Page 119 of The Vagabond

And these men see her as a sister. A daughter. A broken girl who came back and needs protecting. But that’s not all she is to me.

She’s not fragile. She’s fire with a pulse.

And if they think they can dim that light again—bury her back in the shadows she clawed her way out of—they’ve got no idea what kind of storm they just unleashed.

Because she won’t be a victim again. Not while I’m breathing, and definitely not while I have the support of these men by my side. She lit a fire under every man in this room. Lit it in different ways—hatred, guilt, love, vengeance. That fire is what turned killers into soldiers. What turned monsters into men willing to burn an organization to the ground.

Scar crosses the room and stops in front of me. His gaze is sharp. Not searching—measuring. Then he claps a hand on my shoulder. Firm but gentle.

“You ready?” he asks.

The question isn’t casual. It’s permission, trust.

I nod once. “Yeah.”

Mason’s the one who cuts the silence next, low and grim. He’s still cleaning the chamber of his rifle when he asks, “You think she’s still alive?”

I don’t hesitate. Not for a second. Because hesitation isn’t an option.

“I know she is.”

And if I’m wrong? If she’s not? Then may God have mercy on this world. Because I fucking won’t.

The silencebefore violence isn’t peaceful. It’s surgical.

We stand in the trees just outside the estate—two dozen shadows strung tight across the dark, every breath measured, every movement loaded. Thirty minutes out from impact, and I can feel my pulse syncing to the inevitability of it.

The Pastor’s fortress looms ahead. Massive. Secluded. Untouched by justice. But not for long. Because this isn’t just a raid. This is an annihilation. And for me—for men like us—this isn’t a mission. This is the goddamn end of the world. A final reckoning, dressed in Kevlar and silence.

Maxine’s in there. Chained and alone. And I’ll carve my way through every last wall to bring her out breathing.

Brando stalks up behind me, his boots crunching softly over dead leaves. He doesn’t speak right away. Just stands there, watching the house with that look that says he’s already buried the men inside it in his mind.

When he speaks, his words are quiet, measured. But every word is sharp enough to cut through the night air.

“You know what she means to Mia, right?”

I nod once. He steps in closer, shoulder to shoulder now.

“You know what she means to me?”

I glance at him. His jaw is locked, a vein pulsing in his temple like a fuse.

“She’s not blood,” he continues. “But sheisfamily. And family doesn’t get left behind. Not ever. Not as long as we still have fight in us.”

He turns to face me fully now, gaze heavy, words slow.

“And if I didn’t think you were all in—if I thought for one second you were chasing her out of guilt or redemption or whatever the hell you’ve got burning in that chest of yours—I wouldn’t have let you anywhere near this.”

I stay silent. Not because I don’t have anything to say. But because he’s earned the floor.

“I don’t know what your intentions are with Maxine,” he says. “I don’t care right now. Because the only thing that matters is getting her out of there alive.”

His jaw tightens.

“But you’re here. Putting your life on the line. Tossing your badge into the fire. Throwing your whole career into the fucking abyss.Forher.”

He steps back, nodding once.

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