My heart rate spikes. This wasn't in the plan.
"Stay hidden," I order, pulling back from the doors. "I'll find another way out."
But before I can move, the cargo doors swing open. Two men in dark clothing stand there, guns drawn and pointed directly at me.
"Madison Brooks," one of them says, his voice coldly amused. "Right on schedule."
Fuck. I've been set up.
"Slight problem with your exit strategy," the man continues, gesturing with his gun. "Hands where we can see them."
I raise my hands slowly, mind racing through options. The second man climbs into the truck, moving toward me with zip ties ready.
"Who sent you?" I ask, playing for time. "Whoever they're paying you, I can double it."
"Not about money this time," the first man says. "It's about sending a message."
The second man grabs my wrist roughly. I could take him. I've been in worse situations, but the gun pointed at my face complicates things.
"Dice," I whisper, barely moving my lips. "I need a distraction. Now."
No response.
Great. He's abandoned me. Should have expected that.
The men zip-tie my hands and drag me from the truck. Outside, a white van has appeared, its side door open. The third man waits there, speaking into a phone.
"Package secured," he says. "En route in five."
As they march me toward the van, I take in all the details. Three men, semi-professional, armed with handguns. The driver is still nowhere in sight, probably part of the setup or neutralized. The van's plates are covered. This is a professional abduction.
I've been completely played.
"You won't get away with this," I say, more to keep them talking than anything else. "People will notice I'm missing."
The man on the phone laughs. "Who? Your prison pen pal? He doesn't get out until next week. And his little brother? He'll be too busy explaining to his MC why he was helping a known thief."
They know about James. About Dice. This is worse than I thought.
We reach the van, and two of them lift me, preparing to throw me inside like cargo. I tense, ready to fight despite the restraints. This might be my last chance.
That's when I hear it. The unmistakable roar of a motorcycle engine, coming fast. Very fast.
"What the—" one of the men turns, just as headlights blind us all.
The Dyna comes tearing into the gas station at breakneck speed, headed straight for us. At the last possible second, it swerves, sliding sideways in a controlled skid that sends gravel flying like shrapnel.
The men duck, their grips on me loosening just enough. I drop to the ground, rolling away from the van as Dice launches himself from the still-moving bike.
He hits the first man like a missile, both of them crashing to the pavement. The gun skitters away into the darkness. The second man turns his weapon toward Dice, but he's already moving, sweeping the man's legs in a fluid motion I wouldn't have expected from him.
The third man, the one who was on the phone, raises his gun toward me. He never gets to fire it. Dice's knife flashes in the dim light, burying itself in the man's shoulder. He screams, dropping the weapon.
"Get to the bike!" Dice shouts, already grappling with the first man who's gotten back to his feet.
I scramble toward the motorcycle, my bound hands making it awkward. Behind me, I hear the sickening crunch of fist meeting jaw, then a body hitting the ground.
I glance back to see Dice dismantling the second attacker with a series of brutal, efficient strikes. There's a coldness to his movements, a lethal precision that wasn't there yesterday. This isn't the impulsive prospect who makes jokes and cooks breakfast. This is someone else entirely.
