Mason (Iron Reapers MC #1)

Chapter 14

FOURTEEN

MASON

I’d heard the stories about Walker before, but hearing the guys lay it out like that—like he was some kind of ghost in the night—made my blood run cold. He wasn’t just after power; he was out for blood, and he didn’t care whose it was. It didn’t matter if they were enemies or people who just happened to get in his way. Hell, some of them were innocent. And the club? We were right in his crosshairs. It wasn’t just rumors anymore; he’d already taken out a few people who crossed him, left them dead in alleys or dumped in ditches.

Carlie must’ve overheard us talking last night. I didn’t realize she was around, hiding somewhere in the bar while we swapped intel. Walker was planning something big, and we knew it. The tension was thick enough to choke on, but we acted like it was just another day in the life. It wasn’t. The club had faced threats before, but nothing like the Vipers MC. He wasn’t just trying to rattle us—he was trying to take us down and wipe us out completely.

We were so wrong when we thought the Vipers MC were just another group of guys playing at being bikers. Hell, maybe they were, but Walker isn’t. He’s a monster, one we need to snuff out before things get any worse.

Carlie’s pissed, and I can’t even blame her. She’s thinking about the risk, about the bodies left behind in Walker’s wake, and about what happens if he comes for me next. I get it. But this is the club. This is my life. You don’t just walk away when shit gets real. But now, she’s looking at me like I’m the one choosing danger over her, like I’m blind to how close this all is to falling apart. And the truth is, I’m not sure how to make her understand that standing by the club is standing by us , even when the Vipers are out there hunting us down.

"Damn it, Carlie! You just don't get it, do you?" My voice ricochets off the garage walls, frustration boiling in my gut. I can smell the oil and gasoline, a scent as familiar as my own skin, but right now, they're just fuel to the fire burning inside me.

"Get it? Mason, I get that your club is your life, but you can’t be blind to the risks," she fires back, hands on her hips, blonde curls bouncing with every jolt of righteous anger. Yeah, she’s beautiful when she's fired up, but hell if that makes this any easier.

"It’s not about being blind, babe. It's about standing by my brothers, no matter what." The words come out gruff, edged with the steel of my resolve.

"Your brothers? What about us, Mason?" her voice is louder than I expect it to be, echoing against the cold metal of the bikes lined up like steel horses. "If Walker hits you guys hard, it's not just the members who pay the price. Have you thought about that?"

"Every damn day," I growl.

Then the world tilts as Dagger bursts through the door. "Pres, it's Walker. He's rallying for a full-scale hit—soon."

"Shit." The single syllable is a grenade in the still air, blowing up whatever false sense of peace we had. My heart's a hammer in my chest, pounding out a rhythm of war.

"Mason, please—" Carlie starts, but I cut her off with a raised hand.

"Enough, Carlie. I gotta gear up for this. Can't let Walker and his boys think they got us by the balls." I turn to Dagger, "Get the boys ready. We're rolling out deep."

I can see Carlie's lips part, words forming, but I'm already moving, mind racing faster than any bike I've ever ridden. This isn't just about love or loyalty, it's survival, pure and simple.

"Be safe," she whispers, but her voice is drowned out by the roar of engines firing to life as we prepare for war.

I'm pacing, a caged beast in the dim light of the clubhouse. The walls close in, and I can feel the weight of my patch heavy on my back. It's the lives of my brothers, the legacy of the Iron Reapers.

"Mason," Carlie's voice cuts through the din of my thoughts, sharp and clear. "You need to focus on the club now. I'll be okay."

Her words are like steel wrapped in velvet, strong yet soothing. I stop mid-stride, facing her. She's standing firm, those blonde curls defiant against the backdrop of chaos.

"Damn it, Carlie, you know it isn’t that simple," I argue, but even as I speak, I see the unyielding resolve in her eyes.

"Love can wait, survival can't." She steps closer, her hand finding mine, squeezing tight.

CARLIE

He’s torn, I can see it—the man who commands respect with a look now searching for answers in my gaze. But this is bigger than us. I can’t let him break under the pressure, not when the club is counting on him.

"Your brothers need you. You've always put them first, don't doubt yourself now," I coax. "And I'll be right here when the dust settles."

His grip tightens, his tattooed knuckles white. "Carlie, baby—" There's a plea in his voice, the Pres persona slipping away to reveal the man beneath.

"Go," I urge, pressing a quick, fierce kiss to his lips. "Show Walker what happens when he messes with the Iron Reapers."

MASON

Her kiss is a spark, igniting the fire I need to lead my men. Still, it damn near kills me to step back, to tear myself away from her warmth. But she's right. Always has been.

"Alright," I concede, voice gravelly with conflict. "But if anything—"

"Nothing will happen to me," she interrupts, conviction lacing her tone. "Focus on your war, Mason. Win it."

I nod, feeling the president's mantle settle back onto my shoulders. She gives me one last look, a silent promise, before turning away. And I watch her go, every fiber in my body screaming to follow, to shield her from the world.

But she’s given me no choice. With a roar trapped in my chest, I turn to face my brothers, my family by choice, gearing up for the fight of our lives. Carlie's strength flows through me—a beacon in the night, guiding me through the storm ahead.

The clubhouse reeks of sweat and gasoline, the air thick with tension. My family, my club—all eyes on me as I lay out the plan. The map on the table's a mess of scrawled lines and Xs, territories marked, escape routes plotted. Every man's ready to bleed for the patch on their back.

"Lockdown at 2200 hours," I bark, my voice slicing through the murmurs. "The Vipers won't find an inch to exploit."

"Double-check your rides," I continue. "If we gotta move, we do it like shadows. No trace."

They nod and agree without question. They're warriors in leather cuts. We've been through hell's fire before, but this time it's different.

