The siege lasted three hours. By the time the last Diamondback vehicle disappeared into the night, the Saints' clubhouse looked like a war zone. Bullet holes peppered the reinforced walls, shattered glass littered the parking lot, and the acrid smell of gunpowder hung heavy in the air. Miraculously, only two Saints had been wounded—testament to their defensive preparations and superior positioning.
Raven emerged from Jax's office to find the main room buzzing with post-battle adrenaline. Men cleaned weapons, tended wounds, and shared war stories with the grim satisfaction of soldiers who'd survived another fight. The old ladies moved among them with medical supplies and whiskey, their faces hard with the kind of resilience that came from living this life for years.
She spotted Jax near t
