CHAPTER 18
KRAIT ENOUGH
For half a second, neither of them moved.
Then everything collapsed into motion.
“What?” Lane said.
“Guest room,” Ram answered. “Now.”
Kait didn’t look at Lane. She didn’t need to. Club-first snapped back into place like muscle memory.
They moved.
Boots hit concrete. They crossed the courtyard to the guestroom next to Alejandra’s. The argument didn’t follow—but it didn’t disappear either. It stayed lodged, sharp and unfinished.
The back room was already alive when they hit it.
Mack was being lowered into a chair, Klaus gripping his good arm, steady and calm. Randy was there too, already pulling gloves on, eyes locked on the dark stain spreading across Mack’s shoulder.
“Easy,” Klaus said. “Sit. Sit.”
“I am sitting,” Mack snapped, breath shallow. “You don’t gotta narrate it.”
Randy crouched in front of him, assessing. “Bullet’s still in?”
“Feels like it,” Mack said. “Unless that’s just you being gentle.”
Randy snorted. “You’ll live. Don’t be a little bitch.”
“I’ll show you a little bitch when I can swing my arm again.”
Don was there now too, quiet as gravity, watching everything at once.
Kait clocked the blood, the angle of the wound, the way Mack was favoring one side. Not spraying. Not pulsing.
Good.
Kolton and Diablo came in behind them, fast.
“Fuck—hold still, you move more than my fucking cows.” Randy muttered.
“I am holding still,” Mack shot back, breath ragged. “You’re the one digging like you’re a quarter short for some smokes.”
Kait clocked everything in one sweep—the angle of Mack’s arm, the blood pattern, Randy’s hands. Not spurting, so it didn’t hit an artery.
Good.
Randy glanced up at everyone. “Bullet’s in there. Shoulder took it well. He’s lucky.”
“Lucky’s a strong word,” Mack said, then let out a breath that turned into something close to a laugh. “They tried to snatch me.”
That got Don’s attention.
“For fucks sake, where?” Don said.
“I went on a liquor run,” Mack answered. “Cut past the junkyard. Hidalgo and fourth. Van came out of nowhere.”
Klaus’s jaw set. “Talamantes?”
“Has to be,” Don said.
“They didn’t just shoot,” Mack went on. “They tried to pull me in. Van and everything.” He sucked in air as Randy dug again. “Can you believe that? My fat ass?”
“Focus,” Randy said. “Almost got it.”
Kait shifted her weight. “How many were they?”
“Three. Four. That I saw.”
“That you saw,” Don repeated.
Randy finally pulled back, bullet slick with blood between his fingers. “Got it.”
Mack sagged, breath breaking loose. “Son of a bitch.”
“Wrap him,” Don said. Then, without raising his voice: “We’re moving.”
Lane stepped in from the doorway like he’d been there the whole time.
“Diablo and I’ll check the area,” he said.
“We’ll need more than two,” Don said.
“I’m going,” Kait said.
Don’s eyes flicked to her. Then to Kolton.
“I’m in,” Kolton said.
Don nodded once. “Alright.”
“They headed back toward the junkyard. Dark van. Could be hiding there,” Mack said.
“Copy,” Don said. Then to the room: “you four, gear up. Quiet.”
Lane headed for the storage room, already talking to Kolton as he moved.
“No offense, Prince,” he said to Kolton, voice low, “but maybe we should take someone else. They didn’t grab Mack ‘cause they couldn’t. But her?” A pause. “What is she, like a hundred lbs. soaking wet?”
Kait stepped into the storage room just in time to hear it.
“I wish. But I’m too tall. One-twenty-six, though,” she said calmly. “Dry.”
Both of them turned.
She crossed the room without slowing, reached for her vest like the conversation hadn’t just happened. Plates. Straps. Muscle memory.
Lane stared at her for half a second. “Just saying,” he muttered.
Kolton appeared behind her. “Your kutte, babe”
“Too small to go over the vest,” Kait said. She grabbed her gun, pushed up the mag. Click.
