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“Tatum, with me. Ledger, eyes on the feeds—feed us positions.”

We burst out of the office, gunfire cracking outside before we even clear the door. The compound explodes into motion—prospects sprinting, doors slamming, shouts echoing as members relay commands. Corbin stays at my side, his bigger frame subtly shielding my left without making it obvious. I’ve got my pistol drawn, knife strapped to my thigh.

This is it. Let’s see what they got and who they sent this time.

Chaos swallows us. Men pour through the breached gate like ants—tattooed, raging, out for blood after the hits we landed on their warehouses. Bullets scream past, chewing up dirt and bikes. We dive behind a row of parked Harleys. Switch returns fire immediately, three shots dropping one attacker mid-sprint. I pop up beside him, squeezing off rounds. My first target staggers as I hit his shoulder; the second goes down clean.

“Flank coming!” I shout, spotting movement to our right.

“Copy—draw ‘em!” Corbin barks back, voice steady as steel. We move as one. He draws their attention by suppressing fire while I slide low, taking out a knee. The guy screams. Corbin finishes him with a brutal stomp, then glances at me. “You good?”

“Never been better, just another day in the neighborhood,” I growl.

More swarm in. Lennox’s roar booms from the left, “Push ‘em back, you lazy fucks! Fuse, where’s my cover?”

“Coming hot!” Fuse yells over the comms, laying down fire from a better vantage point.

Three men barrel toward us, guns blazing. Corbin steps into the fray, absorbing a grazing hit to his arm with a grunt. “Tatum, low!”

He drops the leader with a headshot. I handle the second, knife flashing as I close distance and slash across his gun arm. Blood sprays hot. The third tries to circle me—Corbin’s there instantly, yanking him back. “Mine,” he snarls, snapping the man’s neck with terrifying efficiency. His shoulder brushes mine, steadying.

We push toward the garage where the heaviest fighting echoes. Lennox is roaring, grappling two fuckers at once. “Switch, left side—Rook’s pinned!” Corbin nods once, laying down fire as I dart forward.

“Cover the doors!” I shout.

Fuse lays down cover fire, but Redline’s pushing hard.

“On it. Stay tight with me,” he replies, voice cutting through the onslaught.

We fight side by side now, taking out threats methodically. I empty my clip into two attackers aiming at Rook, then reload on the move. A big bastard swings a bat at me; I duck, countering with my knife to his gut. He folds. Corbin eliminates the backup, always positioning himself to take stray bullets first.

“Reload and push!” he orders, eyes flicking to me, checking.

The battle stretches, minutes blurring into smoke, blood, and gunfire. We drop another four between us. Corbin’s shots lethal and controlled, my mix of gunfire and close-quarters knife work savage.

He’s a machine out here, but for me, there’s that flicker of something deeper. Obsession dressed as duty. It makes me wet even now, adrenaline twisting with want.

A group of five tries to flank the main building. We intercept. Corbin takes point, fists and gun in brutal harmony.

“Tatum, shadows—flank ‘em!”

I strike from the side, fire in my veins as I taunt one. “Come on, asshole. That all you got?” Before burying my knife in his thigh. We clear them, bodies dropping.

Patched members fight valiantly, but the cost mounts. Rook takes a nasty gunshot near the clubhouse; Ronnie gets slashed while shielding prospects. A young one charges recklessly and goes down screaming, leg shattered. The sight fuels my rage.

Not on my watch.

Finally, the invaders break. The last few flee toward the treeline as our reinforcements overwhelm them. The yard falls to an eerie quiet, broken only by groans and the distant wail of support. I’m panting, covered in sweat, grime, and blood that’s mostly not my own.

Corbin pulls me behind a truck, hands running over my arms and sides in a quick, thorough check. “Any hits?” he demands, voice rough with barely leashed fury. His dark eyes scan me, jaw clenched, fingers pressing possessively into my hip. Relief and that obsessive hunger flash across his face before he schools it. “You stay alive. You hear me? No hero shit.”

“Same goes for you, Switch,” I breathe.

We rejoin the others. Debrief with Judge and Lennox is grim but efficient, officers clustered tight. “Numbers?” Judge growls.

“Twenty-five confirmed down, more fleeing,” Ledger reports, voice steady. “We lost one prospect. Rook and Ronnie need Doc now. Perimeter’s holding. I got eyes on all the feeds. No stragglers left”

Lennox claps a hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently. “Your programs and response time saved more lives than you know today. Thank you, Tate.”