We rolled out at 10 p.m. sharp. The night was thick, moon hanging low like it was watching us. Five hours until the convoy hit the rest stop. Five hours until we made our move.
The warehouse was already alive—Kat, her mom, Mama Red, and the rest of the women had it humming like a war room dressed as a sanctuary. Prospects moved like shadows, setting up med bays, quiet rooms, and security checkpoints. It wasn’t just ready—it was waiting.
Back at the clubhouse, the men gathered. Luca, Matteo, Salvatore. Kat’s uncles—Sal, John, Rob. My club brothers. All of us armed, focused, and burning with purpose. This wasn’t just a rescue. It was a message.
I was strapping my vest when Kat walked in. Her eyes locked on mine, steady and fierce.
“You come back to me,” she said, voice low but sharp. “No
