Page 7 of Devils Cut

"Corvus!" Trey's voice boomed from outside the office as he burst through the door. "You ready for this shit tonight?"

"Always am," I replied, forcing a grin as I stood up, grabbing my leather cut off the back of my chair. Slipping it on, I felt the familiar weight of authority settles on my shoulders. "How're the boys?"

"Antsy. You know how they get before a run," Trey said, scratching his beard. He knew me well enough to sense when I wasn't completely focused. "Everything alright?"

"Fine," I lied, clapping him on the shoulder. "Just thinking about the new hire."

"Ah, the mysterious new girl," Trey smirked, raising an eyebrow. "Heard she's quite the looker."

"Watch yourself," I warned, narrowing my eyes. "She's not one of the club whores." The words came out harsher than intended, but I didn't care. She deserved better than being ogled by every guy in the MC.

"Easy, brother," Trey held up his hands defensively. "Just curious."

"Let's focus on the task at hand," I said, changing the subject. "We've got guns to move, and we can't fuck this up."

"Right. Let's get to it then." Trey nodded, and we made our way out of the office.

As I walked through the clubhouse, I could feel the energy buzzing in anticipation for the night's work. My crew was loyal, skilled, and ruthless – everything a leader could ask for. This job had to go smoothly; there was no room for error. The guns were waiting, and so was the money. It was time to ride.

Leaving the office had been a whirlwind of activity, my brothers slapping hands and wishing me luck as I strode out into the dim evening light. It wasn't just me leading this mission; we were a collective force, bound by blood and loyalty. As I swung a leg over my Harley Davidson Knucklehead, I couldn't help but feel a surge of pride.

This bike was more than just a machine – it was a symbol, a gift from my father when I became a patched member at 18. This hunk of metal and chrome represented everything the club stood for, power, brotherhood, and defiance against the world that tried to tame us.

"Stay sharp," I reminded myself as we thundered towards the warehouse. My thoughts kept drifting back to Tempest, her appearance haunting me even as I focused on the task at hand.

As we pulled up to the warehouse, the air crackled with tension. We were riding into the belly of the beast, and every man present knew the risks. But we were Devil's Cut – fear had no place among us.

"Let's do this, boys," I growled, killing the engine and dismounting my bike. The sound of my boots hitting the gravel echoed through the empty night, a grim soundtrack for the business we were about to conduct.

"Let's get this done," I barked, nodding to each man in turn.

"Fuckin' A," Hammer grunted, clenching his fists.

"Right behind you, brother," Trey added, his eyes hard and focused.

"Got your back, Corvus," Nate chimed in, his gaze steady and determined.

I checked my phone – 7:30 pm, right on time. The others were already here, waiting for us.

"Good to see you, boys," I muttered, slapping hands with each of them.

It was clear that our reputation preceded us, and nobody dared to cross our path when we had a business like this to attend to. We all knew what it took to survive in this world – loyalty, power, and the willingness to do whatever it took to protect our own.

"Alright, let's load this shit up," I commanded, my voice tight with resolve.

"Got it, boss," Hammer said, heading toward the vans with purpose.

"Let's make this quick and clean," Trey added, rolling up his sleeves.

As we worked, I couldn't help but let my thoughts drift back to Tempest for a moment. She was like an itch I couldn't scratch, a fire smouldering beneath my skin.

"Everything alright, man?" Trey asked, noticing my brief distraction.

"Fine," I grunted, forcing a smile. "Just ready to get this done and get the fuck outta here."

"Yo, Corvus," Nate called out, grinning like a jackal. "Heard you hired some fine piece of ass."

"Who told you that?" I asked, eyebrows raised.

---