Lane snorted.
“All right, what’s the plan?” Kolton asked once they hit the lot.
Lane swung a leg over his bike. “We trace Mack’s route. Same direction. We head straight to the junkyard.”
The wind kicked up as they went downstairs. Kait tilted her head, smelling rain.
They rolled through wet streets and closed businesses, engines murmuring under yellow streetlights as the junkyard’s silhouette rose ahead.
Lane lifted a hand as soon as he spotted headlights turning off in the junkyard.
They killed the engines a block out.
Rain had started to spit, random fat drops tapping rusted metal and dirt like warning knocks. The junkyard loomed beyond the fence—bent chain link, half-hanging signs, rows of dead cars stacked like mattresses.
“Four of us, four directions,” Lane said quietly. “We cover ground fast. No hero shit.”
Kait didn’t answer. She was already moving, eyes scanning the fence line, the shadows between stacked frames.
“I’ll take north,” Lane added. “Diablo, east. Kolton, south.”
He didn’t add anything else to that.
Kait smirked. “Sure, I’ll take west.”
The junkyard swallowed sound. Rain picked up, drumming on hoods and roofs, masking footsteps. Kait landed light, rolled, came up low. She moved deeper, counting rows, tracking gaps, listening.
Dogs barked somewhere far off. Thunder muttered overhead.
No van.
She edged north, breath steady, pulse loud in her ears. A shape shifted ahead—too smooth, too deliberate.
Footsteps.
She slowed, crouched, eyes adjusting.
Lane stepped into view between two stacked sedans, gun low, scanning the wrong direction.
Behind him—
Movement. A figure peeled out from the shadows, arm coming up, metal catching lightning.
“Kount!” Kait shouted.
He turned, saw a guy run away—
Three shots cracked at once.
The impact hit her like a truck.
Not pain. Pressure. A brutal, concussive thump that drove the air straight out of her lungs. She dropped to her knees hard, hands clawing at the mud as her chest locked up.
Lane saw her go down.
Saw the shooter bolt.
He didn’t think.
Lane pivoted, fired once—clean, sharp. The runner collapsed mid-stride, face-first into the wet dirt, skull snapping back.
Silence slammed down just as hard as the shots had.
“Lokken!”
Lane was at her in seconds, skidding to his knees, hands on her, already checking.
“No—Hey—look at me,” he said, voice tight. “Did it go through? Did it punch through the vest?”
She tried to answer.
Nothing came out.
Her chest burned. Her vision tunneled. She shook her head, gasping, but she was still trying to sit up.
“I don’t know,” Kait rasped. “I can’t… breathe…”
“Hey.” Lane didn’t look away from her. “You’re okay.”
He shifted closer, one hand firm between her shoulder blades. “Vest stopped it. You got the wind knocked out. Don’t talk. Just breathe slow.”
Her fingers curled into his kutte like it was instinct, not choice.
“Kait!”
Kolton skidded in and dropped to his knees, eyes already scanning her. “Jesus—”
“I’m… fine,” she managed, voice thin.
Diablo arrived a step behind him, gun still up, eyes flicking from the dark to the ground—and then to Lane, kneeling in the rain with Kait half in his arms.
He smirked.
“Van’s further in,” Diablo said. “We dropped two. Could be more.”
“I got her,” Lane said, not looking up. “She’s fine. Go find the rest.”
Kolton hesitated, then nodded. He and Diablo peeled off, disappearing into the rows.
Lane stayed.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “Slow breath. Slow.”
She tried. Failed. Tried again.
He matched her breathing without thinking, slow and steady, until she finally dragged in a full breath—and winced.
“Fuck,” she coughed.
“There you go,” Lane said. Relief leaked into his voice before he could stop it. “That’s it.”
“Why are you even helping me?” she said, letting go of his hand like she hadn’t meant to take it in the first place.
“Shut up, Lokken.”
There was something in his eyes when she looked up at him.
Was he worried?
“He almost got you,” she said.
He huffed once. “You fucking wish.”
