“Judge!” Doc’s voice breaks through as he grabs me by the shoulders, shaking me hard, and pulling me back to the present day.
Reality slams down on me like a fist. The blast isn’t in my bed, it’s not one of my PTSD triggers, set off by a car backfiring or a news report on the TV, it’s real. The chaos surrounding us isn’t bubbling up from my subconscious. This time, I’m not imagining things, this isn’t a memory of the past. This is now. The clubhouse really has been bombed.
I take in Doc’s worried expression, there’s blood trickling from a cut on his forehead, his skin is stained gray from the soot and rubble, but he otherwise seems okay. I try to stand, pain shooting through my back. My limbs are sluggish. Adrenaline surges through me, drowning out the pain for now. I scan the room to see the devastation caused by the bomb. It was planted in the restroom, by the looks of it. The walls near it are scorched and caved in. Smoke is still curling up the rafters. Blood smears the floor where some of our men lie motionless. Others are groaning, crawling for cover, prepared for a further attack.
Sorrow and rage fill me with equal measure as I look at my fallen comrades. But I push down my concern for them and focus on the rage—I need it now. We can mourn our losses once we get our revenge. There’s no doubt in my mind that the Iron Vultures are behind this.
We don’t even get time to recover before armed men—six, maybe more—come storming in. The sound of their boots stomping in through the open space where the wall used to be heralds their arrival. They’re wearing tactical gear and carrying automatic weapons.
Immediately, I can tell that these guys are trained. They move with precision toward their target, stamping out anyresistance quickly and efficiently. Those who can duck and hide to avoid the targeted shots fired, a couple of our guys raise their weapons to fight back, but they’re still dazed from the unexpected blast. Our attackers easily subdue them. They don’t need to shoot much. They don’t spray bullets. They don’t shout. They’ve wounded us enough, and they’ve come here for one clear reason. They’re not here to kill us. They’re here to take us. They’ve come for Doc and me.
The men yank Doc and me down onto our knees, issuing swift blows to the backs of our legs to force us down. I try to fight, but I only get halfway to my feet before steel-toed boots kick me back down. The men roughly handcuff me, yanking my arms behind me, the cold steel clicking tightly in place around my wrists. I notice Doc receiving the same treatment. He manages to fight harder, headbutting one of the men and reopening the cut on his head before being slammed down to the ground and cuffed.
One of the men stands before me, a bull-faced man with a recently broken nose, and smiles. “I heard you’ve been looking for someone. We’re here to take you to him.”
He lifts the butt of his rifle and smashes it down on my head.
I don’t even have time to register the pain before I black out.
Then there’s only darkness.
Chapter 24
Lena
My jaw clenches, locking tight like a trap as I fight the surge of nausea as Zeke’s words hang in the air. The bogus promise, the hollow reassurance, it’s all a game to him. I know him well enough to see through the veneer. He’s lying, just like he always does. His promises are nothing but lies stitched together with delusion. Hollow reassurances about protection, about family, about building a future. It’s all part of his performance, but I know him too well. He’s not interested in safety or love, he wants control. He wants obedience. He wants to own me like a piece of property.
Inside, I’m calculating every move, every possibility. I need to get out of here, but I can’t do it alone. Not yet. I have Mia to think about, and I refuse to let Zeke use her as leverage. My muscles remain tense, ready to strike or run, whichever comes first.
Zeke’s fingers linger in my hair, as if trying to brand me with his touch, claiming me. I don’t flinch as his finger strokes my cheek, though I want to recoil and slap his hand away. I’m playing along for now and I keep my face passive, hiding my rage, my fear. This is what he wants from me, what he expects. That’s how I stay alive, how I protect Mia.
I’ve been fighting this battle for years, and I know what he’s capable of. His sense of control is dangerous, and I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing my fear. Not here. Not now. Not ever.
“You mentioned hunting down the Soaring Eagles,” I say softly, voice even, carefully choosing my words, avoiding any sign of distress. “How exactly do you plan to do that? You’ve never struck me as a man with much patience for law or justice.”
Zeke’s grin tightens, that predatory glint returning to his eyes. “They’re a thorn in my side. I’ve got men working on it. Once I have their Prez and the other three, I’ll dismantle the entire organization. It will be easy, don’t worry.”
I hate that he doesn’t even seem to know the guys’ names, that to him they’re not people.
I nod slowly, pretending to buy into his lie, while my heart pounds. Inside, I’m not calm. I’m calculating. Strategizing. Every heartbeat is a countdown. Every breath is a reminder that time is running out. I need to escape, but I won’t do it recklessly. I won’t leave Mia behind. I have to keep him talking, keep him moving, keep him distracted. It’s the only way I’ll have a shot at saving Mia, at gaining our freedom.
Zeke grins like I just complimented his ambition. His eyes sparkle with a cold, obsessive light that makes my skin crawl. “They’re already halfway broken. I’ve got inside info. Their leaders are gone or soon will be. Once I have all four of them, I’ll dismantle that club brick by brick. No one will stand in my way.”
He speaks like he’s already won. He doesn’t know that arrogance like his is always the prelude to a fall.
I nod, feigning interest. “Sounds… efficient.”
Keep him talking, I remind myself. Keep him distracted.
He releases me, stepping back, and I sag with relief. He moves to his desk, flipping open a manila folder. Inside are blueprints, maps, maybe surveillance photos—I can’t see clearly from this angle, but I catch enough to know he’s planningsomething big. Bigger than I’d imagined. This house isn’t just a hideout, it’s a headquarters.
“You’ll stay here for now. Rest, recover, and I’ll have someone bring you food and clothes. I want you to look your best,” Zeke says, like he’s giving me a gift.
His voice softens, as if he actually believes the garbage he’s spewing. “In a way, this house is a perfect metaphor for our future, a new beginning. It’ll be better than before, making it our family home where we raise our children. We can rebuild what’s been broken.” His eyes flick over me, lingering a second longer than necessary. “Together.”
I stare, my mind racing for a plan. The room’s thick with false warmth, but I see through it all. What Zeke’s doing isn’t about family. It’s about possession. Zeke’s version of family is a prison, and I need to escape before I’m trapped in this nightmare of a life he imagines for me. Every part of me wants to scream, to fight, to run—but I don’t. I can’t. Not yet.
I subtly shift my weight, gauging his mood. “Zeke,” I say softly, my voice edged with a sincerity I don’t feel, “You say you want to protect me. Protect Mia. But I’ve seen what you really do when no one’s watching. This isn’t protection. It’s control. We can be a family, but not with us trapped in this house, like a prison.”
