Blowing out a breath of smoke, Hawk flicked his cigarette away. “Let’s do this,” he said, and together he and Hammer headed toward the front of the building. As they grew closer, the din of noise that could be heard from outside grew louder, more discernable as excited shouting.

Stepping past the broken and bent steel door, he found the large room empty, other than a few pieces of rusted-out machinery and scattered garbage that could just barely be seen. As he’d suspected, the noise was coming from beneath their feet, from the basement of the building, making him all the more wary of what was to come.

Silently, the two men continued slowly toward the stairway, the noise growing louder and louder with every step they took, until they’d reached the bottom, where it had become damn near deafening.

After exchanging a look with Hammer, judging by the man’s expression he was more than ready to put ZZ six feet under, Hawk gripped the edge of the already partially open door and pulled it open. The dimly lit, smoke-filled storage room was filled with wall-to-wall bodies, both men and women, pressed up against one another, all shouting at the top of their lungs.

This wasn’t the first bare-knuckle cage fight Hawk had been to. The underground fighting circuit was infamous in Vegas, and in his youth he’d taken part in his fair share of illegal betting in abandoned warehouses very similar to this one.

But as Hawk shoved his way through the spectators, his hearing began to adjust, the screams of the crowd beginning to sound less like excitement and a lot more like bloodthirsty war cries.

“Kill! Kill! Kill!” They chanted the lone word over and over again, in and out of unison.

Realization slammed into him like a runaway freight train. This wasn’t any ordinary cage fight, this was a fucking death match. All around him, bodies were straining against one another, their arms raised in the air, holding up their money as they continued to trample one another, attempting to get a better glimpse of the gory entertainment.

His apprehension mounting, Hawk glanced over his shoulder, looking over top of the crowd seeking out Hammer. Due to the sheer volume of people packed inside the room, the man had fallen a ways behind him. Only because of Hammer’s size could Hawk find him, violently shoving people out of his way as he made his way toward him.

Hammer having reached him, the two of them stood side by side and charged forward. The size of their combined statures created a human battering ram that allowed them to slam easily through the remaining people, clearing a path to the front of the crowd.

A wall-to-floor steel cage had been erected in the center of the room, the floor within stained brown with the blood of past fights, and currently slick with the fresh blood of the battle presently raging inside it.

“There he is!” Hammer shouted, jerking his chin in ZZ’s direction.

At least it looked like ZZ—if ZZ and the Terminator had a fuck fest that had produced a love child named “Warmonger” who had been kept on a steady diet solely consisting of raw eggs and steroids.

The man was all deadly muscle, furrowed brows, and fists flying with a single-minded focus. To kill.

One, two, left, right, left. Hawk watched as ZZ hammered his bloody, swollen fists into his opponent’s stomach, chest, and face in that precise order, sending blood and teeth flying with every bone-crunching punch.

Like a machine, ZZ never once paused to catch his breath, never once missed a beat. On and on it went, him beating the other man senseless while deftly avoiding all punches aimed at him.

Watching him, Hawk felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention. Hawk wasn’t looking at ZZ; this was not ZZ, this wasn’t even a man. Hawk was looking at a slab of meat covered in skin, a walking, talking, still-breathing carcass.

But he didn’t have time to dwell on it. ZZ had just cornered his opponent against the cage wall and in a quick maneuver, grabbed a fistful of the other man’s hair, forcing his head down and his body to fold over. Then bringing up his own knee, ZZ slammed it into the man’s face, snapping his head backward and breaking his neck.

As the man slumped to the ground, his lifeless eyes wide open, the crowd erupted in an explosion of exhilarated cries and shouts. Only Hawk and Hammer remained still, frozen in the midst of the chaos.

What in the holy fuck had he just witnessed?

Seeing his former brother like this, a man who’d once been so damn easygoing, always had a grin on his face and a joke to tell, turned into a ghost of his former self, a stone-faced killer . . .

Well, it didn’t exactly leave him feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. Quite the fucking opposite, actually. And he might have just continued to stand there, staring, leaving him vulnerable to ZZ noticing him if Hammer hadn’t grabbed him, yanking him backward into the crowd. The cheering people swarmed around him, hiding him from sight just as ZZ straightened and turned to face his fans.

He spared them only a quick glance before abruptly turning away. Outside the cage, ZZ took a wad of cash from some greasy-looking asshole, grabbed a jacket from a nearby chair, and then he was on the move, shoving off the poor souls who dared to approach him before disappearing behind a door Hawk hadn’t previously noticed.

“Follow him!” Hammer shouted. “I’ll head back upstairs and cover the front!”

Cursing, forcing himself into action, Hawk started maneuvering his way through the throng of people, heading for the exit ZZ had taken. As soon as he passed through the open door, he slipped his hand inside his cut and pulled his gun free from its holster.

He was only a few feet inside the dark hallway when the door behind him suddenly closed with a loud bang. He spun around, his trigger finger ready, only to find Hammer and two of his men standing there.

Confused, he lowered his gun. “Why aren’t you . . .”

He trailed off as something hard and cool, undoubtedly the barrel of a gun, was pressed against the back of his neck.

“You thought you had the drop on me, huh?” ZZ’s tone and the laugh that followed were so cold and devoid of emotion, chills went skittering down Hawk’s spine. But even worse was Hammer’s refusal to meet Hawk’s eyes.

Well . . . shit. You really couldn’t fucking trust anyone, could you? There was no loyalty among criminals. The only man he’d ever met who’d been the exception to that rule had been Deuce.

