Page 7 of Viper's Salvation
The woods are silent except for our breathing and the occasional snap of a twig. I move slowly, scanning between trees, keeping the fence line in sight to maintain my orientation.
A flash of movement ahead makes me freeze. Charles's expensive suit stands out against the natural browns and greens of the forest. He's hunched over, breathing hard, glancing frantically in all directions. He doesn't see me yet.
I raise my rifle, lining up the shot, when a branch cracks to my left. Charles's head snaps in my direction. Our eyes lock for a split second before he bolts again, crashing through the underbrush.
"Got eyes on target!" I call into my comm. "Moving west, fast!"
"Copy," Reaper responds. "Herding him back your way."
I pursue, keeping Charles in sight without closing the distance too quickly. Reaper's plan is solid. We want him cornered, not scattered deeper into the woods where he might escape.
Ahead, Wilder appears between the trees, cutting off Charles's path forward. The man skids to a halt, wheeling around only to find me blocking his retreat. He turns again, but Reaper steps out from behind a large oak, rifle raised.
Charles freezes, trapped.
"It's over," Reaper says calmly.
For the first time, I see raw fear flash across Charles's face. The composed, powerful Vultures MC’s President is gone, replaced by a cornered animal who knows death is imminent.
"Wait," he gasps, holding up his hands. "We can make a deal. Money. I have millions. Offshore accounts. Properties."
"Not interested," Reaper responds, moving closer.
Charles's eyes dart between us, calculating even in his panic. "You think killing me ends anything? My Club is bigger than this compound. My connections reach to—"
"Your men are dead or scattered," I cut in. "Your operation here is finished."
A sheen of sweat covers Charles's face despite the cool morning air.
"You're making a mistake. I have information. About other enemies. About law enforcement operations in Pine Haven."
Reaper's expression doesn't change. "The only mistake was letting you operate in our territory for as long as we did."
Charles backs up until he hits a tree, nowhere left to run. His composure cracks entirely, the facade of the powerful crime boss crumbling. "Please. I can be useful to you."
"Like you were useful to all those women?" Wilder asks, disgust evident in his voice.
Something changes in Charles's expression. Desperation giving way to spite. If he's going to die, he wants to wound us first.
"You're so righteous," he sneers. "Playing heroes. Tell me, how is your little rescued pet? Ellen? Evie? The one you keep at your clubhouse?"
Reaper goes completely still. The mention of Evelyn—his woman, a trafficking survivor he rescued—hits exactly as Charles intended.
"Shut your mouth," Wilder warns, but Charles is beyond caution now.
"I heard she was quite popular before you found her. Used goods, but still pretty enough to—"
The gunshot echoes through the trees, cutting off Charles's words. Reaper stands with his pistol extended, expression cold as ice. A single bullet hole marks the center of Charles's forehead, his eyes wide with the shock he didn't have time to process.
The body slumps to the ground, blood soaking into the forest floor.
For a moment, none of us speak. Then Reaper holsters his weapon. "It's done."
No ceremony. No gloating. Just the simple finality of justice served.
"What about the body?" Wilder asks, nudging Charles's leg with his boot to confirm he's dead.
"Leave it," Reaper decides. "Animals will take care of it. Nothing to connect him to us."