"Dagger," I call out, my eyes landing on my VP, "you got the east wall?"

"Covered," he grunts, knuckles cracking as he clenches his fists.

"Good. And Tank, those traps better sing when tripped."

"Like a damn choir, Pres," Tank replies, a twisted grin splitting his face.

"Let's sharpen our knives, load our guns. Tonight, we will prepare. Tomorrow it's war."

Boots stomp, hands slam on tables, the clubhouse shakes with warrior cries. This is it—the calm before the storm.

"Pres, talk to me," Hammer says, his eyes searching mine for something I’m not sure I have anymore.

"Talk?" I scoff, the word tasting like ash. Talk won't keep my brothers safe, won’t shield Carlie from the hell about to rain down. "Actions speak louder than words." It's all I can muster, my throat tight with unsaid fears.

"Pres, we’ll follow you to the gates of Hell itself," he insists, loyalty fierce in his gaze.

"Hope it don't come to that," I growl, barely above a whisper. But it might. I feel it in my bones—the doubt, the dread. What if this time I can't protect them? What if...

"Mason," Hammer presses, snapping me back to now. "We trust you."

The clock's ticking, each second a heartbeat closer to war. Each heartbeat screaming Carlie's name. My gut twists. Did I choose right? The club over her? There's no answer in the silence. Just the sound of my heart waging its own battle.

I stand at the head of our war room table, the map spread out before us marking Walker's turf, his moves, his potential strikes. It's a spiderweb, and we're caught in the dead center.

"Spotters say Walker's boys are mobilizing," Tank grunts, slamming his fist down. "East side, maybe forty deep."

"Forty," I echo, my voice steady despite the ice water in my veins. We've faced worse odds, haven't we?

"Mason, we hit 'em fast, hit 'em hard." Shadow's words cut through the murmurs, decisive as a guillotine's drop. His hand is steady on his knife, always ready.

"Hit 'em hard," I repeat. That's all we can do. It's all I can promise.

"Tonight, brothers," I announce, my eyes scanning the faces of my family. These men, these warriors—they'll follow me into the abyss without a damn question. "We ride at midnight. "Ride hard,"

"Ride free," the entire club finishes solemnly. We’re all feeling it, the dread hanging in the air. We’re a club of retired military and men who’ve been through hell and back. We’ve seen worse, but it was never this close to home.

Night falls like a curtain, and the world shrinks to this moment, this mission. Engines rumble to life, a symphony of impending storm. We mount up, leather creaking, hearts pounding against ribs like prisoners rattling bars.

"Move out!" My command slices the stillness, and Iron Reapers surge forward, a tidal wave of steel and resolve.

Our formation cuts through the dark streets, engines thundering a battle cry. "Stay sharp," I bark into the comm, every sense strung tight. The road blurs beneath us, time compressing, each second a drumbeat toward destiny.

"Contact!" The word crackles in my earpiece, and adrenaline spikes. This is it.

"Positions!" I shout, throttling up, the night air ripping past. We fan out, a spearhead piercing the heart of enemy territory.

Headlights glint ahead, a serpent coiling for a strike. Walker's club is waiting. My grip tightens around the handlebars. "Iron Reapers, now!" I scream into the wind. We collide, our bikes going sideways as we get up and throw hands.

"Fight, brothers, fight!" My voice is lost in the noise, but it doesn’t matter. They know what to do.

We're Iron Reapers—this is our road, our war. For family, for loyalty, for love. We ride, not just to survive, but to claim the freedom that's ours. I’m tired of these fuckers thinking they have a claim on our territory, our town. It’s not that this place isn’t big enough for both of us, it’s not, but that’s not the point. They’re bringing trash into our lives. We worked hard to clean Jackson up and they’re trying to dirty it up again. Not on my fucking watch.

"Mason!" Skinner’s voice breaks through urgently.

"Go!" I answer.

Walker's crew comes at us hard. But we're Iron Reapers, we never back down.

"Push 'em back!" My command cuts through the din, my bike an extension of my will as I weave through the chaos. A fist connects with a jaw, bone meeting knuckle in a satisfying crunch. Around me, my brothers fight with the same ferocity that pumps through my veins—this isn't just our territory, it's home.

"Pres, watch your six!" A voice warns, and I duck just in time as a pipe swings where my head just was. I kick out, sending a Viper spiraling into the fray. We're in it now, no turning back.

But even as we trade blows, I see it—the cost. A brother goes down, his bike skidding out from under him, flames high into the night sky. The Vipers pay too, one of their own caught beneath a Harley, motionless.

"Damn it," I mutter, driving my bike forward. These are lives—men with families. But the thought gets buried under the next wave of attackers and my survival instincts take over.

"Mason!" Carlie's voice echoes in my skull, her face flashing before my eyes—a reminder of what I'm fighting for.

"Stay alive," I whisper, more a vow than a prayer. The battle rages on, each side giving as good as they get. But when the dust settles, we'll still stand. Because we're Iron Reapers, and we ride through hell for each other.

I lose sight of Walker, and his men must also because one by one, they tuck tail and ride out. Not knowing where they’re going, I gather my men and tell them to head to the clubhouse. I’ll be there, but I have somewhere to be first.

I'm tearing down the road to Carlie's place, each mile ticking by slower than the last. I can't shake the image of her, alone and vulnerable. My gut is twisted up, knotted with the kind of fear that has nothing to do with cops or rival clubs. It's about her. Always about her now.

The closer I get, the louder the demons in my head scream. What if Walker got to her first? What if I'm too late? There’s no way I can live with that. Not when it's Carlie we're talking about.

Pulling up outside her house, my heart's hammering against my ribcage. I cut the engine, silence slamming into me hard. This is it. Judgment time. Just gotta hope I'm not about to find my world shattered at my feet.