Kait laughed—and immediately paid for it, coughing hard.
“Easy,” he said, helping her sit up. “Slow.”
She leaned forward, hands braced on her knees. He knew he should let go. Didn’t.
“You think you can stand?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I’ve had worse.”
He helped her up anyway.
“Goddamn,” she said. “That sucked.”
“Yeah,” he said. “That’ll light your lungs up for a bit. Better?”
She nodded, a little surprised by how gentle he was being.
They looked at each other for a second then shots cracked in the distance.
“Stay here,” Lane said, already turning.
She didn’t.
“I told you to stay back,” he snapped when he heard her boots behind him. “You’re gonna collapse.”
“I can’t just stay and do nothing,” she said, breath still rough.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Two figures broke from between the rows—one sprinting east, one west.
“I’ve got him,” Kait said, already moving.
Lane took the opposite direction.
She ran hard, ignoring the burn until it hit full force—lungs screaming, vision narrowing. The sicario vaulted the fence. She barely made it over, landing hard on the other side.
A shot cracked behind her.
She couldn’t get up.
Air tore in and out of her chest, useless and shallow. She heard boots hit the fence, curses in the rain, watched the runner disappear down the street.
“Goddamn it!” Lane slammed a boot into the chain link.
“We can still catch him if we get to the bikes,” Diablo said, jogging up as Kolton dropped beside Kait.
“They’re on the other fucking side,” Lane said, fury sharp and immediate. “We lost him.”
He looked at Kait.
She met his eyes, still fighting for breath. “I’m… sorry.”
“You could’ve shot him in the leg at least,” he snapped.
Kolton straightened. “Hey, come on, man—”
“No,” Kait said, pushing herself up. “That’s on me.”
Lane threw his hands up, backing off. “I told her to stay put.”
Kolton exhaled hard, then turned to her. “Come on. Let’s get you back.”
“I can walk,” she said, brushing his hand away anyway.
They rode back in silence.
The Nest was half-partying and half-dead by the time they rolled in—bikes and people scattered, some dancing, some passing out. Cricket and Buster were nowhere to be found.
“Need to brief Don,” Lane said, already dismounting.
“I should do it,” Kait said. “It was my fuck up.”
“Babe, you’re hurt,” Kolton said. “You can talk to him later.”
She didn’t argue. She went straight to their room.
She shrugged out of her kutte. Kolton reached for the vest.
“I got it,” she said.
“Let me help you.”
“I said I got it.”
She dropped the wet vest to the floor and left a trail of clothes as she took them off.
Kolton stared at the bruising already blooming across her back. “That’s gonna hurt like hell.”
“Kolton—just…”
“Don’t let him get to you” he asked gently.
“What?”
“Lane.”
She sighed, brushing her hair hard. “He was right. I shouldn’t have chased him.”
“You thought you could,” Kolton said. “No one’s blaming you.”
She stripped the rest of the way down. “He was blaming me! And he was right.” She said and turned toward the bathroom. “I’m taking a shower.”
“Can I—”
“No. Not now.”
front office
“He could be on his way back to the border for all I know,” Lane burst out, half a step behind Don as they headed into the office. “She’s always so fucking reckless. She just doesn’t think. Doesn’t listen. Every damn time, Don—”
Don turned, fixing Lane with a look that could freeze fire. “Son. Enough.”
Lane opened his mouth, then shut it again. He’d seen that look before.
“Shit happens,” Don said calmly but firmly. “We’ll fix it. We’ll find that guy another way. You think chewing her out right now is gonna help?”
Lane exhaled, some of the fight draining out of him. “But this is the kind of shit I’m talking about. Any of us could’ve taken 3 shots—”
“Not in the fucking head. We’re lucky she’s not dead. Just fucking drop it. Okay?”
Lane nodded once, jaw tight. “Yeah. Okay.”
Don clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re way too hard on her, son. Enough’s enough. Get off her back already.”
“I’m only stating the obvious at this point, King.”
