Page 123 of Thunder's Reckoning
Ash stood at the head of the table like he’d been there all his life, shoulders squared, arms folded, jaw hard enough to cut steel. Didn’t speak right off. Just let his eyes sweep over Devil, Chain, Mystic, Bolt, Gearhead, and the rest of my brothers, gaugin’ us, testin’ if we had the guts to bring fire to the doorstep of the place he used to call home.
“This spot here,” Ash finally said, his voice clipped, even, tappin’ a satellite photo with the end of a pen, “don’t let it fool you. What you’re seeing from above is just the skin. The meat’s buried deep.”
He unfolded the sketch careful, like he was unwrappin’ a ghost. “They didn’t build it to be seen. They built it to survive. Reinforced corridors. Concrete bunkers sunk into the earth. Storm shelters that got stretched bigger year after year. You try to bust through the front, you’ll be stacked like cordwood in a hallway before you draw breath.”
Mystic leaned over the table, the light catchin’ sharp across his scar, brows pulled low. “So how the hell do we get in?”
Ash’s finger slid to a thin, near-forgotten line that curled along the edge. “Here. Old service tunnel. Used to push air and fuel to the backup generators before they built new ones. They sealed it on their end, but it’s still intact. I used it myself more’n once.”
Chain’s knuckles cracked loud in the hush. “Still viable?”
Ash didn’t blink. “It’s how I’ve been communicating with the resistance inside.”
The room stilled.
Devil straightened slow, arms crossin’, his voice heavy as an iron chain. “Alright. Say we make it through. What kinda resistance we talking?”
Ash’s eyes didn’t waver. “Fifty men, maybe more. Loyal to Gabrial in a way you can’t shake. You tell ‘em to die for him, they’ll thank you for the privilege.”
Cold crawled under my skin. “That include the women?”
“Especially the women,” Ash said. “But there are some who want out. One of ‘em—Lark—she’ll make sure the guards’ drink is laced with sleeping pills. Only question is if they’ll down enough before we hit.”
The words dropped heavy. Even the buzz of the light overhead seemed to shut its mouth.
Bolt was first to speak, his voice like a growl. “We don’t leave ours behind. But if there’s anyone in that pit wantin’ out—anyone still human—we pull ‘em too.”
Devil grunted low. “We grab the kids. We grab Miriam. We get Sable. But anyone looking to run rides with us.”
Ash nodded, though his face stayed grave. “Not many’ll take it. Most are too far gone. But there’s twenty. They’ve risked everything on the inside. I’d stake my life on ‘em.”
Chain’s hand rested on his rifle, like it had grown outta him. “And the rest?”
My voice cut through rough, “We finish Gabrial and whatever son of a bitch stands in our way. But I ain’t killin’ women and kids. Brainwashed or not, that blood don’t fall on us.”
Ash studied me a long beat, then nodded slow. “You remember where I told you to find the Flame Hall?”
My gut twisted, but I forced the word out. “Yeah.”
“That’s where she’ll be. Gabrial always needed an audience. If he’s making a statement, he’ll do it there. She’ll be front and center. Word is, it happens at first light. We don’t have time to waste. Stick to the plan, we get in and out.”
I pressed both palms to the table, leanin’ over the map, bitin’ back the growl in my throat. “Then that’s where I’m headed first.”
“What about the rest of us?” Gearhead asked.
“You take the quarters. Find the kids. Find my momma. Anyone willin’, move ‘em through the tunnel. Quiet. Fast. First shout goes up, it’s too damn late.”
I lifted my eyes, locked on Ash, felt the weight settle like a chain between us.
“Once they’re out… we finish it. We end him.”
Ash gave one nod, slow and solemn. “We won’t get another chance.”
I looked around that room, my brothers, men who’d bled beside me, buried pieces of themselves for this club, for this family.
“We ride tonight.”
Chairs scraped. Boots hit hard against the floor. The men scattered to gear up, but it wasn’t chaos. It was ritual.
