Chapter 16 Hunting Ground
TW: Mention of SA to a minor and adult women.
Valentina’s POV
Pioneer Ranch lies beneath the bruised evening sky, shadows crawling across splintered fences and rotting shingles. The wind carries the scent of dry grass and old secrets. This place is our crucible, a training ground turned arena-today, what happens here is no rehearsal.
Gia sits beside me in the SUV, tapping rapidly on her phone, eyes like frozen steel. The moment her screen lights up, she reads the message aloud: “Papa gives a thumbs up. There are two-both won’t be missed.”
Her words carry the finality of a sentence handed down from a god. If Papa says they’re fit for this, they are the lowest kind of filth-rapists, predators, the monsters our code demands we erase.
The thunder of twenty Harleys shakes the silence as our brothers roll in, exhaust echoing against the battered barn walls. Dust billows as kickstands drop. I step out, my boots crunching on gravel, and the air hums with anticipation, that sharp pre-storm energy. Gia lifts the tailgate and cradles her sniper rifle like a lover, checking her scope and chamber. I slip into the backseat, open my case, and sling the bandolier-six knives cold against my chest, deadly comfort. Then come the leather vests and neck guards, heavy as the history that clings to this place. They’re for us-protection against wild hands and straying blades, a habit from years of making life and death into a game.
We lead the pack toward the barn, every footstep loud in the hush that falls when real violence is close. The doors groan open, revealing the cavernous space within: peeling paint, the tang of oil and rust, and at the center, a metal bench chained to the floor. Two men are shackled there-gray suits stained with sweat, wrists bound tight, mouths gagged with cloth and silver tape. Above them, a key glints from a thin chain, swaying in a shaft of dusty sunlight. Papa never lets hope die quietly.
Killian’s presence is a solid warmth at my side. His voice, curious but wary: “Babe, what’s all this? Who the hell are they?”
I kneel, fingers grazing the file at the men’s feet. The first page is a mugshot: Dario Blackthorn-blond, watery green eyes, a mouth like a wound that never heals. My voice is clear, unhurried, meant for the brothers as much as the two condemned.
“Dario Blackthorn, fifty-two. Fader. Three daughters, eight, twelve, fifteen. The middle one’s the odd duck-red hair, adopted after her parents died. Dario and his wife were the godparents, so they took her in.” I stare hard at him; he tries to speak, his eyes wet with terror. “You her godfather?”
A jerky nod. Muffled pleading behind the gag, a whimper that means nothing to me now.
I flick to the next page. My tone turns colder. “Hospital reports. Eight years, multiple broken bones. She once told her teacher ‘Daddy’ visited her bed at night. Of course, everyone said she was lying-craving attention. The system failed her. Dario, you made sure of that.”
I don’t need to look at the others to feel their disgust. The second mugshot is no better. “Sonny Greaves. Black hair, brown eyes. Works at Ironmark Holdings. Thirty-five. Favorite pastime? Drugging women in clubs, raping them, dumping them in alleyways. Three women named him in reports, but all those files vanished. You must have friends in dark places, Sonny.”
☐ 11.04
< Chapter 16 Hunting Ground
Get 5>
Menu
Sonny’s face is sickly, skin pulled taut over bone, his sobs audible even through the layers of tape. He knows exactly what’s coming.
I turn to the club, my words crisp. “Gentlemen, if you’ll take your seats outside-bleachers are set up for a reason. The demonstration begins soon.”
The men move, some grumbling, most glaring murder at the two on the bench. The code is clear- there are lines you never cross, and both these men have leapt over them.
Killian lingers. I feel his hand on my arm. “Babe, what exactly are we doing here?”
I keep my eyes on him, my answer simple and honest. “We give them a chance-two minutes to run. Then Gia puts them down.”
He studies me, nods, and brushes a kiss to my forehead before joining the others.
Once the barn is clear, I get to work. I secure each man’s wrists, pulling their hands up beneath their chins, the chains tight against collars at their necks. They look like they’re praying-maybe they are. An kles shackled together, only a three-foot lead. They can walk, maybe stumble, but they won’t get far.
I wait for Gia. Her whistle from the hayloft signals she’s ready-rifle set, timer ticking, her eyes sweeping the field. I meet her gaze and nod, everything understood in a single breath.
I squat before the men, letting the menace sink in. “Alright, boys. Here’s your shot. Two minutes to run as far and as fast as you can. When I unlock your ankles, you move. If you make it to the fence line, maybe you live. Don’t count on it.”
I haul open the barn’s back doors, sunlight flooding the floor, outlining their trembling shadows. I kneel, click the shackles loose, and with a final shove, send them stumbling into the wild grass.