“Leave her alone,” Don insisted. “Now let’s get back out there and do what we do.”
Lane scoffed. “Nah, I’m good.”
“No, you’re not,” Don said evenly. “Go party with your newly patched brothers and take the edge off.”
Lane opened his mouth—
“Tomorrow, I want everyone laying low” Don continued, “that yard’s gonna be crawling with cops, deputies, whoever’s on duty and bored. You dropped three, you said?”
“Yeah,” said Lane and exhaled.
Don exhaled loudly.
“I’ll handle the rest, just no noise for a few days” Don said. “You heard?”
Lane exhaled hard. Nodded once. “Yes, sir.”
“Good,” Don said. “Go.”
Lane stood there a second too long, then nodded and left before Don could glance up again.
The party was still technically happening.
Sponge’s Plowed on the speakers, not loud enough to cover the gaps. A few bottles on the table. Someone laughing too late at something that had already passed. People drifting instead of gathering. The kind of energy that meant the night had broken and no one wanted to say it out loud.
Lane moved through it without stopping.
He took a beer but he still hadn’t opened it. Leaned against the rail. Let the noise brush past him without landing. Every few seconds, his eyes kept breaking their promise of not looking for her.
No sign of her.
That should’ve been a relief.
It wasn’t.
His body kept replaying the same two seconds on a loop—her hitting the ground in the rain, hard enough to knock the air out of her. The way her fingers had curled into his kutte without asking. Not grabbing. Not pleading. Just instinct. She held on to him. Same look she had in Laredo when he pulled her up the slope.
You’re in love with her.
Diablo’s voice again.
No fucking way.
Lane finally opened the bottle and tipped it back, took a mouthful he barely tasted, then set it down on the rail unfinished. The alcohol did nothing but sit heavy and useless in his gut.
People passed him. Said hi to him. Someone clapped him on the shoulder and said something he didn’t catch. He nodded without hearing it.
He was tired of all of them. Tired of noise. Tired of how simple they all were.
“Hey.”
Melanie.
She stood close enough that he could smell her floral and citrus lotion.
The overpriced kind from one of those dumb angels in lingerie secret stores at the big city mall.
She wasn’t trying to be subtle or shy. Sometimes he thought she was trying too hard to be different but she was just like the rest. And trying so hard not to.
“You okay? You look worried,” she said.
“I’m fine.”
She studied his face, then glanced toward the clubhouse. “You don’t look like it.”
He didn’t answer.
She shifted her weight, softer now. “Wanna go to your room?”
The offer wasn’t explicit. It didn’t need to be. It carried the same shape it always did—distraction, release, something easy and meaningless.
He looked at her and the thought suddenly made his stomach turn.
“No,” he said.
Her expression flickered. Not offended. Used to it. “Whatever’s wrong, I can make it better.”
That was worse.
Lane brushed off the hand she had just rested on his chest. “No, you can’t.”
She went quiet. Just registering the boundary.
“Where are you going?”
He didn’t answer that either. He just stepped away, moving toward the clubhouse before she could fill the silence with something else.
The clubhouse felt wrong—too still, like the walls were listening. Doors half shut. Blaze, Kode and the Alley girls were being way too loud for no reason. There were boots and puke on the counter. Hangarounds already sleeping on the couches. The party had thinned into fragments: a low laugh behind one door, someone puking in the bathroom, glass breaking in the courtyard and people calling out the party foul.
Lane didn’t slow down.
He pushed the double doors open. People were trying to call him over but he ignored everyone. His feet carried him where they always did when he needed something to make sense.
The chapel.
He closed the door behind him and stood there for a moment, letting the quiet settle. The heat lamp hummed softly. The Judge lay coiled in its enclosure, motionless but awake, eyes tracking him without blinking.
This was the routine.
Feed the Judge. Clean the tank. Reset.
Lane crossed the room and reached for the cabinet.
His hand stopped.
He stared at the feeding tools for a long second, then shut the cabinet again.
Instead, he reached for the bottle.
