Page 42 of Fang

“Backup,” I reply simply. “Three or four brothers with tactical experience. Weapons. Transportation. Enough force to get her brother and get out.”

Vapor leans back, the leather of his chair creaking through the speakers. “You realize what you’re asking,” he says finally. “Bringing club members into cartel territory, on foreign soil, for a woman we barely know.”

“I know,” I acknowledge. “I’m putting my reputation on the line. My patch, if it comes to that.”

Mina stiffens beside me, but I press on.

“She’s telling the truth, Vapor. About everything. Her brother, the cartel’s hold on her, all of it. I’ve seen the medical records, intercepted their communications. This isn’t a con or a trap—at least not from her side.”

Vapor’s expression shifts, almost imperceptibly. “You trust her that much?”

The question carries layers of meaning beyond the obvious. It’s not just about Mina’s honesty; it’s about my judgment, my loyalty, my value to the club. I don’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

Something in Vapor’s face changes, hardness giving way to resolve. He leans forward, filling more of the screen. “We’ll be there,” he says, the words sending a wave of relief through my body so powerful I almost sway. “But it’s going to take a hell of a lot more than three or four men, and I have conditions.”

“Name them,” I say immediately.

“We need a day to mobilize a team. That’s going to take time. Twenty-four hours until we can get boots on the ground in Puerto Escondido.” His eyes flick between Mina and me. “Keep your head down until then. No reconnaissance, no planning meetings, nothing that puts you on their radar. Where are you now?”

“A motel in a town just south of there.”

“Good. Stay put.”

I nod, already calculating how to use those twenty-four hours, what preparations we can make from the safety of this motel room.

“Send me your coordinates and we’ll be there tomorrow afternoon,” Vapor continues. “A group of brothers, plus me. Full tactical gear. Once we get there, we’ll plan. Then we execute and get her brother back.”

“Thanks, Pres,” I say humbly.

Vapor holds my gaze for a moment longer, then sighs. “I should’ve listened to you earlier about this,” he admits, the closest thing to an apology I’ve ever heard from him. “Don’t make me regret listening now.”

The video call ends, the screen going dark except for the secure connection notification blinking green in the corner. I shut the laptop down and set it aside, exhaling a breath. The weight of the club’s backing settles over me—not removing the danger but transforming our mission from certain death to a calculated risk. For the first time since bullets shattered our rental car window, I feel something like hope.

“They’re coming,” I tell Mina, turning to face her fully. “All of them. Tomorrow.”

“I heard.” Her shoulders visibly relax, tension draining from her body for the first time since we escaped the gunfire on the coastal highway. I watch the change sweep across her face—fear giving way to relief, then gratitude.

“We’re not alone in this anymore,” I say, my voice softer than I intend.

Mina doesn’t speak. Instead, she leans forward and wraps her arms around me, her face pressing into my shoulder. The unexpected gesture catches me off-guard. I hesitate for only a heartbeat before my arms encircle her, drawing her against my chest. She fits there perfectly, her smaller frame aligning with mine as if designed for this exact configuration.

“Thank you,” she whispers against my neck, her breath warm on my skin. “For everything. For believing me when no one else would.”

I tighten my hold, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of her head. Her hair is soft beneath my fingers, a stark contrast to the hardness she presents to the world.

“We’re going to get him out,” I promise, my lips brushing against her temple. “Your brother is coming home with us.”

She pulls back slightly, just enough to look up at me. The vulnerability in her eyes steals my breath. In this moment, all her defenses are down—the skilled hacker, the cartel survivor, the fierce protector, all stripped away to reveal just Mina, a woman fighting for the only family she has left.

“Fang,” she says, my name on her lips sounding like something precious. Her hand comes up to touch my face, fingers tracing the line of my jaw with unexpected tenderness.

I don’t know which of us moves first. Maybe we both do. Our lips meet softly at first—tentative, questioning—so different from the desperate hunger of our first time. This isn’t about adrenaline or escape or momentary comfort. This is about connection, about choosing each other despite every logical reason not to.

The kiss deepens gradually, her lips parting beneath mine, inviting me in. I taste her slowly, savoring the heat of her mouth, the small sound she makes when my tongue slides against hers. Her hands move to my shoulders, then my chest, fingers splaying against the cotton of my t-shirt as if mapping the muscles beneath.

“I want you,” she whispers against my lips.

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