Chapter Twenty-Seven - Holding the Line
1230 Words
The sun had barely risen when the low rumble of engines echoed beyond the compound walls.
Ronan, Maddox, and a small crew of trusted men were already gone—off to finalize plans, meet contacts, and line up the final pieces of a takedown that had been years in the making.
And back at the compound, Evelyn sat barefoot on the couch, legs tucked under her as she watched Remy pour coffee into mismatched mugs.
The room felt… quieter today.
Not empty. Just weighted. Like everyone knew the wind had shifted.
Jules shuffled in with a throw blanket still wrapped around her shoulders, yawning and grumbling until she had her first sip of coffee.
“You look too awake for someone whose man went off to wage psychological warfare before 7 a.m.,” she muttered to Remy.
Remy smirked. “I’m a functioning savage. There’s a difference.”
Evelyn gave a soft laugh that faded into something thoughtful.
Jules noticed. “Hey,” she said gently. “You good?”
“I think so,” Evelyn said. “I’m just… thinking about him.”
Remy handed her a mug and joined them on the couch. “You’re allowed to worry. Just don’t spiral.”
“I’m not,” Evelyn said quickly, then paused. “I’m not spiraling. I just… I know what he’s walking into. And part of me wishes I could help. The other part is terrified something will happen to him.”
Jules tucked her legs beneath her. “Welcome to loving someone dangerous.”
Evelyn blinked.
She hadn’t said the word out loud before.
Not even to herself.
Remy gave her a knowing look. “You think it’s just lust, babe? Ronan’s not a one-night man. And you’re not just another pretty face to him. What you two have—it’s already moved past the point of no return.”
Evelyn looked down into her coffee, the heat in her chest blooming.
“I just don’t want to be the reason he hesitates.”
“He won’t,” Remy said, voice firm. “Ronan’s a strategist. He knows exactly what he’s walking into. And you? You’re not a distraction. You’re his reason.”
Jules reached over and grabbed a bag of cinnamon pretzels from the counter. “You holding your own is what makes him stronger. Let the man fight the war. We hold the fort.”
“Exactly,” Remy said. “We stay grounded. We keep the warmth. We make sure this place feels like home when he comes back.”
Evelyn looked between them—two strong, fierce women who had learned how to thrive in a world built by outlaws and loyalty.
And for the first time, she felt like one of them.
Not the outsider. Not the secret.
But family.
She took a long sip of her coffee, then whispered, “Okay. I can do that.”
“Damn right you can,” Jules said, raising her mug. “To the women behind the chaos.”
Remy clinked her mug against it. “And to the men who’ll crawl home on bloody knuckles for us.”
Evelyn smiled, lifted her own mug.
And drank.
The night air was cool against Ronan’s skin as he crouched behind the rusted-out van on the edge of the Widow Blades' compound—the dying empire led by Reed. His gloved fingers closed around the grip of his weapon, but it wasn’t violence that pulsed through him.
It was clarity.
Across the lot, Maddox signaled two fingers toward the side building. The other crew—Jace, Leo, and Tripp—fanned out as planned. Every footfall was silent. Every breath calculated. Ronan had drilled this operation for weeks without anyone outside his inner circle knowing the full picture.
Because when you plan to end a legacy like Reed’s, you don’t give anyone time to hesitate.
Ronan’s voice crackled softly in Maddox’s earpiece. “East and south exits. Sweep. No bodies unless necessary.”
“Copy,” Maddox murmured.
They moved like smoke through the shadows.
The Widow Blades' compound, once a fortress of intimidation and chaos, now looked cracked—half-lit, windows busted, bikes out front rusting from neglect. Reed’s ego had eaten his empire from the inside out.
Ronan led the push.
Through the garage.
Down the hall.
Clearing room by room.
Doors burst open. Orders shouted. Men subdued. Resistance met with force—but only when necessary.
No unnecessary kills. No collateral.
They weren’t here to burn it all down.
They were here to cut off the head.
Maddox stormed the back office with Jace and found the VP tied up in his own lies—already halfway drunk, no weapon within reach. His hands went up fast. He didn’t even ask where Reed was.
He already knew.
Ronan found Reed in the upstairs room, where the old man had always done his dirty planning. Alone now, surrounded by faded maps and cheap whiskey.
The former president of the Widow Blades looked up, his face pale and tight. “I knew it’d be you.”
Ronan stepped inside without a word.
“You think this makes you a better man?” Reed rasped. “You’re just finishing what I started.”
“No,” Ronan said coldly. “I’m ending what you should’ve never begun.”
He pulled his weapon, but didn’t raise it.
“I should end you right here,” he said. “For Cody. For every kid you fed to a war they never agreed to.”
Reed smirked like he still had some kind of power. “But you won’t. You’re too noble.”
Ronan stepped closer. “You’re right. I’m not a killer by sport.”
Then he leaned in.
“But I brought a warrant. From men you betrayed.”
Two more of Ronan’s crew stepped in—neutralizers from inside Reed’s own ranks. Men who had grown tired of his reign of destruction. Who had handed him over in exchange for mercy.
Ronan nodded once. “Your own blood turned on you. And you earned every second of it.”
They cuffed Reed. Dragged him out.
No grand speech. No bullets. Just silence.
Because sometimes, the loudest justice…
Is watching a tyrant realize he’s no longer feared.
They rode home under cover of night, the engines of their bikes steady and sure—not triumphant, but final.
When they pulled into the compound, the lights on the porch were still glowing. As Ronan shut off his engine, he spotted her.
Evelyn was waiting by the entrance, arms wrapped around herself against the cool air, her hair pulled back loosely. Her eyes met his across the distance, searching for something—not victory, not vengeance.
Just him.
He dismounted slowly. Didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his middle, pressing her cheek to his chest as the tension in his body bled away.
No questions. No demands.
Just quiet support.
Ronan lowered his chin to the top of her head, his arms wrapping around her with purpose.
“It’s done,” he murmured, his voice rough.
Evelyn just nodded, holding him tighter.
And for the first time in years, the weight didn’t crush him.
It lifted.
Because someone was there to carry it with him.
- Writer
