Page 28 of Charging Dodge

“Rouse every man out of bed,” I order, my voice raspy like grinding gravel. “I need an army, Glacier. We’re taking the fight straight to the Winlaw Snakes and finishing this tonight once and for all.”

“Winlaw? What the fuck does he have to do with any of this?” Glacier inquires, so I fill him in on everything I know.

“I want him and his cronies eating dirt by the time the sun rises, Glacier,” I growl. “I’m done playing games with this motherfucker. I need you and as many men as you can gather to be on call and ready to meet me when I have a location.”

“You got it,” he says, and I can hear the adrenaline already pumping in his voice.

“Wait for my call before y’all hit the road. We're moving out as soon as I nail down which hellhole he’s holed up in. Make sure everyone knows this isn't a drill. It's kill or be killed. I want every weapon we've got. I want full gear. No mistakes.”

I disable the connection. The warehouse suddenly feels too small for the rage building inside of me. Rebel’s watching me, his hand resting on his weapon. He knows what's coming. He's been waiting for this as much as I have. The rest of the brothers are shifting, their eyes locking onto mine, waiting for the command. They can smell the violence in the air, and they're ready for it.

“You hear that?” I ask, turning my attention back to the shivering mess on the floor. “Your boss is about to lose everything. And you're the one who gave him up.”

Vance looks like he's about to be sick. He knows he's a dead man walking. He thought he was playing us, but he was just a pawn in a game he didn't understand.

I step out into the night air. It's crisp and cold, a stark contrast to the filth inside. My bike's waiting for me, a beast of steel and chrome. I pull a pack of smokes from my saddlebag and light one up, the cherry glowing bright in the dark. I take a long drag and let the smoke drift away on the wind before tossing the butt to the ground and stomping on it until it dies, just like that motherfucker Vance is fixing to be. I throw my leg over the saddle and kick it to life. The engine roars, drowning out the world. I don't care about the consequences anymore. I don't care about the politics or the turf. All I care about is protecting what's mine.

I tear down the interstate like a man possessed, the cold night air lashing at my face as the miles blur. I need the rumble of the engine and the open road to settle the bloodlust clawing at my throat. Road therapy is the only thing keeping me from burning it all down before the guys even arrive. As I ride, I'm already mapping out the carnage we're going to bring to Gallows' doorstep. We know every hellhole that snake calls home and every shadow he crawls into. He thinks he's untouchable, but we're going to be faster, sharper, and a hell of a lot more lethal. Tonight, he learns exactly what happens when he targets what's mine.

I think of the kids back at the house. I think of the fear in Adalynn's eyes. They're my family now. And I'll burn the world down to keep them safe. Gallows thinks he's the predator, but he's forgotten one thing. He's cornered an animal that's done playing games. He's made the mistake of thinking we'd follow the rules. But we don't have rules anymore. We have a target, and we have the means to hit it.

The road ahead is dark, but I can see it clearly. I can see the chaos, the fire, the end of the Winlaw Snakes. It's a beautiful vision. And in a few hours, it'll be a reality. I'm coming for you, Gallows. There's nowhere left for you to hide.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Adalynn

The house is bone-deep quiet, an oppressive stillness that usually has me watching every nook and cranny. I’m submerged in a weightless sleep, a dark void that feels more like a descent into the deep abyss, when the bed frame groans as someone settles beside me. My eyes fly open, pulse slamming against my ribs as a sudden spike of dread claws at my throat. Before I can vault from the sheets, a massive, solid weight lands on my shoulder. It’s Hulk. His palm is rough and scarred, yet he touches me with an unexpected softness. He nudges me awake, his grip careful enough to drag me back from the brink of exhaustion without triggering a full-blown flight response. I gasp, my lungs burning for air as I struggle to find my bearings in the murky light of the bedroom.

“Easy,” he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. “It’s just me. I’m sorry to wake you, but Dodge needs something. Now.”

I sit up, clutching the sheet to my chest, my mind still foggier than the morning mist outside. “What is it? Is Dodge okay?”

“He’s fine, but we’re in a tight spot,” Hulk says. His eyes are burning with intensity. “He needs the book. The black book. You know the one?”

I stare at him, completely lost. I frown, trying to push the last of the sleep out of my brain. “What book? Hulk, I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. We didn’t pack any books.”

He doesn’t get frustrated. He just keeps his voice steady and low. “He says it’s here. A small, black journal. It’s the reason Gallows is hunting you all down. We have to find it among the kids’ things. We need to do it now.”

The kids? Confusion swamps me, but instead of asking any further questions, I climb out of bed, the floor ice-cold under my bare feet. We head to the room the kids are asleep in, the air inside thick with tension. I start tearing through their bags, my hands shaking. Noah’s backpack is empty of anything but crushed snacks and some loose change. I dump it out, watching the junk scatter across the floor. I move to Carter’s side of the room, ripping open his duffel. It’s just baseball cards and a few comic books. I’m frantic, tossing shirts and socks aside, scouring through every pocket and hidden corner. Hulk’s right there with me, his hands huge and awkward as he tears through the duffel, tossing clothes aside like they’re feathers. We’re desperate, pulling apart every cubby and hiding spot they’ve got.

Then I spot Amelia’s pink backpack tucked in the back corner of the closet. I grab it, unzipping the main compartment. I see her favorite sweater and some stuffed dolls, but then I notice the side pocket is stuffed full. I pull out a small, worn black book. My heart stops. I open it, and the air leaves my lungs in a rush.

It’s not a record of crimes anymore. It’s a coloring book.

Amelia’s favorite blue crayon is dragged across pages of dense, financial records. Red marker circles names and dates that look like they could destroy half the state. I stare at the page, horror and relief clashing in my chest.

“Look,” I instruct, my voice trembling as I hand it to Hulk.

He takes it. His eyes darken as he realizes what she’s done. He flips through the pages, seeing the bright, messy scribbles over the damning evidence. “She’s been usin’ it as a coloring book,” he says, and for a second, a flicker of a grim smile touches his face before he gets deadly serious again. “She’s hiding it in plain sight.”

“And she didn’t even realize she was holding the key to our survival,” I whisper.

Hulk nods, tucking the worn black book against his chest like it’s a live grenade. We move to the door, careful not to let the latch click too loudly. The floorboards hold their breath under our weight as we slip into the dark hallway, the air suddenly turning cool against my skin. I let out a jagged breath, thinking we’ve made a clean exit.

Then the door to the swings open and Carter shuffles out, one hand rubbing sleep from his eyes while he braces himself against the wall. He looks small in the shadows, but his gaze is sharp and immediately suspicious. He glances from me to Hulk, his eyes darting to the slight, rectangular bulge beneath Hulk’s cut.

“What are you doing up?” Carter asks. His voice is rough with sleep but laced with a tinge of alarm. “Why are you guys sneaking around?”