Outside, I climb the bleachers, the others fanned out below, silent now, watching like wolves. I bring binoculars to my eyes, the field stretching golden and infinite, two dark specks flailing for their
worthless lives.
The timer shrieks, slicing the tension. Gia’s voice is ice and steel from above: “Slate-head or heart?”
“Heart!” he calls, not a flicker of doubt.
The rifle’s crack is sharp and pure. Sonny crumples mid-stride, a bloom of blood blossoming in the
sun.
“Hit!” I shout, never looking away.
Gia lines up again. “Killian-head or heart?”
“Head!” he answers, voice ringing with grim certainty.
The second rifle shot cracks through the heavy air. Through the lens, I watch as Dario’s skull explodes in a crimson burst, the sound echoing over the silent field. For a split second, the world holds its breath -then the men around me erupt.
“Holy shit-”
“Goddamn-”
Gia emerges from the barn, rifle slung over her shoulder, her smile blazing with feral satisfaction.
11.04
39.07%
Slate’s there in a heartbeat, sweeping her off the ground and spinning her in wild, laughing circles. “Hotness, that was fucking beautiful,” he says, voice full of pride.
She grins, leans in, murmurs something just for him. The others cheer, rowdy and exhilarated, until Riff breaks the moment.
“Alright, I’ll give it to Gia-girl can shoot. But what about you, short stuff?” He fixes me with a challenge. in his eyes. “What can you do?”
I just smile, picking up the thick leather vests and neck guards from the bleachers. I toss them toward Riff and Raptor. “Put these on. Then go disappear in the woods. You’ve got five minutes. After that, I hunt you both down. If my knives tag you, leave them stuck in the vest. Don’t pull them out-let everyone see how you ‘died.” My tone is playful, but there’s an edge beneath it, and they know it.
Riff and Raptor gear up, swapping nervous jokes, then vanish into the trees. I steal a last kiss from Killian-his mouth fierce and warm, his hand lingering at my waist. “See you in ten, baby,” I murmur.
He grins, eyes gleaming with wild pride. “Bring me their heads.”
The forest closes around me-damp earth, broken branches, the hush of prey on the move. I crouch low, blood pounding in my ears, every sense alive and electric. Somewhere ahead, twigs snap, and Raptor’s heavy breathing gives him away. I move with purpose-silent, ruthless, the way Papa taught us. No hesitation.
I scale a tree in three quick movements and watch as Raptor stumbles beneath, sweat pouring down his neck. He’s exhausted, sucking air like he might drown in it. When he finally stops, I leap-landing on his back, blade tracing a line across the thick leather at his throat.
He startles, swears, but I just plant a kiss on his cheek before slipping away. “Dead men don’t shout, Raptor,” I tease, winking as I vanish through the undergrowth.
Ten yards ahead, Riff is crouched behind a rotten log, scanning the woods. He glances back, nerves betraying him, but never sees me in the shadows. I rise and release three knives-one, two, three- each sinking into the vest where his heart would be. He freezes, wide-eyed, staring at the blades buried
in the leather.
“Holy fuck, Fiera. You’re a goddamn ghost. These knives go in like butter.”
I smile, flicking my gaze over the perfect kill. “That’s the idea. Let’s go show the boys.”
We stride out of the woods together, Raptor rubbing his neck and Riff shaking his head in disbelief. The brothers swarm around us, slapping backs and whistling, voices high with adrenaline. Raptor and Riff both launch into their retelling, voices overlapping, each swearing I materialized out of thin air.
Killian’s there at the edge, arms folded, watching me with a look that is all pride and hunger and
something deeper I can’t quite name.
Blaise lifts his chin, voice steady. “Let’s head back to the club. Anyone worried about the bodies?”
Gia shakes her head, wiping sweat from her brow. “Already texted our father. He’ll take care of cleanup.”
Raptor’s gaze lingers on Gia, his curiosity plain. “Still can’t wrap my head around it. Your dad-an assassin. And you two, trained up just like him.”
I shrug, the old chill creeping down my spine. “We had to be ready. They would’ve found us eventually -Papa just made sure we could survive when they did.”
Blaise’s tone shifts, softer for the first time. “Well, you got us now. No one’s coming for you without going through this club first.”
My heart twinges at that-something warm and dangerous, blooming right beneath the ribs. For weeks, Blaise’s always been the one to keep his distance, eyes sharp and unreadable. Now, there’s a promise in his words I never expect.
Gia grins at me, and I find myself smiling back. The club might want to dig deeper into our past, but tonight, there’s nothing left to hide. For once, I let myself believe in the safety that comes with a brotherhood forged in blood.
