Page 91 of Vengeance

Maeve smiled at that, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “My smart mouth is why I’m still breathing. It’s gotten me out of plenty of trouble.”

Peak held her gaze, searching for cracks in her story, but he’d find none. She didn’t give him any, and she wouldn’t. The truth was simpler and messier than he’d want—she’d come alone because trusting the wrong people had already cost her more than she was willing to lose again.

“What happens,” Peak asked slowly, “if we let you go?”

Maeve didn’t hesitate. “I disappear into the night. You’ll never see me again. I’ve come here to warn you about the shipment, and my job here is done.”

“And the shipment?” Warden asked.

She met his eyes dead-on. “Becomes your problem instead of mine.” Warden cursed under his breath.

Peak exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “You’re asking us to trust your word. Why should we do that?”

Maeve’s voice softened just a fraction. “I’m asking you to decide whether I look like a woman who wants to start a war or one trying to stop it from happening.”

For a long moment, Peak didn’t say anything. His gaze dropped to the cuffs, then back to her face. Something shifted in him, but she couldn’t tell if it was uncertainty, interest, or even respect. Whatever happened next, she knew one thing for certain—Peak was about to become a very big problem for her. And she had the sinking suspicion that she didn’t need a problem like him.

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Want more of Chloe and Vengeance’s story? You can find them in another RBMC spin-off—Butcher’s Blade (Savage Bastards MC Book 1). They head over to the new Mississippi club to help Butcher out. Here’s a sneak peek!

Butcher

The Huntsville night was thick with smoke and tension, the kind that clung to your skin and made every breath taste like gasoline and rage. The Royal Bastards’ clubhouse pulsed with music and laughter, but Butcher wasn’t hearing any of it. His focus was locked on Savage—the man who’d been his brother, his leader, his anchor in the chaos, who was now standing across the room with a look that cut deeper than any blade ever could. And what hurt the most was that Savage believed everything he was told about Butcher, all the fucking lies. He bought them hook, line, and sinker.

“You crossed a line,” Savage growled, his voice low but carrying enough weight to silence the chatter around them. His eyes burned with the kind of fury that usually made men step back, but Butcher didn’t flinch. The rest of the guys stood around him and Savage, ready to take sides, but he knew the score—if things went south, they’d have their Prez’s back, no questions asked.

“I did what had to be done,” Butcher shot back, jaw tight, fists clenched at his sides. “You think I’m gonna sit back while you play king and let the rest of us bleed for your pride?” The room shifted, his brothers watching and waiting. Loyalty wascurrency here, and tonight it was about to be spent in blood—probably his.

Savage stepped forward, standing chest to chest with him now. “You don’t get to question me. Not here, not ever.”

Butcher’s laugh was sharp and bitter. “That’s the problem, Prez. You think this club is yours alone. But it’s ours. And I’m done being your weapon.” Butcher knew what he was getting into when he agreed to be the club’s Enforcer. If Savage or the other guys had an issue that was going to be messy, he’d go in to clean it up. He was in charge of keeping his Prez and his brothers safe, but he was done with all that now.

The first punch landed before anyone could move. Savage’s fist cracked against Butcher’s jaw, sending him stumbling back into a table. Bottles shattered, voices rose, but Butcher came back swinging. His knuckles split against Savage’s cheek, the taste of iron flooding his mouth as the fight turned ugly in more ways than one.

Brothers tried to intervene, but the two men were fire and gasoline—unstoppable, inevitable. Chairs toppled, curses flew, and the bond that had held them together for years snapped like a chain under too much strain.

Finally, Butcher shoved Savage back, his chest heaving, blood dripping from his busted lip. He looked around the room—at the faces of men who’d once been his family, and he saw nothing but judgment, hesitation, and betrayal. That was the moment he knew. For months now, he couldn’t decide what to do, but now he knew for sure. He needed to strike out on his own, and the Royal Bastards be damned.

Without another word, Butcher ripped off his kutte, the Royal Bastards patch heavy in his hand. He threw it down at Savage’s feet, the leather hitting the floor like a gunshot.

“I’m done,” he said, voice raw and final. And then he walked out of Savage Hell, into the night, into the unknown, into the kind of freedom that tasted like shit and promise all at once.

The roar of his bike split the silence as he tore down the Huntsville back roads, leaving behind the only home he’d ever known. Butcher wasn’t sure where he was headed, but one thing was certain—he was done with Savage and the Royal Bastards.

The highway stretched out like a scar across the night, endless and unforgiving. Butcher rode hard, the roar of his bike drowning out everything except the storm inside his head. Every mile he put between himself and Huntsville should have felt like freedom, but instead it felt like exile. Sure, it was self-imposed, but it was exile, nonetheless.

The fight replayed in his mind on a loop—Savage’s fist connecting with his jaw, the taste of blood, the look in his brothers’ eyes when he threw down his kutte. All he saw was judgment, betrayal, and now, he lived with the silence that followed him everywhere.

He’d told himself he was done being Savage’s weapon, done bleeding for a man who treated loyalty like a leash. But now, with the wind clawing at him and the night pressing in, doubt crept in like poison.

The what-ifs were playing through his mind at warp speed. What if I was wrong? What if I just burned the only family I had left?

Butcher gritted his teeth, twisting the throttle harder, as if speed could outrun regret. He’d lived his whole life by the patch, by the brotherhood, by the code. And now he was nothing but aman with a bike. He didn’t belong anywhere anymore, and that thought both thrilled and terrified him.

The guilt cut deep, but beneath it was something sharper—his longing to find a place where he belonged again. He was going to miss the clubhouse—the laughter and the sense of belonging that came with knowing someone had your back no matter what. He was going to miss the family he’d just walked away from. Butcher had always believed the Bastards were unbreakable. Tonight proved otherwise.

He slowed as the highway bled into backroads. They were the kind of forgotten places where men like him disappeared. The night was quiet here, too quiet, leaving him alone with the truth he couldn’t escape. He wasn’t just running from Savage. He was running from himself. And sooner or later, he’d have to face both.