Every second she's with a man who wants to own her.
Every second she's locked in a cage, probably wondering if I'm coming.
If I'll find her.
If I'll save her.
I'm coming, darlin',I think, willing her to hear me somehow.Hold on. Just hold on. I'm coming for you.
We pull up a mile from the ranch, parking in a cluster of rocks and scrub brush that hides the vehicles from the road.
The desert is dark, the moon just a sliver, stars bright overhead.
Silent except for the wind and the distant sound of our engines cutting off one by one.
Ghost is waiting with ten Mojave Wolves MC brothers from his Barstow chapter.
All armed. All ready. All wearing their cuts with the California bottom rocker.
An army united for one purpose.
Ghost is maybe forty, weathered, with a scar running down his left cheek and eyes that have seen some shit.
He nods to Damon first, respecting him, then to Phantom, acknowledging the visiting club leader.
Then he looks at me.
"You're Shadow," he says. It's not a question. "Shiver's told me about you. Said you're the best enforcer he's ever seen."
"Where is she?" I don't have time for pleasantries or introductions.
Ghost doesn't take offense. Just pulls out his phone, shows me photos he took from a distance.
The ranch spread out in the darkness.
Run-down buildings, half-collapsed structures, rust and decay everywhere.
But one building in back—a barn—with light spilling through cracks in the weathered wood.
"That's where they are," Ghost says, zooming in on the barn. "Counted eight bikes outside. All Copperhead Kings. Saw movement inside through the cracks, shadows passing in front of the light, but couldn't get close enough to confirm who or what."
"That's where she is," I say with absolute certainty.
Ghost nods. "That's my guess too. Everything else is dark, abandoned. That barn is the only structure with activity."
Damon spreads a map on the hood of Ghost's truck, using a flashlight to illuminate it. "All right, here's the play. We split intothree groups. Group one—me, Dixon, ten Reapers—we cover the front approach, come in from the main road. Group two—Phantom, Thunder, Shotgun Saints brothers—you cover the east side, cut off any escape route toward the highway. Group three—Shadow, Banshee, Shiver, Ghost, and five more—you go in from the back. That barn is your primary target."
"I'm going in first," I say, and there's no room for argument in my voice.
"Shadow—" Damon starts.
"I'm going in first," I repeat, meeting his eyes. "She's my wife. I get her out. That's not negotiable."
Damon looks at Phantom, some kind of silent communication passing between the two Prezs.
Phantom looks at me for a long moment, then nods. "Shadow goes in first. Gets Grace out. Once she's safe, confirmed safe and away from immediate danger, then we eliminate the threat. No one makes a move until Grace is secure."
No one argues.