He poured a glass heavier than he meant to, the whiskey catching the low light as it sloshed against the sides. His hand shook just enough that he noticed.
Lane sat down on his spot, elbows on his knees, the glass hanging loose in his hand.
He didn’t drink.
He watched the enclosure. The reflection of the heat lamp in the glass. His own shape warped faintly in the surface.
You fell hard.
Diablo’s voice again. Flat. Certain.
Lane clenched his jaw.
The door opened.
Then he felt it—the shift in the room, subtle but unmistakable.
Lane lifted his head.
Kait stood just inside the chapel.
Lane really looked at her this time.
Her hair was still damp from the shower, hanging loose.
She was fully dressed. Kutte on. Boots laced. No softness in her stance, no hesitation in the way she stood.
Threatening,
Her pose promised a confrontation.
Lane didn’t move. He was in Kolton’s chair, the Judge coiled behind glass at his shoulder. The whiskey sat in his hand, untouched.
Kait met his tired eyes.
“Of course you’re here,” she said, already turning.
“Yeah,” Lane said, lifting the glass and finally taking a drink, “and the Judge has been fed. Good thing I beat you to it.”
She crossed her arms and lifted an eyebrow. “Why is that?”
“God forbid he… chokes like you did earlier.”
She scoffed.
The chapel was dim and warm, heat lamps buzzing softly over the Judge’s tank. The Judge shifted inside the glass, restless, coils tightening and loosening like it could feel the tension in the room.
Kait took a breath. Slow. Controlled.
“I’m sorry I fucked up,” she said. “Okay?”
Lane laughed softly. Not amused. Tired.
“Yeah. Because ‘sorry’ always fixes everything. There’s your answer, by the way. To everything you were saying earlier.”
She rolled her eyes.
“He got away,” he said, voice sharp now. “Because you didn’t listen.”
“I made the wrong call,” she said evenly. “I’ll own that.”
“Oh, you’ll own it?” He stood, chair scraping back. “Like everything else around here, right?”
She stiffened. “What—”
“You come in already patched,” he went on, heat rising fast. “No real prospecting. Not paying your dues. Just show up with a last name and some stories.”
“I did prospect,” she said. “And I sure as shit paid my dues.”
“Yeah?” His eyes cut into her. “By fucking Kolton the first night you’re here?” he said flatly. “That how you secured your spot in this club?”
Her jaw clenched.
“I don’t need anyone to secure shit. I am a full patch. I put in blood, sweat, time, and money. I fuckin’ earned this,” she said putting up her left fist to show her ink.
Lane scoffed. “Bullshit.”
She stepped closer.
“But I’ll give you this… you’re smart. Using Kolton was a good move. It sure got you in deep, didn’t it?”
The words landed heavy.
“You’re a fucking asshole,” she shot back. “You sit there pretending to be the perfect Krait. You hide behind rules and discipline because you don’t know how to be anything else—”
“Oh, you’re psychoanalyzing me now? Oh, let me guess, you’re a shrink too.”
“You think you’re the only one who can read people?”
Somehow they ended up face to face.
“You don’t know shit about me,” he said towering over her.
“I know you’re full of shit, and that behind that hard shell,” she said poking at his chest one time. “You’re nothing but an insecure little boy with mommy issues.”
Lane showed his teeth.
“And you? You’re no fucking Krait, you’re nothing but a glorified snakehole with a patch.”
Something in her went still.
Then she tried to swing but Lane caught her wrist.
Hard.
She reacted instantly, twisting, trying to break free. He turned with her, locking her arm and driving her sideways until her shoulder hit the tank.
The whiskey glass fell and shattered across the floor.
Inside the tank, the Judge exploded into motion, coils slamming, body striking the glass again and again.
“There is more venom in my blood than you could ever handle, motherfucker,” she said.
She wrenched free and stepped forward.
Lane laughed, sharp and disbelieving. “Again with that story?”
“It’s not a story.”
“It’s not? Then fucking prove it.”
He gestured at the tank and let her go.
“Right now,” he said.
