Page 53 of Rebel

Charming sat back, running a hand over his face -- the first sign of fatigue he’d shown all night.

“You think Anatoly will come through?”Viper asked.

“Dmitri will,” Charming replied.“And that’s better.Anatoly sends Dmitri when he wants a message sent, not just a job done.”He looked at each of us.“Get some rest.Tomorrow, we go to war.”

As we filed out of the office, I felt the shift in the energy of the clubhouse.The quiet desperation had transformed into something harder, more focused.Men were checking weapons, reviewing maps, making calls.Preparing.

I watched them, these men I’d sworn brotherhood with, and knew that whatever happened next would change us all.Some wouldn’t make it back.That was the reality of war.But we’d go anyway, because Java was one of us, and in the Devil’s Boneyard, we never left our own behind.

Not while there was still a chance they were breathing.And sometimes, not even then.

* * *

I knew trouble had arrived when the ground beneath my feet trembled with the heavy approach of the military-issue truck.The massive vehicle growled outside our compound like a beast announcing its territory.Twenty-four hours.That’s all it had taken for Dmitri to respond to Charming’s call.I set my jaw, feeling the familiar weight of my gun against my hip as I moved toward the main hall, each step measured, each breath controlled.

The rumble cut through the usual background noise of the clubhouse.Conversations halted.Bottles stopped clinking.Even the air seemed to thicken, waiting.I’d heard that sound before -- the distinctive thunder of a Russian military transport.

“They’re here,” someone muttered unnecessarily.

I positioned myself near the wall, giving me clear sight lines to both the entrance and Charming.Our President stood with his feet planted wide, hands loose at his sides -- a casual stance that fooled no one.Every Devil’s Boneyard member in the room knew what that posture really meant: ready for anything.

The engine died outside, followed by doors slamming.My pulse quickened, not from fear but anticipation.When Charming had announced we were calling in the Bratva, opinions had split.Some said we were desperate.Others said we were smart.Me?I thought we were finally getting serious about ending the Moretti problem once and for all.

The main door swung open hard enough to bang against the wall.A man I assumed was Dmitri stepped through the threshold and fuck me if he didn’t command the room instantly.Six-foot-four of pure intimidation in a black leather jacket that probably cost more than my bike.His face was all sharp angles -- high cheekbones, straight nose, jaw that could cut glass.His gaze swept the room in one calculating glance, missing nothing.

“Charming,” he said, voice deep and accented.Just that one word carried weight.

Behind him filed in six men, each one built like they ate small children for breakfast.They wore identical black coats, and I knew without needing to check that they all carried at least three weapons each.The Bratva didn’t fuck around, and these weren’t regular soldiers -- these were Dmitri’s personal enforcers.

I watched Dmitri’s movements closely.The way he held himself screamed military training, but there was something else there too -- a predatory grace that couldn’t be taught.He moved with absolute confidence, each step purposeful.His eyes -- cold blue, almost gray -- scanned faces, exits, positions.I’d met men who thought they were dangerous before.Dmitri didn’t think it; he knew it.And so did everyone else.

“You made good time,” Charming said, stepping forward to meet him.

“When you said Moretti has expanded operations into your territory, I decided time was critical,” Dmitri replied, his accent thickening certain words.“Show me what you have.”

Around me, our club members shifted positions.Hands moved toward weapons, not to draw but to reassure themselves the hardware was there if needed.The Russians noticed.Of course they did.Their eyes tracked every movement, assessing threats, calculating response times.

I caught Havoc’s gaze across the room.He gave me the slightest nod -- our silent language for “stay alert.”We’d fought alongside the Bratva before, but alliances in our world were as stable as nitroglycerin.Useful but volatile.

Charming gestured toward the meeting room.“Maps and intel are ready.My guys have been tracking their movements for three weeks now.Just didn’t realize the shitstorm that was going to happen during that time.”

“Your men are prepared?”Dmitri asked, his gaze sweeping over us again.When that cold gaze landed on me, I didn’t flinch.I stared right back.

“My men are always prepared,” Charming answered, steel in his voice.There was history between these two -- respect, but also boundaries that needed maintaining.

Dmitri nodded once, apparently satisfied.He followed Charming toward the back room, but paused to speak quietly to one of his men who immediately turned and stationed himself by the door, scanning us with flat, emotionless eyes.

The rest of us remained where we were, watching as Dmitri’s men spread out through our space with practiced efficiency.No one said it, but we all felt it -- our clubhouse had just become shared territory, at least temporarily.

“Fucking Russians,” Gator muttered beside me, low enough that only I could hear.

“Better the devil you know,” I replied, keeping my voice equally quiet.

“That what we’re calling it now?”Gator’s hand twitched near his knife.“Because I’m counting at least six devils I don’t know standing in our house.”

“Relax.We need them.”

“Need’s a strong word, Rebel.”

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