“Heads up,” Ky said from beside me as kick-up from the dirt road mushroomed in the distance. I whistled, telling all our brothers shit was about to go down. I focused through my scope and watched as a single Escalade approached.

I tightened my hold and set to strike. The farmhouse was silent as the Escalade came to a stop. It was bulletproof, armored. Expensive as shit. Fuckers clearly expected trouble on a daily basis. And they had money. A lot of it.

I breathed deeply, watching, blocking everything out, as the door opened. A muscled Mexican stepped out of the driver’s side, rifle in his hand. He scanned the area, but clearly, having been here many times before, expected no trouble.

Exactly what we fucking banked on.

He opened the back door, and a slick-looking motherfucker stepped out onto the dirt. He was tall and toned with jet-black hair.

The boss.

Garcia.

I heard Ky growl. Styx put his hand on his shoulder. I glanced to my left. Ky’s face was more livid than I’d ever seen in all the years I’d known him. Styx didn’t look too different, but that fucker knew when to be patient and when to kill.

They knew this asshole. Clearly. And by their reaction, this fucker wasn’t easy meat. But there was no time to find out more.

Three more men got out of the back seats. More muscle. But that was it. Five in total.

The buyers.

Traffickers.

Minutes passed while they all talked and laughed. Like being about to trade my fucking woman was nothing to their prick lives. I wanted to pull the trigger so bad. I wanted to blow a hole in each of their skulls, but there was still no sign of Phebe. No sign of—

The sound of oncoming trucks came from the dirt road. I turned, silently, and through my scope saw four vans: three large ones and one small one.

My heart started firing, but I held my cool. I felt the tension coming from Ky beside me. I checked the brothers were ready. They were braced, guns at the ready.

Two minutes later, the trucks stopped, and Meister jumped out of the cabin of the smaller van. The drivers of the main three vans remained in their seats. The smaller van kept my attention. If the cult whores were in those vans, what the fuck was in the smaller one?

Meister and Garcia shook hands, and I wanted to laugh. The king of the Aryan Brotherhood doing business with a Mexican. Hypocritical fuck.

They talked, and we waited. Then a loud shout came from the back of the smaller van. The hair on the back of my neck pricked up when I recognized that fucking voice.

Phebe.

And she didn’t stop. Her hands smashed on the doors so loud that Meister’s back stiffened in annoyance and he marched to the back. He threw the doors open, and through my scope I saw three figures: Phebe, a blonde and . . . Grace.

I held out my hand and hit Ky’s arm. I pointed to the van, signaling she was there. Then Meister was pulling Phebe from the back. No sooner had her feet hit the dirt than he sliced his hand across her face. Her head snapped back, and when I looked up close, I saw that she was beaten . . . and my blood boiled when I saw the dried blood on her dress.

He’d touched her . . . that fucker had touched her.

I breathed through my nose, forcing myself to calm. Meister dragged the other two figures out. A blonde came out first, and I knew. I just fucking knew who it was. Phebe, lashing out at the guard who had come to join Meister, was screaming, fighting to get to her.

Sapphira.

He threw Sapphira to the ground, her thin body crumpling to the dirt. She stayed down, too scared to get up. Meister pulled Grace out, but the fucker wasn’t rough with her. Instead, he held her hand and took her to Garcia. Garcia smiled and crouched down. His hand pushed Grace’s hair from her face, and I heard Ky losing it beside me—a low growl of seething anger, followed by, “That asshole’s gonna fucking die.”

That was all the fucking warning I got before all hell broke loose.

Ky fired a shot straight at Garcia. But just as the bullet left his barrel, Garcia’s guard moved in front of him, taking the shot. The side of the big fucker’s head blew off and he fell to the ground, and the place exploded into chaos.

“Fuck!” Ky hissed.

Guns fired in all directions. Ky and Styx rushed down the stairs of the building, plowing into the fray. I aimed and fired at another Mexican guard. He fell as I hit my target.

Garcia jumped into the back of the Escalade and shut the door. The bullets pinged off the metal, not getting through. Grace screamed, covering her ears at the sounds.

Ky dove for his daughter, but as he did, Meister grabbed hold of her and wrenched her to his chest. He took out his gun and held it to Grace’s head. Ky stopped dead, as did Styx. Heart pounding, I lined up my shot, placing the bullseye at Meister’s head.

Calm.

Breathe.

Focus.

But before I could pull the trigger, a shot fired from behind him. The bullet came smashing through his skull, brain and bone hitting the air. My head snapped up as Meister’s huge body fell forward, dead, blue eyes forever open, landing on top of Grace. Ky had flipped him off her in seconds, picked up his daughter and run back in the direction of the barn. I turned my head, looking to see who had shot the prick. Phebe stood with a rifle in her hand, hands fucking shaking and cheeks paling. She’d fucking hit him.

Direct hit on Meister.

Sapphira was still on the ground, hiding her head with her hands. Two more men came running at Phebe. I took one out, then the other, not letting a single one get near her. I had just lined up my next shot, some AB driver who had jumped out of the van, when a gunshot went off behind me. In seconds I rolled onto my back, ready to strike whoever was there, and the body of a Klansman slammed to the roof beside me. I looked up to see who had taken the fucker out.

It was Lil’ Ash.

His gun was held out, nostrils flared as he stared down at the now-dead skinhead.

“Ash,” I said. His black eyes were wide with shock, but he managed to look at me.

“I saw him come up the stairs. I had to follow.”

“Ash—” I heard the sound of tires screeching from the road. I rolled back onto my front and saw all three of the vans pulling out onto the dirt road, abandoning the Klansmen who were still fighting my brothers. Flame was hacking some cunt up with his knives; Viking was shooting at any fucker that moved.

And then I saw him. Saw some Klansman get off the ground, bleeding from a gunshot wound in his shoulder. Phebe was looking around in a daze, hands bloodied, face pale, lost, trying to find Sapphira. She’d gone. Where the fuck had she gone?