Adrenaline making Kait tremble.
She glanced at the tank.
“Prove it. Take the fucking bite.”
He didn’t think she would.
Kait didn’t hesitate.
“Oh, you want to see it?”
“You don’t have the guts.”
“Fuck you,” she said and shoved her arm into the tank.
The Judge struck immediately.
Fangs sank in.
She gasped.
At first she wasn’t sure but then she saw the two small puncture wounds on the outer part of her wrist. The snake recoiled, thrashing violently, the tank rattling under the force.
Kait staggered back a step. Not far. Just enough to register the pain that was starting to intensify.
Her jaw locked as it hit her— a deep, burning pressure that radiated up her arm like liquid fire. She sucked in a breath through her teeth, refusing to make a sound, eyes fixed on Lane like daring him to look away.
Lane didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
“What the fuck did you just do,” he said.
He took a step toward her.
Instinct. Reflex. The wrong move. He closed the tank lid shut. Fast.
Kait jerked back, clutching her wrist tight against her chest. Her breathing had gone ragged now—short, sharp pulls that didn’t quite fill her lungs.
He turned to her. Hands out not knowing what to do.
“Don’t touch me,” she said.
The words weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be. They landed hard, edged with pain and control fighting for the same space.
Her hand was already swelling, skin tight and angry around the bite. She pressed her palm over it like she could contain what was spreading under the surface.
Lane lifted his hands slowly, palms out, like he was dealing with something volatile.
Lane clocked it all in one glance.
“Okay,” he said fast. “Okay.”
He backed off half a step, eyes never leaving her, then pivoted toward the cabinet by the wall. The lock clicked open under his fingers without hesitation.
Training took over.
Vial. Syringe.
“Venom load’s lower,” he said, more to himself than to her. “But it’s still potent. You’re gonna start feeling it pretty soon and it’s gonna suck.”
Kait swallowed. Her jaw worked like it was moving through water. “I. Fucking. Know.”
She remembered it all too well.
Her tongue felt thick. Heavy. Her fingers didn’t quite answer when she flexed them, and that made her frown despite herself. The burn in her arm had changed—less sharp, more invasive, like something spreading instead of striking.
She’d been bitten before.
But this wasn’t that.
She leaned her shoulder lightly against the table to steady herself.
Didn’t sit.
Didn’t fall.
Lane glanced up, caught the delayed nod when she tried to respond.
“Stay right there,” he said quietly.
He stepped back toward her with the syringe ready, stopping just short of touching her. Waiting.
Giving her the call without saying it.
Kait lifted her eyes to him. No fire now. No challenge.
Just awareness.
“Do it,” she said, the words slightly off-time with her mouth.
That scared both of them.
He’d already moved closer, driving the needle into her thigh without asking.
Kait barely reacted at first. Just a sharp inhale through her nose, shoulders tightening as the antivenom burned cold under her skin. “Fuck,’ she said through her teeth
Lane withdrew the needle and stepped back half a pace, eyes never leaving her face.
“Just,” he said. “Just—stay with me.”
She nodded.
Or tried to.
Her knees softened instead.
It wasn’t dramatic. No collapse. Just a subtle misfire—weight shifting where it shouldn’t, balance lagging a beat behind intention.
Lane caught her automatically.
One arm came around her back, the other bracing her before she hit the table. She was lighter than he expected. Or maybe weaker.
Her breath stuttered. Once. Twice.
She clenched her jaw like she could will herself upright, but her legs weren’t listening anymore. They gave completely this time, and Lane adjusted, pulling her closer to keep her on her feet.
Kait’s head dipped, then lifted again.
She looked up at him.
Really looked.
“Am I Krait enough to you now?” she said.
The words were quiet. Worn down. Still unyielding.
Then she closed her eyes and a tear slipped free tracing down the side of her face, catching the light before she even seemed to register it.
Lane went still.
Everything else—the tank, the venom, the fight, the damage—fell away.
The words came out rough. Bare. Stripped of pride and defense.
“I’m sorry.”
