucking nose, and five of my brothers had died because of it. Five men, patrolling the perimeter, doing their job, keeping us safe had been gunned down by a pack of perverted, power-hungry fucks.
I clenched my fists, my jaw aching from grinding my teeth. Someone was going to pay. No, all of them were going to pay.
But first, I had to deal with Preacher. He was barely holding it together. I could see it in the way his shoulders were rigid, in the way he couldn’t stop pacing, the weight of something heavier than guilt pressing down on him. Kyle could have died tonight, and if she had, she never would have known the truth about him.