Page 118 of Wade’s Wrath

“Been told,” he breathed. Sarah saved the number as Ripper—just Ripper. There was no last name, no club title, and no explanation, because somehow that felt right.

“Goodnight, Sarah.”

“Goodnight,” she breathed. He walked away, and Sarah closed the door and locked it. Then, she stood there with her hand on the deadbolt. Nobody could open it. Nobody could come inside. Nobody could decide when she left. It was her room, her key, and her choice. Sarah leaned against the door and closed her eyes. For the first time in eight months, she was behind a locked door and didn't feel trapped.

Her phone buzzed, and she looked.

Ripper: Eat something.

Sarah stared at the screen and then smiled.

Sarah: Stop telling me what to do.

The reply came almost instantly.

Ripper: Nope.

She laughed. Alone in a room she'd chosen to enter, behind a door she'd chosen to lock, with a dangerous biker she'd somehow chosen to trust waiting somewhere on the other side. Maybe freedom wasn't one big moment. Maybe it was a thousand tiny choices. Tonight, Sarah had made several, and for some reason she didn't understand yet, more and more of them seemed to have Ripper standing somewhere nearby.

Ripper’s Rage Universal Link->

Ready for your next binge read? Then you won’t want to miss Moonlight and Mayhem! It’s releasing in October 2026!

MOON

The sterile scent of antiseptic, usually a familiar comfort, felt sharper tonight. It was almost acrid as it clung to Moonlight’s senses like a premonition. It was a stark, almost jarring contrast to the raw, untamed aroma of leather, exhaust fumes, and the underlying musk of wolf that typically permeated the Dark Chaos MC clubhouse.

As the club’s doctor, Moon’s hands, though capable of wielding a scalpel with the precision of a surgeon, were more accustomed to the delicate art of mending flesh and bone and coaxing life back into fading forms. She liked to leave the brutal, visceral dance of battle to the other women in the Dark Chaos pack.

She was good at seeing things coming for the pack, even if she didn’t quite trust her instincts. Tempest, her club’s Prez, liked to rely on Moon a bit too much, and she worried that she would end up leading her pack in the wrong direction. So, Moon tried to stay back in the shadows, healing the women who needed her help, and keeping her premonitions to herself.

Yet, a cold, insidious dread had settled deep in her gut. It was a persistent, gnawing unease that whispered of impending chaos. It was a feeling she hadn’t learned to trust, a primal instinct honed by years of living on the edge of shifter society. Sometimes, it felt like silent alarm bells ringing in the quiet chambers of her soul.

She meticulously organized her medical bay, each instrument gleaming under the harsh, fluorescent lights. The stainless steel reflected her own image back at her—a woman of quiet strength. At least, that was what the others had said about her. Moon had her silver-streaked hair pulled back in a practical braid, her eyes, the color of a winter sky, holding a depth of compassion and a flicker of weariness. They were strange bedfellows, but lately, she was giving into the weariness more than the compassion she had for each of her patients, and that was beginning to worry her.

Moon's silvery-white wolf, usually a calm and steady presence beneath her skin, was restless tonight. She was pacing with an agitation that mirrored Moon’s own internal turmoil. It was a primal warning, a whisper of impending chaos. It made her shoulders tighten and sharpened her senses all at the same time. It was the kind of turmoil that made every shadow seem to lengthen, and every distant sound seem to carry a hidden threat.

“Moon, you still up?” Tempest’s voice, usually a commanding roar that could quell any uprising, was laced with an unusual strain. It was a subtle tremor that Moon, with her finely tuned senses, immediately picked up on. The club President, Moon’s closest friend and the fierce heart of Dark Chaos MC, appeared in the doorway, her face etched with a weariness that Moon rarely saw. Tempest, usually an unyielding force, looked as if the weight of the world rested on her broad shoulders. “Another one came in from the Silverfang Brotherhood, and he’s in bad shape.”

