What if he’d left his phone charging on his nightstand? What if he’d ignored the alert, figuring it was nothing important? What if he was in the shower, water pounding over his broad shoulders, while she was being frog-marched by a psychopath? What if?—
And then she heard it.
A sound like rolling thunder. It filled the ears and reverberated in the chest. A motorcycle engine, throttled high and coming fast.
Relief burst through her so hard she had to fight to keep her knees from buckling.
He’s coming! Hew’s coming!
Of course, terror immediately piggybacked on the heels of her brief reprieve.
Dragging Hew into this meant putting him squarely in the center of Black Widow’s sights. She’d never forgive herself if anything happened to him.
Why hadn’t she let Martin drop her at the gate? She should’ve ignored her need for fresh air, her need for space outside the shop, and done the smart thing. The safe thing.
If she kept bringing danger to BKI’s door, the Black Knights might very well decide the revenue she brought in through her social media accounts wasn’t worth the trouble she made and?—
Her racing thoughts ground to a halt when she realized what she’d thought was one motorcycle was actually two. Two huge, custom-made miracles with souped-up engines and hand-tooled exhaust systems.
They were close.
And then they were there.
Hew was the first to blaze around the corner, his big body bent low over Freedom’s handlebars. Man and machine were one. Wild. Raw. Yet somehow tightly controlled.
And right behind him came Boss. His pearly white motorcycle roared like the beast it was. The bike was every bit as massive and intimidating as the man who straddled it.
Sabrina nearly laughed.
Black Widow was insane to think she could square off against guys like these. Guys who’d been forged in blood and battle. Scarred warriors who dealt with danger and death as easily as other men dealt with breakfast.
A feral grin pulled at her lips. It was petty, maybe even a bit childish, but she couldn’t stop herself from saying, “You’re in for it now.”
Black Widow didn’t bother answering. Instead, she cursed and shoved Sabrina in front of her, forcing Sabrina’s cuffed wrist behind her back at a painful angle. The gun barrel moved from her ribs to her spine, and the assassin pressed hard enough that Sabrina thought she was trying to bore a hole clean through the vertebrae.
“How the hell did they find us?” Black Widow hissed. “You got a panic button hidden on you somewhere?”
“Something like that,” Sabrina admitted evasively, congratulating herself on her quick thinking. She hadn’t been able to go full rabid raccoon on Black Widow. But she had been able to call in the big guns.
Literally.
Boss had a piece strapped to his ribs while Hew’s weapon was cinched to his thigh. Neither man had bothered to conceal their carries.
A calculated decision, no doubt.
When Hew hit the brakes, Freedom skidded sideways, tires screaming. Rubber burning. Smoke curling.
The maneuver should’ve dumped him onto the asphalt. It would have dumped most men. But with a big, booted foot braced hard against the pavement, he muscled the bike under control and came to a rocking stop.
By contrast, Boss was all precision and calm. The huge, white motorcycle rolled to a dignified halt a split second before his biker boots landed on the roadway.
The smell of melted rubber and hot cement hit Sabrina’s nose before Hew’s wonderful voice hit her ears. “Sabrina!”
The three syllables were ragged, filled with equal parts urgency and fury. And maybe a pinch of fear?
“I’m okay!” she shouted, throwing her free hand in the air as proof, her purse dangling by the strap from her fingers.
The thunder of the bikes’ idling engines ricocheted off the buildings and rolled down the street. Black Widow had to lift her voice to be heard above the racket. “I don’t want to hurt her! I just want to talk!”
