I can’t remember ever feeling this fucking tired and old. I’m lying in bed with Beth and she just now fell asleep after crying for over an hour. She demanded I take her to see Beast and I put her off until tonight. I want to go check on my brother too, but I’m going to be in the office watching as I blow Colin’s fucking empire to smithereens. I’m hoping to get the holdings in France too. I have some connections working on that.

I hate seeing my woman hurt, and I know it’s my fault. I should have handled this shit differently. I’m dealing with a lot of fucking guilt for the hell I’ve asked my brothers to step into. I’m dealing with even more of it when I think about what I cost Beast. He’s going to undergo quite a few skin grafts. There will be some horrible scarring on his body and his face, and it’s not even certain that he’ll be okay. A body can die when the burns they suffer are too bad and extensive. The main problem is, when he comes out, I’m pretty fucking sure he’s going to want to die. Fuck, when I think of that beautiful little girl of his, I can’t say I’d blame him.

I kiss Beth’s forehead and my finger catches a stray teardrop she either shed while sleeping or had trapped in the corner of her eye and just now escaped. I ease off the bed and pull the covers over her, putting a pillow where I was laying. Beth doesn’t move. She’s exhausted from the tears, I’m sure. Hell, I can’t even suppress a yawn that escapes when I stand up, stretching the kinks out of my back. I’d love nothing more than to crawl in bed with my woman. Was it just a day ago we were fucking happy and I was mapping out our future?

It seems like a lifetime ago.

I make my way topside to the office. I don’t bother shutting the door; the only ones stirring around outside of the shelter are patched-in members and we all know what’s happening tonight. We’re just hoping it’s successful. The mood is a mixture of sadness, stress, and nervous hope. The result is that there’s tension in the air so thick you could cut that crap with a knife.

“Hey, boss. Beth okay?” Briar asks.

I slap him on the back of the head. “Motherfucker, talking about dicks with my woman. Much more of that shit and you won’t have a dick, and all you’ll be able to do is talk about them.”

Fucker just laughs and I flip him off.

I take my usual seat. Above our table, there are a total of six flat screens hanging on the wall. The screens are about twenty-seven inches, big enough to see clearly. Each screen has a different piece of property. There’s the casino, the gym where the underground cage-fighting takes place, a bar, a couple strip joints, and finally the estate where Colin and Matthew live. Tonight, it’s these six. Tomorrow night, a different six have been staked out. I expect security will increase after tonight, so they’ll be harder to do, but not impossible. Nothing’s impossible if you have a reason to do it—and we do, a fucking big reason and a thirst for revenge.

“How long ’til show time?” I ask Torch.

He looks down at that damn watch he’s always wearing. “In about two minutes, Boss man.”

I nod. And we all sit and just stare. We’re quiet, all of us. Even Pistol has cut down his sarcasm. Sabre is sitting at a laptop and Torch gives him a signal. You can hear the tapping of the keys, the room is that quiet. Then, the screen in the bottom starts as the bar explodes. Wood and other debris go everywhere as flames swallow the screen.

My men don’t celebrate; real lives were just taken. Collateral damage sucks and it makes it hard for me to continue, but fuck, you have to do what you have to do. The Donahues called war on me, and I can’t exactly tell everyone to leave the bar if they want to live.

Up next are the strip joints. A similar scene to the first one unfolds on the second television followed by the one beside it. The gym makes me smile. That one’s not collateral damage; every fucker in that joint was dirty and owned by the Donahues. There’s a pause before the next one hits. It’s huge. The casino starts with one explosion in the back of the building. I hear Sabre typing on the computer again, and another explosion goes off in the same building, closer up, then another, and another. In total, a series of six bombs combine to bring that fucker down. I watch as people run from that building; I hope the innocent ones got out, but again, it’s out of my control.

I release a breath of air that I didn’t even know I was holding. The next hit is the most important. Hell, I’m even praying that we take out Colin with this one, even if I do know it’s a longshot. Torch already warned me there will be a five minute delay between it and the other bombs. I look around at my men. Each one is a good man, a man who for one reason or another pledged themselves to my club and my leadership, and I do feel like I’ve let them down.

“Men,” I say, addressing them. “I should have thought more about how my actions would affect each of you. I don’t normally back down from a fucking fight—and Beth is my old lady, that made her one of us—but doing that cost Beast something so precious I can’t begin to imagine how he will live with that. That’s on me. This is my fucking fault. I shouldn’t have claimed Beth and went full steam ahead.”

“Boss,” they all start. Well, not all; Pistol’s shooting me I-told-you-so’s from across the room, even if he isn’t giving them voice.

“No, let me finish,” I insist. “I made a mistake, and for that I’m sorry.”

The room is silent.

“You would have let her go and backed away to keep from going into war?” This comes from Briar and I can hear the disgust in his voice.

“Fuck, no. I would have claimed her anyway. I just would’ve thought twice about making it my club’s problem. Beth’s my woman. I’m not giving her up for anyone.”

“Then fuck you. We’re a club because we have each other’s backs. That includes Beth. Besides, I like her.”

“Same here,” Torch speaks up, but he doesn’t look away from the monitor he and Sabre are working on. In fact, every member here, even Pistol, seem to agree. I still feel the guilt in my stomach, but that tight knot inside me loosens at their support.

Then the fireworks start. Colin and Matthew’s house blasts apart before our eyes. Honestly, we put twice the charge in that fucker. We had to. We knew we wouldn’t get a second chance, and it was harder than hell to get through the gates, even disguised as groundskeepers and security guards. Still, it’s done, and every fucker in the room cheers.

In a few days, their private yacht and some of their favorite things will be toast. They wanted war and the motherfuckers are getting it, one delicious slice at a time.