Page 91 of Switch

I look around the table at the men who became my brothers. I’d trust any of them with my life—hell, with Bella’s life. This club isn’t just a patch on my back, it’s the family I chose when my own didn’t give a damn. And now, someone I once considered part of that family is trying to tear us apart. I won’t let that happen.

We get to work, putting together a game plan. Over the next few weeks, we start hitting Butch’s drug and arms deals hard. The drugs? We destroy every last bit. The guns? We keep them.

We lay down the law, just like we did years ago when we first took control of this town. Butch isn’t the only one who needs a reminder of who’s in charge—some of the lowlifes crawling out of the woodwork do too. This town belongs to us, and we’re not going to let it be torn apart.

Through all of this, things with Bella have been… different. I’ve been trying to be more open with her, letting her in little by little. At first, it wasn’t easy—club business is just that, club business—but every time I give her a piece of it, I see how much it means to her. She doesn’t push, doesn’t demand more than I’m willing to give, but I can tell she appreciates the trust.

We’ve been spending most nights together. She’s even come over a couple of times, and I can see how much she’s missed being home. I hate that I pushed her away before, that I made her feel like she didn’t belong in my world. Oreo misses her too, always perking up at the sound of the door like she’s hoping Bella will walk through it.

I’ll wait as long as it takes for her. Because through everything—this war with Butch, the shit we’ve had to handle, the way life keeps throwing punches—one thing has been clear.

Bella’s the only one I’ll ever want to share my life with.

The night air is thick with tension, the kind that settles in your bones and won’t let go. The steady roar of engines cuts through the silence as we ride in tight formation, a pack of wolves closing in on their prey. Each of us is locked in, focused. This isn’t just another run. This is a reckoning.

The warehouse sits on the outskirts of the next town over, a run-down piece of shit barely standing, but inside, Butch’s entire operation is running full throttle. Drugs, guns, money—everything he’s built since he turned on us is about to come crashing down.

I grip my handlebars tighter as we approach, my pulse steady but my thoughts racing. This is it. We’ve spent weeks dismantling his deals, taking out his supply chains, cutting offevery resource he had. But this? This is the final nail in the coffin.

We roll up in a staggered line, headlights cutting through the darkness, the deep rumble of our engines making the ground vibrate beneath us. The second we kill the ignitions, silence settles. A charged, deadly kind of silence. One that means it’s time to move.

Mason steps off his bike first, setting the tone. Dagger, Blade, Rev, and I follow, along with the rest of the officers, each one moving with purpose. No hesitation. No second thoughts. We’ve run through this plan a dozen times, but when it comes down to it, nothing about a raid ever goes by the book. We adapt, we move, we win.

I adjust the grip on my gun, scanning the warehouse. Two lookouts posted by the entrance, neither of them expecting trouble. That’s their first mistake.

Mason signals and Blade and Rev move in fast, silencers whispering as they drop both men before they even have a chance to react. I step over one of the bodies, shoving the door open without a second thought.

The inside is chaos. Men scrambling, shouting, reaching for weapons—but we’re already inside, already taking control. I keep my focus sharp, moving through the space as bullets fly. My instincts take over. I duck, aim, fire. One body drops. Then another. I don’t stop to think about it.

Everything is happening fast, but my mind keeps circling back to Bella. Not because I doubt myself, but because I know exactly what I’m fighting for. This isn’t just about the club. This is about protecting the life I want with her. The life I won’t let these bastards ruin.

A guy lunges at me from the side, and I barely twist out of the way before his blade slices past my ribs. I grab his wrist, twistingit hard enough to hear the crack before I drive my own knife into his gut. His breath leaves in a choked gasp before he drops.

Gunfire echoes from the other side of the warehouse, but the fight is already shifting in our favor. We came in fast and hard, just like we planned. Butch’s men are scrambling, unprepared. They were running an empire built on greed and desperation, but they forgot one thing—when the Iron Reapers come for you, there’s no getting out.

I spot Butch near the back, slipping toward an exit. Coward.

Not tonight, motherfucker.

I take off after him, my boots pounding against the concrete. He makes it outside, but I’m on him before he can get far, tackling him to the ground. He grunts as he hits the dirt, trying to scramble away, but I pin him down, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and slamming my fist into his face.

“That’s for Carlie.” Another punch. “For Mason. For this club.” I grab him by the throat, squeezing just enough to watch panic flash in his eyes. “And this? This is for me.”

I slam his head against the ground, dazed enough to keep him from moving as Mason and Dagger step up beside me.

I hand Butch off to Dagger and Mason, stepping back as they take what’s owed. They don’t hold back—not after what he’s done. The sounds of fists meeting flesh echo in the warehouse, each hit a reminder of the lines he crossed. He grunts and spits blood, but there’s no mercy here.

Then a single gunshot rings out.

I turn, breath steady, already knowing it’s over before I even see it. Butch’s body slumps to the ground, blood pooling beneath him. No words are spoken—none are needed. This was always how it was going to end.

The others start moving without hesitation. We find the gas—gallons of it—and start pouring it everywhere. Over the bodies, around the building, soaking every surface we can. The smell ofgasoline fills the air, sharp and potent. This place, this operation, everything Butch built—it all burns tonight.

Mason is the last one back inside, dragging one of Butch’s men by the collar. The guy is barely conscious, blood dripping from his busted lip. Mason shoves him forward, letting him collapse onto the concrete.

"Let him run," Mason says, his voice flat. "Let him tell every lowlife in Jackson what happens when you fuck with the Iron Reapers."

We step back, giving him space. The guy scrambles to his feet, wild-eyed, before taking off into the night. He won’t get far before the flames start.

---