Moon’s hands stilled over a tray of sutures, the delicate needles suddenly feeling heavy and ominous. The Silverfang Brotherhood was their ally now, since the war with the Capital Wolves MC. Still, the name alone conjured images of hardened male shifters whose territory bordered Dark Chaos’s. Their reputation for ferocity and ruthless efficiency was legendary. And at their helm, a President named Howler, who was now Tempest’s fated mate. Both of their names were whispered with a mixture of fear and grudging respect among the other packs in the Baltimore area.

“Who is it?” Moon asked. She felt as though she was holding her breath, waiting to find out. She had only met a handful of the guys from the Silverfang Brotherhood, but she worried that it might be one of them.

“It’s Mayhem,” Tempest said, “the club’s VP.” She knew Mayhem. God, he played through her nightly dreams, which didn’t help the fact that every time she saw him, she acted like a tongue-tied teenager. To everyone else, he was a shadow, a rumor, a force of nature they never wanted to meet in a dark alley. But to her, he was a fantasy that was best left as just that because her reality wasn’t something that would allow her to have a man like Mayhem in her life.

“What happened?” Moon asked, her voice calm despite her wolf’s sudden pacing inside of her. It was a protective instinct stirring deep within her.

“They were out running perimeters, keeping a lookout for any sign of the Capitol Wolves when they were ambushed,” Tempest explained, stepping further into the room. Her gaze was distant, as if reliving the brutal scene. Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides, a telltale sign of her barely contained fury. “Chris and I got a call from Howler that he, Chrome, and Mayhem were out together, and that they were jumped. He is assuming that the Capitol Wolves were involved somehow, but he can’t be sure. It was a mess by the time Chris and I got to the scene. He’s lost a lot of blood. Will you treat him?”

“Of course I will,” Moon agreed. “Are Howler and Chrome all right?” she asked.

“Yeah, just a few scratches and bruises—nothing that their wolves can’t heal,” Tempest said. “The Capitol Wolves are getting bolder, more vicious. We found Mayhem barely alive near the docks. No one else would touch him, but he’s a shifter, Moon. We can’t just let him die. You know the rundown. If we take him to Mercy Hospital, they’ll turn him away. The local hospitals won’t treat our kind.” Tempest’s words were a plea, a silent acknowledgment of Moon’s unwavering oath as a healer, an oath that transcended club rivalries and ancient grudges. It was a testament to the core values of shifter kind, a silent code that bound them all, regardless of club colors.

Moon nodded, her resolve hardening into a steely determination that settled over her features. Her hands, trained for precision and care, were already reaching for sterile gloves. Her mind was already running through possible scenarios, assessing the potential damage, and preparing for the worst.

“Bring him in and put him on my table. I’ll prepare the trauma bay, and will do what I can to help him.” The words were automatic, a mantra of her profession, a promise whispered to the universe. But as she spoke them, a shiver traced its way down her spine, a cold tendril of dread that snaked its way into her heart. Moon worried that she wouldn’t be able to save Mayhem. Would the Silverfang Brotherhood MC resent her if she failed? Would Tempest? Their name alone was a harbinger of trouble, a shadow that had been growing steadily over Baltimore. They had become a malevolent force threatening to engulf their world. This wasn't just another skirmish between the Capitol Wolves and the Silverfang Brotherhood. This felt different, darker, more insidious, and imbued with a malice that transcended mere territorial disputes.

As the heavy doors of the clinic swung open, revealing the bloodied, unconscious form of Mayhem, his body a canvas of brutal injuries, Moon braced herself. She was about to step into a storm, a tempest of violence and dark magic, and her medical skills, her very essence as a healer, would be tested like never before. The scent of fresh blood, mingled with something metallic and unnatural, filled the air, a chilling harbinger of the horrors to come. Moon could sense the danger that was waiting for them all. Her wolf whimpered, a low, mournful sound, sensing the profound suffering that lay before them.