The barrel of ZZ’s gun dug deeper into his neck. “Drop your fuckin’ piece.”

Thumbing the safety, Hawk opened his hand, allowing the weapon to fall. It clattered onto the floor with a sad, slapping thud that echoed throughout the empty hall.

Grabbing hold of his arm, ZZ roughly turned him, shoving him face-first into the wall. Without having to be told, Hawk assumed the position. After placing his palms flat against the wall, he then spread his legs apart.

ZZ’s pat down was quick, yet thorough, and within moments both of Hawk’s blades and his phone had joined his gun on the floor.

Hawk blew out a silent, frustrated breath. It was just a phone, but it contained the only photos he had of his son. Living life on the road didn’t allow him the luxury of keeping anything that wasn’t absolutely necessary. Not that any of that was going to matter if he didn’t make it out of this warehouse with his brains intact.

“Whatever you’re gonna do,” Hawk said quietly, “you best do it now. If not, I got places to be.”

“Yeah?” ZZ snorted. “More fool’s errands for your prez?”

“He was your prez once too.”

“He’s out for my blood, meanin’ he ain’t jack shit to me.”

“You shot Cage,” Hawk said, “meaning you shot us all. Your brothers. You can’t be dumb enough to think that shit was gonna fly with Prez.”

“He pulled on me!” ZZ yelled.

“Enough!”

Hawk turned toward the voice just as Hammer and his men parted, allowing four more men to enter the hallway. Dressed in expensive suits, their hair perfectly styled, these men weren’t more of Hammer’s crew.

The lead man, a good twenty years older than Hawk, judging by his white hair and wrinkled skin, stopped directly beside Hawk and smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile but a vicious one. It was a smile that niggled at his memories.

“Luca,” the old man said, his voice heavily accented. “Is good to see you again . . . alive.”

Hawk blinked. That name, his name, his real goddamn name and that thick Russian accent. Which meant . . . this man was mafia. Cut from the same damn cloth Hawk was.

Behind him, ZZ burst out laughing. “To think all those fuckin’ years I was livin’ amongst mafia royalty.”

Hawk said nothing. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe, too busy trying to compute what was happening. Or better yet, why it was happening.

“You no remember me, do you?” the old man asked.

Hawk stared at his face, his features, trying desperately to place him, but for the life of him, he couldn’t. Not until he looked directly into the man’s eyes, such a dark shade of brown that the pupil was virtually indiscernible from the iris. Not only were they a mirror image of his father’s eyes, but of his own as well.

“Yenny,” he said flatly.

As the man’s smile grew, so did Hawk’s anger.

Yevgeniy Polachev was Hawk’s uncle and had been his father’s second-in-command. Hawk had been under the impression that Yenny had died along with everyone else in his father’s company.

But Yenny hadn’t died, he’d lived, and from the look of his expensive clothing and the armed men behind him, had prospered.

“You,” Hawk spat. “You turned on my father, didn’t you? You took everything he’d made for yourself!”

In answer, Yenny simply shrugged. “Your father was greedy, Luca. He would have fallen eventually.”

Hawk said nothing, the silence stretching uncomfortably between them. In the background, the shouts of the spectators could still be heard, along with the low hum of a plane flying overhead. But predominant was the sound of Hawk’s own heart, fast paced and erratic, his blood thundering violently through his veins as he fought the urge not to reach out and strangle the man he’d once called Uncle. Something that would undoubtedly end badly for him, seeing as he was the only unarmed man in a room full of guns.

“Luca!” ZZ continued laughing. “I still can’t believe this shit.”

Ignoring ZZ, Hawk focused on Hammer. “You set me up? You set this up?”

Whereas every Hell’s Horsemen chapter had their own president, their own business dealings, and their own way of doing things, Miles City was the mother chapter and Deuce was ultimately in charge. Hammer’s involvement in this wasn’t just disloyal, it was traitorous. Once Deuce found out, the Nevada chapter would be gutted and rebuilt from the ground up, if it even was rebuilt at all.

A body slammed unexpectedly into Hawk from behind, forcing him flat against the wall. He felt a gun pressed into his cheek, causing the soft skin on the inside of his mouth to grind painfully against his teeth.

“I set this up,” ZZ hissed, his breath hot across Hawk face. “Deuce has been buyin’ less and less Russian metal since teamin’ up with Preacher and those Chinese fucks.”

Hawk cut his eyes toward Yenny. “Deuce hasn’t been buyin’ less. Fact, this isn’t about Deuce at all, is it? You want Preacher. You want the East Coast.”

“You always were a smart boy, Luca. Such a shame what happened to you . . .”

Yenny’s gaze ran up and down the length of Hawk as he eyed his leathers and his cut with nothing short of disgust. Once upon a time, Hawk would have done the same, way back when his name was still Luca. But he wasn’t Luca anymore. He was James motherfucking Hawk Young, he was Deuce’s boy, and he was unfailingly loyal.

“I’ll never help you,” he gritted out.

Hawk found himself suddenly spun around and face-to-face with a smiling ZZ. No, ZZ wasn’t smiling, he was mocking him with a crude and ugly grin.

“Brother,” ZZ said with a sneer. “You already have. Now we wait to see if your prez gives a fuck about you.”

“Enough,” Yenny demanded. “The car is waiting. Shoot him already.”

The declaration caught Hawk by surprise, but he had little time to dwell on it as a shot rang out, and his left leg bent suddenly and then gave out entirely. Searing pain shot up and down the limb as he stumbled backward and slammed into the wall behind him. Falling forward, his body crumpled to the floor in an awkward heap.