Mason (Iron Reapers MC #1)

Chapter 17

SEVENTEEN

MASON

"Brothers," I begin, "We ride not just for revenge, but for the very soul of our family."

Heads nod, eyes fierce with reflected firelight. Mason locks gazes with each member of the Iron Reapers, seeing the hard lines of determination etched into their faces.

"Tonight, we end this feud with Walker and his snakes. We didn’t start this war, but we’re going to fucking finish it!” I roar. "Ride Hard!” I shout.

"Ride free!" they shout back, voices merging into a single battle cry that shatters the silence.

Without another word, I walk over to my bike and mount it. The Iron Reapers mount up behind me, engines snarling like wild animals, ready to hunt. We’re an army, covered in leather and ink, and tonight we’re taking back what’s ours. Jackson is our town, our territory. It’s time they got it through their thick skulls and left.

I kick the stand back and rev the throttle, feeling the vibrations pulse through me like pure adrenaline. I catch Dagger’s eye, and he gives me a nod, his face unreadable but steady.

“Let’s ride,” I say, and we’re off, tearing down the road toward the Vipers clubhouse. The roar of our engines fills the air, loud enough to declare war. My mind’s locked in, heart pounding against my chest like it’s trying to break free. Tonight, we ride as more than just a brotherhood—we’re family, forged in fire and blood. And family doesn’t break, no matter what waits ahead.

The sound of the engines die down to a low growl as we get closer. The clubhouse is up ahead, and there’s no going back.

“Split up,” I shout over the rumble of my bike, eyeing the crumbling warehouse ahead. The place stinks of decay and desperation. “Hawk, Tank, take the north side. Rev, Sledge, cover the south. Keep it tight—no one gets out.”

“Got it, Pres,” they grunt back, peeling off with the kind of precision only years of doing this shit can bring. This ain’t their first rodeo, and sure as hell won’t be their last.

I cut the engine, letting the silence hit me like a verdict already passed. Dagger pulls up next to me, his eyes hard as steel. We don’t need words. We’ve been through too much for that. A single nod says it all—it’s go-time.

“We take the front,” I say, thumbing the safety off my gun. The metal’s cold, like the promise I made to end this tonight.

Dagger checks his piece, the moonlight glinting off the barrel. “Time to finish this, brother.”

“Damn straight.” I swing off the bike, boots hitting the gravel with a thud that echoes in my head. The front door looms ahead, dark and yawning like it’s ready to swallow us whole. But I don’t hesitate. Can’t afford to.

It’s not just about me—it’s about family. The Iron Reapers. And for family, you fight until your last damn breath.

“Move in,” I signal, and we advance, shadows blending into the darkness. Every nerve in my body is buzzing, every muscle wound tight. Walker’s gonna pay for what he’s done, and tonight’s the night we make sure of it.

We breach the entrance, and the stench of motor oil and sweat slaps us in the face. It’s too quiet. But we’re ready. We were born for moments like this.

“Watch your six,” Dagger mutters, and I can hear the excitement in his voice. No fear. Just the thrill.

“Always do.”

We push forward, one step at a time, every sense on high alert. This is it. The final showdown. And I swear on everything we’ve lost, Walker’s going down.

Tonight, the Iron Reapers ride into hell—and we’re not looking back.

Walker's crew bursts from the hideout like hellhounds unleashed, guns blazing a deadly welcome. We're on them in a heartbeat—returning fire, our bullets singing the song of retribution.

"Cover!" I bark, and we scatter, diving behind rusted-out cars and chunks of concrete that litter this forsaken place. Adrenaline surges through my veins.

"Pres!" Dagger's voice cuts through the cacophony, cool and steady. "Three o'clock—high ground!"

I snap my head up, catching sight of a sniper perched like some damn vulture waiting. Not today. My aim is true, a single shot echoing into the chaos, and the sniper drops instantly.

"Got him," I growl back, the words almost lost in the roar of gunfire.

With every slug that slams into metal, every shout and curse flung across the no man's land between us, the weight of what's at stake anchors heavy in my chest. This is more than a fight—it's a war for the soul of our streets, our lives.