We rode tight, no wasted space, no daylight between the wheels. Every minute counted. Every second was another that Maddie was out there, alone.
The cold air sharpened my senses. Every mile marker was a drumbeat, every sign another reminder of the last time we’d done this and how close it had come to being a funeral ride instead of a rescue.
This time, I wasn’t going to let anyone die.
This time, my wolf wasn’t going to be in the fight.
This time, the man was enough.
Forty miles outside Dairyville, the plains stretched dead and bare, the only sound the wind howling through my helmet and the drone of Bronc’s engine just ahead. We cut the line close, staggered formation, the way wolves run in a blizzard—tight, fast, ready to pivot at a single yelp.
My comm crackled. Then her voice: “Wrecker? Wrecker, can you hear me?”
Parker. Her voice was wrong—higher than normal, every syllable flayed open. I nearly wiped out, turning up the volume.
“Parker, talk.”
She was already on a roll: “It’s a fucking setup, do you hear me? They’re not keeping Maddie; they’re returning her—they want to bring her back to Iron Valor. They’re going to blow the fucking clubhouse, Eli. They’re going to blow it up.”
The highway blurred. I fought to keep my bike straight, snapped my head to Bronc and gestured: emergency, pull over.
Bronc peeled off, dirt spraying in a rooster tail as we skidded onto the shoulder.
I killed the engine, voice shaking. “Say again, Parker. They’re bringing Maddie back where?”
“To the fucking gate,” she screamed. “They want to leave her at the gate. But it’s not about Maddie; it’s about the explosion. ‘Big boom.’ They said, ‘Big boom.’ It’s a trap.”
Bronc was off his bike, helmet in one hand, phone in the other. “She’s saying it’s a bomb,” I yelled to him, voice ragged.
His eyes went flat, glacier blue. “Where’s Maddie?”
“Unknown. Parker says she’s being dropped at the gate, but I don’t trust it. We have to go back now. We have to beat them.”
Bronc was already dialing Pearl’s number, face gone gray.
My hands shook as I fumbled with the phone, trying to patch Parker through the helmet mic. “Parker, listen. Do not, I repeat, do not go into the clubhouse. If you’re on the property, get out. Do you hear me?”
Her breath was static in my ear. “I have to check, Eli. If Maddie’s inside—if they fucking locked her in—she’ll die. I have to check.”
“NO,” I said, my voice foreign, thin as paper. “It’s too dangerous.”
“I have to. If she’s down there and I didn’t at least try, and something happened to her, I’d never be able to live with myself. Look, I know I’m not some hero, but I’m the only one who’s here. If it were me, I’d hope someone cared enough to try to save me.” She said—and I hated her for it, loved her for it, both at once.
Bronc barked into the phone. “Juliet, listen. Stay at the civic center. Do not leave. Do not go home for any reason. Be sure Little Wolf. Nobody leaves the Civic Center. Everybody must stay at the Civic Center. Tell me you hear me. Good. I love you.” He hung up and kicked the dirt. “Wehave to go.”
We mounted up and spun around, bikes shrieking against the asphalt. The return trip was worse than the first. Every pothole, every turn, every shadow on the road was a timer ticking down.
The phone was still live. I could hear Parker running, breath sawing, her voice echoing off the empty halls. “Eli, I’m in. A few lights are on. I don’t see anyone. MADDIE! ARE YOU HERE? Let me check this one hall.”
“No, Parker. Get the fuck out.”
“I promise I will.”
I gripped the throttle until the tendons in my wrist sang. “Parker, please. Don’t do this.”
She laughed, a brittle, beautiful sound. “Just let me check real fast.”
I could hear doors opening and closing.
