Page 69 of Crusher's Illusion

City grins. “Shit, long as her intel keeps getting us ahead of Duke, I’ll let her sit in my chair.”

“Nobody wants your chair,” Rampage mutters. Laughter cracks through the tension like a pressure valve opening, quick and rough, and for a moment, I forget there’s still a war coming.

Crusher’s hand settles at the small of my back, anchoring me to the only place I want to be. His voice is low near my ear. “You stay close. We’re gonna end this.”

My pulse steadies, even as the map in front of me blurs with threats and lines of fire. I should be scared, but all I feel is ready.

“Then let’s end it,” I whisper back.

And when every head turns back toward the map, toward Duke, the Iron Cross, the real war still waiting at the edge of this city, I stay exactly where I am.

Right beside him.

Right where I belong.

THIRTY

ILLUSION SHATTERED

CRUSHER

Steel’s final words about strategy are still hanging in the air when Rampage’s phone buzzes sharply and viciously like it’s cutting straight into the moment. His eyes go flat when he checks it.

“Movement,” Rampage growls, tossing his phone down on the table. “Iron Cross just left the rail yard. Five bikes, one SUV. They’re heading north.”

Toward us. Toward her.

Every man in the room goes silent.

Steel looks at me. No plan. No debate. Just a single order: “Mount up.”

The Clubhouse explodes into motion. Boots slamming on pavement, engines roaring awake, guns being checked with the quick, brutal efficiency of men who’ve done this too many times to flinch. Nevaeh doesn’t ask if she’s coming. She’s already pulling on her helmet, her cut already on, lips pressed but steady.

I swing onto my bike and hold her gaze for half a second. The question in her eyes is the one she’ll never say out loud.Are we ready for this?

I answer the only way I know how. “Stay close, baby. We finish this tonight.”

Nevaeh nods and climbs onto the back of my bike. We roll out in formation, engines humming loudly.

We intercept the Iron Cross two miles past the county line. Headlights splinter out of the darkness. The lead bike sees us too late. Steel opens fire first, dropping the rider clean off his Harley. After that, it’s chaos in the best way, our way.

City and Rampage flank the SUV like wolves cutting off a stag. Tires blow. Metal shrieks. Rock rips the back door open mid-skid and drags Duke out by the throat.

He’s screaming at first, until he sees me. The moment our eyes lock, his mouth snaps shut. He knows.

We bring him back to the clubhouse, bound and bleeding, to the basement, the place we keep for men like him. Nevaeh stays upstairs with the prospects. She might be ride or die with us, but only patch members are allowed down here. Cinder block walls are cool to the touch. A metal chair is bolted to the floor, a rusted drain that’s seen more truth than any confessional ever will.

Steel slams the door behind us and locks it. Rock plants Duke in the chair and tightens the chains until bone creaks.

I step in front of Duke and drop to a crouch. “Let’s talk about Nevaeh.”

Duke spits blood and tries a smile that dies before it reaches his eyes. “Fuck you.”

So I start with his fingers. One joint at a time, crushed under the flat edge of a hammer. Slow. Purposeful, how I earned my road name. City stands to my right, handing me tools without a word. Rampage leans in the corner like he’s waiting for his turn. Rock smokes. Steel just watches.

It doesn’t take long before Duke’s begging. “It wasn’t just us! We were paid. The Syndicate, Bria, they wanted the girl gone. Said she knew too much.”

“Why?” I snarl.