Chapter 51

We rode out under the cloak of darkness, the rumble of our engines echoing off the city’s concrete walls like the growl of an approaching storm. Pietro and Torch led the charge, their bikes cutting through the night with a sense of purpose that was almost palpable. I rode alongside them, my hand never straying far from the grip of my gun. Harlen was at my six, his silent presence a comforting shadow in the chaos that was about to unfold.

The Iron Serpents’ clubhouse loomed ahead, a grim, two-story structure that had been the source of our troubles for far too long. “On my signal,” Pietro’s voice crackled over the radio, steady despite the adrenaline that I knew was coursing through his veins.

We dismounted, our boots hitting the pavement with a collective thud that signaled the beginning of the end for the Iron Serpents. The Bratva and The Vultures fanned out, weapons at the ready, as we moved toward the building with ruthless precision—a well-oiled machine fueled by vengeance and primal alpha instincts.

The first wave of gunfire erupted as we breached the entrance, the sharp crack of bullets filling the air. I felt the heat of a round whizzing past my ear, the sting of plaster as it exploded from the wall behind me. “Stay low!” I shouted over the deafening roar, my voice barely audible even to my own ears.

Harlen moved with a lethal grace, his body a mere whisper against the chaos. He took down two Serpents with swift, precise movements, the silencer on his gun muffling the sound of death as it bloomed around us. “Clear!” he called out, his tone as cold and detached as the mortician he was.

Pietro was a force of nature, his fists and feet a blur as he engaged three Serpents at once. He took a knife to the throat of one attacker, the blood spraying across his face like a macabre war paint.

I couldn’t help but feel a grudging respect for the man. Pietro was a true leader, fierce and unyielding, yet there was an honor about him that reminded me of my own father. At that moment, I understood that our alliance was about more than just strategy—it was about brotherhood.

“Axel, behind you!” Harlen’s warning came just in time. I spun around, firing two shots into the chest of an oncoming Serpent. The man crumpled to the ground, his wide, disbelieving eyes staring up at nothing.

The air was thick with the coppery stench of blood and the acrid smell of gunpowder. Bodies littered the floor, a grim testament to the carnage we had wrought. And yet, there was no joy in the victory, no triumphant celebration. This was survival, pure and simple.

“Is that all of them?” Torch’s voice was hoarse as he surveyed the wreckage, his face streaked with sweat and grime.

Harlen nodded, his dark eyes scanning the room one last time. “We got ’em all,” he confirmed, his voice devoid of emotion. It was the voice of a man who had seen too much death to be swayed by its horrors.

Pietro clapped me on the shoulder, a rare smile breaking through his stoic facade. “We did it, my friend,” he said, the relief in his voice echoing my own.

I returned the gesture, feeling a bond forming between us—a bond forged in battle and sealed in blood. “We did,” I agreed, glancing over at Harlen. “Thanks to you two.”

Harlen simply nodded, his gaze already shifting to the next task at hand. We still had to secure the premises, ensuring there were no survivors who might pose a future threat.

As we moved through the destroyed clubhouse, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of closure. The Iron Serpents were gone, their reign of terror brought to an end by our combined strength. The Vultures, The Bratva, and Harlen—we had come together as one, proving that when faced with a common enemy, even the most unlikely of allies could become brothers in arms.

The echo of gunfire still rang in my ears as Pietro, with a voice steeped in cold fury, issued a kill on sight order against any Iron Serpent daring enough to show their face in the streets of NYC. The bloodlust in his eyes hadn’t fully receded, and the command he barked into his phone was a stark reminder that this war was far from over.

Torch, his face smeared with the grime of battle, let out a hearty laugh that seemed out of place amidst the carnage. “I like you, Volkov,” he said, clapping Pietro on the back. “You’ve got balls of steel. And if there’s anything we can do to repay the debt, you let us know.”

Pietro gave a curt nod, acknowledging the camaraderie, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. Then, his phone buzzed, and he glanced at the notification, his jaw tightening as he grimaced. “I need to know if you’re good on that promise, Torch,” he said, urgency lacing his tone. “Because right now, a snake, Nikolai, is using this distraction to strike at some of my operations.”

Torch’s jovial demeanor vanished, replaced by the sharp focus of a seasoned leader. He looked at Pietro, then at the rest of us, his gaze lingering on me for a moment before he made his decision. “Vultures!” he bellowed, his voice carrying through the shattered remnants of the clubhouse. “Get to your damned bikes! We’ve got another fight to get to!”

The room erupted into a flurry of activity as we scrambled to follow orders. My heart was pounding, the adrenaline from the recent fight not yet abated, now spiked by the anticipation of another confrontation. I could feel the tension crackling in the air, a palpable force that seemed to bind us together, driving us forward.

As we filed out of the wreckage, I fell into step beside Harlen. He was silent but I knew better than to mistake it for indifference. Harlen was calculating, always observing, and his quiet demeanor belied a mind that was as sharp as the blade he wielded.

“You ready for round two?” I asked him, my voice low.

He didn’t look at me, his dark eyes scanning the shadows as we moved. “Always,” he replied, the single word carrying the weight of unspoken promises and threats.

I believed him. Harlen was a wild card, a man whose morality was as gray as the smoke that still curled from the ruins of the Iron Serpents’ stronghold. But he was our wild card, and I trusted him at my back.

We reached our bikes, the engines roaring to life beneath us, a symphony of raw power. Pietro was already on the phone, barking orders in Russian, his tone leaving no room for argument. He was a man divided, torn between the loyalty he owed to his Bratva and the allegiance he had forged with us in the heat of battle.

Torch mounted his bike, revving the engine as he waited for the rest of us to fall in line. “Stick close, Doc,” he called out to me. “We’re riding into the unknown, and I need everyone sharp.”

I nodded, securing my helmet as I straddled my bike. The familiar vibration beneath me was a comfort, a reminder of the freedom that awaited on the open road. But freedom would have to wait. Right now, we had a traitor to catch, and a war to finish.

As we peeled out of the lot, the tires kicked up a spray of gravel and debris, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease. We had taken down the Iron Serpents, but this new threat—Nikolai—was an unknown quantity. And in a game of predators and prey, the unknown could be the most dangerous beast of all.

The city rushed by in a blur of lights and shadows as we rode, a stark contrast to the darkness that lay ahead. We were brothers in arms, bound by a shared purpose and a code of honor that transcended the bloodshed.

But as we rode toward the next fight, I knew that this was more than just a battle for territory or power. This was about protecting our own, about standing up to those who would tear us down. And as long as I had breath in my body, I would fight to my last, for Darcy, for my pack, and for the brotherhood that had become my life.