Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35499 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35499 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
"Can you hold on?" I ask her.
She nods, eyes clearer now, like the fresh air is burning away some of the fog. I mount my own horse, muscles screaming in protest.
Colt appears, his horse jogging excitedly. "We need to move. Now."
We start down the mountain, away from the cabin where Marcus lies bleeding but alive. Away from the nightmare. Toward my trailer, toward something like safety.
But the demon in me isn't satisfied.
It wants to go back.
Wants to finish what I started.
And part of me knows I have woken something up that I can't put back to sleep.
We ride through darkness, three shadows cuttin’ across Ashby land. The horses' hooves beat a rhythm like war drums against packed earth. Savannah slumps forward on Cassia, leaning onto her neck. Her fingers white-knuckled in the mare's mane. Her breathing comes shallow. Too shallow.
Cassia steps carefully. Like she knows.
The trailer appears over the ridge, no lights on.
I dismount first, legs nearly buckling. My ribs scream, but I ignore them, reaching up for Savannah. She falls into my arms like something broken, all the fight gone from her limbs. Her skin feels cold despite the summer night.
Colt stays mounted, gathering the reins of my horse. He promises to handle his brothers, says something about buying us time. I barely hear him. The world has narrowed to the weight of her against my chest and the way her breath hitches when I shift her.
He tells Savannah to stay with me for now, that he'll make this right.
Empty words from an Ashby. But he takes the horses, snapping lead ropes to their bridles and securing them to his saddle, and then he's gone—hoofbeats fadin’ into the desert like distant thunder.
I put Savannah down and help her inside, she stumbles through as I kick the door shut behind us. My hand finds the shotgun I keep mounted by the entrance, I check it's loaded, then slide the deadbolt home.
The demon in me still burns for blood. For Marcus's throat beneath my hands. For Cash's skull cracking against stone. For every man who touched her, drugged her, thought they owned her. The rage sits in my chest like something living, something starved.
Savannah leans against the kitchen counter, swayin’ on her feet. The movement draws my eyes to her—really see her. Her wrists raw meat where the zip ties bit. Bruises blooming on her arms like dark flowers. Her lip split. Her eyes vacant from whatever they pumped into her veins.
Something cracks inside me. Not the demon breaking free, but something worse. Something that feels like drowning.
She looks up, her gaze finding mine through the haze. She tries to say something, but the words won't come.
I set the shotgun down as Savannah places her hands on the counter. Her eyes catch on something I missed—a piece of paper. She lifts it with trembling fingers, holds it up like evidence.
I walk over and take it. The handwriting hits before the words do. Diesel's chicken scratch, all hard angles and impatience.
WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?
"Mercy," I breathe. I lunge for the landline mounted on the kitchen wall, my fingers trembling as I punch in the clubhouse number. Three rings. Four. Each one stretching time like torture.
"Yeah." Diesel's voice, gravel and cigarettes.
"It's me," I say, voice steadier than my insides. "Where's—"
"Is that Legion?" A small, sleepy voice cuts through the background.
The tension drains from my shoulders so fast I nearly drop the phone. "Let me talk to her."
"Nah." Diesel's voice hardens. "You got some explainin’ to do first, brother. You've been missing for three fucking days. Where the fuck are you? Brick's been patient, we all have. Took the kid in. But this shit ends now. We got people here, product moving. Ya understand?"
"I get it," I say, lowering my voice. "Shit went down here. I'll explain—"
"What shit?" Diesel growls.
I look at Savannah, bruised and drugged against my counter. At the shotgun I set down. At the blood still drying under my fingernails.
"They kidnapped us, Diesel. We just got free."
"What? Who?" He's bellowing. "Who the fuck kidnapped you?"
"I'll be there," I say, each word measured. "Soon as I can. And I'll tell ya everythin’. It's too much for the phone and I need to take care of Savannah. She's been drugged for three days."
Then I hang up, not waiting for his answer, not interested in his approval.
This goes way beyond club business.
This is personal.
I guide Savannah to the bathroom, one arm around her waist like she's made of smoke that might scatter in a breeze. The drugs are still inside her, makin’ her movements slow and dreamlike. She doesn't flinch when I flip the light on, doesn't blink at the sudden brightness. That scares me more than the bruises.
I turn the shower knob all the way left, hot as it'll go. Steam rises, filling the small space between us.