Page 94 of Fury
But looking around at the men preparing for battle—checking weapons, donning bulletproof vests, kissing their women goodbye—I know none of them are having second thoughts. This is what brotherhood means. When one of us is hurt, we all bleed. When one of us is threatened, we all respond.
And when someone dares to touch one of our women? We bring hell to their doorstep.
I make one final stop before heading to my bike, the closed door of my room where Livie is waiting. I don't go in. I can't. If I see her again, touch her again, I might lose my resolve to do what needs to be done.
Instead, I press my palm flat against the wood, imagining that I can feel her on the other side. "I'm coming back to you," I whisper. "I promise."
Then I turn and walk away, the Devil Souls MC president once more, death in my eyes and vengeance in my heart.
Twenty bikes roar to life in the compound parking lot, the sound like thunder rolling across the sky. We pull out in formation, two by two, a funeral procession for men who don't yet know they're dead.
The road to Riverdale stretches before us, empty in the early morning light. I lead the column, with Wilder beside me and the rest of our brothers fanned out behind. The vibration of the engine beneath me centers my thoughts, sharpens my rage into something cold and precise.
Volkov thinks he's the predator in this scenario? Well, he's about to learn how wrong he is.
As we approach the outskirts of Riverdale, I signal for radio silence. We split into our assigned teams, half circling around to the back of the motel, the other half following me to the front.
The Golden Pines Motel is exactly what you'd expect—a run-down, single-story building with peeling paint and a flickering neon sign. Perfect for people who don't want to be found.
We park at the far end of the lot, out of sight of room twelve. Silently, we check our weapons one last time. No words are needed, each man knows his role.
I nod once, and we move.
Eight of us approach the front of room twelve, keeping to the shadows. Through the thin curtains, I can make out movement. There are at least two figures inside. The guard posted outside the door spots us too late, reaching for his weapon as Trenton's silenced shot catches him in the throat.
One down.
We converge on the door, adrenaline making everything razor sharp, time seeming to slow. I meet Wilder's eyes, seeing my own deadly intent reflected back at me.
"For Livie," he mouths.
I nod. "For Livie."
Then I kick in the door, and hell follows after me.
The world explodes into chaos—gunfire, shouting, the metallic scent of blood. I register Volkov diving for cover, his men scrambling for weapons. Our brothers from the back entrance burst in simultaneously, catching them in a devastating crossfire.
I track Volkov as he rolls behind a bed, weapon already drawn. Our eyes meet across the room, recognition flaring in his.
"Reed," he snarls, firing wildly in my direction.
I duck, bullets splintering the doorframe where my head had just been. Around me, the battle rages; two of Volkov's men already down, the third exchanging fire with Mason and Cole.
"It's over, Volkov," I call out, moving steadily closer. "You should have left town when you had the chance."
He laughs, the sound edged with desperation. "You think killing me ends this? My organization will hunt you down. Hunt your woman down."
"They can try." I signal to Harlan, who circles to flank Volkov's position. "But they'll have to find what's left of you first."
Movement from the bathroom catches my eye—a figure stumbling out, hands bound, face bruised almost beyond recognition.
Diane.
She freezes at the sight of the carnage, her eyes wild with terror. When she spots me, hope flickers across her battered face.
"Greyson?" she croaks, her voice raw from screaming. "Please?—"
A shot rings out, and Diane crumples, blood blooming across her chest. Volkov stands behind her, gun still raised, using her falling body as cover to make a break for the back entrance.
