Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
“You good?” she breathes.
“No,” I whisper honestly. “But I’m ready.”
“Then let’s go.”
We race toward the back of the warehouse—limping, stumbling, bruised, but running.
Gunshots crack outside.
Men shout.
Metal crashes.
The entire world fractures into sound and fear.
We reach the ladder.
Tiffany gestures upward. “Go!”
I climb, heart hammering against my ribs, every rung slick with rust and sweat. Tiffany follows close. The ceiling hatch is barely locked—we shove it open and crawl out onto a narrow steel beam just under the roof.
From up here, through rusted vents, I can see shadows rushing outside.
I try to make them all out from the brief introductions I can remember. Country Boy. Raff. Grinder. Miles.
And Stud.
Tony moves like a storm, dark eyes murderous, jaw clenched so tight a vein in his neck bulges. His hands grip a gun. His voice roars names, orders, threats that shake the ground.
I choke on a sob.
Tiffany grips my arm. “He’ll get to us. We just need to go down the far side and hunker down.”
A gunshot explodes behind us.
We freeze.
Eric stands at the top of the ladder we just climbed, breathing hard, shirt stained with sweat and dust. The mad, furious smile on his face chills my bones.
“Running again, Holley?” he snarls. “You never learn.”
He steps onto the beam.
Tiffany steps in front of me.
“No,” she growls. “You don’t touch her again.”
Eric raises the gun.
My heart stops.
Time fractures and a deafening sound erupts below.
A bullet slams into the beam inches from Eric’s foot, sending sparks flying.
We all whip our heads toward the source.
Tony.
Gun raised.
Eyes locked.
Chest heaving.
Rage and terror written in every line of him.
“Step away from them,” he snarls, voice like gravel being dragged over steel.
Eric laughs. “Or what?”
Tony fires again.
This time the bullet grazes Eric’s thigh.
Eric screams, clutching his leg.
Tiffany lunges, slamming her shoulder into him before he can regain balance.
He stumbles.
Slips.
Falls— His scream echoes until the sickening thud finally silences it.
My stomach lurches.
Tiffany grips the beam with shaking hands, staring down.
Then she turns to me.
“Move,” she breathes. “Before someone else shows up.”
Tony reaches the ladder at the bottom, shouting up, “Holley! Tiff! Come down—now!”
I move without thinking—down the ladder, into Tony’s waiting arms.
He grabs me the second my feet touch the ground—pulling me into him so hard my bruises scream. His hands are everywhere—my shoulders, my arms, my face—checking, counting, confirming I’m alive.
“Holley,” he rasps, voice breaking. “Are you hurt? Did he touch you? Did they—?”
“I’m okay,” I choke. “I’m okay, Tony. I’m here.”
He presses his forehead to mine, breath shaking. “I thought I lost you.”
His arms tighten like he’s terrified I’ll disappear.
Tiffany climbs down next.
Smoke’s there before she even hits the ground, grabbing her face, checking for blood, cursing under his breath.
She rolls her eyes. “Smoke, I’m fine, stop—”
He pulls her into a crushing hug.
She melts into it, just for a second before pushing him away.
I look up at Tony.
His jaw is clenched tight, his eyes burning into mine like he can’t decide whether to hold me tighter or never let me near danger again.
“You saved us,” I whisper.
“No,” he says, voice low and rough. “You saved yourselves. I just got here in time for the exit.”
Then his expression shifts—darkens—at something behind me.
I turn.
Eric lies crumpled on the warehouse floor. Still. Unmoving.
But Tony doesn’t look at him like a threat.
He looks at me.
At my bruises.
At Tiffany’s cuts.
At the zip tie marks on our wrists.
Something ancient and violent ignites in him.
“You’re safe now,” he murmurs, thumb brushing my cheek. “But I’m not done yet.”
I swallow. “Tony—”
He pulls me closer, eyes never leaving me, voice shaking with intensity I’ve never heard from him.
“No one,” he growls, “ever touches what’s mine.”
The words steal the breath from my lungs.
Smoke stiffens. Tiffany goes wide-eyed.
Tony doesn’t correct himself.
Doesn’t soften.
Doesn’t take it back.
He just holds me tighter as the Hellions close in around us, forming a wall of leather and steel, and says:
“We’re going home.”
Twenty
Stud
The ride back to the compound is a blur of noise and nothing.
Engines roar all around us, Hellions forming a moving wall on either side of the SUV carrying Holley and Tiffany. I’m on my bike up front, but my head’s not on the road. It’s half turned back the entire time, like if I take my eyes away from that vehicle for more than a second, they’ll vanish again.
I keep replaying the image of them tied up.
The marks on their wrists.
The bruise on Holley’s jaw.
The smear of dried blood at the corner of Tiffany’s mouth.
Every time, my grip tightens on the handlebars.
I should’ve protected them.
I should’ve stopped this before it started.
I should’ve killed that bastard myself instead of gravity doing it for me.
By the time we pull through the gates, my jaw hurts from clenching. Grinder and Miles peel off to secure the perimeter. Country Boy parks near the clubhouse door, already barking orders at whoever’s closest to get the infirmary room ready.
We don’t have a real infirmary, just a back office turned into a makeshift med bay years ago because this life demands stitching and bandages more than paperwork.