Breaker nods once. “There's a man I’m tracking with a friend of mine. He’s wanted for murder and a bunch of other crimes, mostly against women. He's in Ironwood Falls right now.”
“You’re tracking him? Hunting him?” My heart slams at the thought of Breaker finding himself in the same room as the monster that’s chasing me. I believe in Breaker. I know about his past in the military and how capable he can be, but the man I’m running from… He kills like he lives for it. “Breaker, he’s dangerous. He’s killed people.”
He steps even closer, his forehead nearly touching mine, voice low and deadly calm.
“I’m tracking him, and when I find him, I’m going to make damn sure he never threatens you again.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Breaker
I stay glued to Sparrow the entire ride back — her car in my mirror, my motorcycle in front, every sense sharp like one of Rabid knives. She drives steady, but I can feel her fear even from here. It hits the air like static, rings in my ears even above the roar of the bike between my legs and the wind of the road rushing against my ears.
I don’t let her out of my sight.
Not for a second.
When we pull into the clubhouse lot, the guys milling around outside straighten instantly, and a commotion goes up, drawing others out of The Noble Fir. They look at Sparrow, then at me, and they know. Something’s wrong. Something’s threatening her. And now it’s club business.
I get off my bike and immediately walk to her car. She opens the door slowly, eyes still wide, shoulders tight, fragile. Hell, she looks like she’s made of whisper-thin glass.
“Come here, Sparrow,” I murmur. “I’ve got you.”
She steps into my space, into my hands, and I guide her inside the clubhouse. One palm on her back, the other hovering near her side, ready to catch her if she falls.
Inside the clubhouse, everything gets quiet fast.
Molly’s the first to move.
“Honey, come and sit.” She slides an arm around Riley and leads her to a booth.
Claire follows, steady as steel. Her presence alone settles half the room. Bianca’s right behind her with a blanket already in her hands. I hover for a second, watching Sparrow sink onto the cushions. Her breathing’s slowing, but she still looks shaken to hell.
Molly presses a warm drink into her hands. I smell whiskey, lemon, cinnamon, and Riley takes a slow sip of the Hot Toddy.
Claire crouches in front of her. “You’re safe here, Riley. Nobody gets to you while you’re in this house.”
Bianca settles beside her, draping the blanket over her shoulders.
“We take care of our own,” she says softly. “And you’re ours now.”
Riley’s lower lip trembles just slightly. She whispers, “Thank you.”
My chest twists with protective need. I want to take all her fear and wring its fucking neck. I want to find Randall Pike and beat him until he repents for every crime he’s ever fucking thought about, and then, only then, put him in the ground.
But I need to take care of business first.
I catch Rabid's eye from across the room. He gives a sharp nod, and Goldie rises too, expression carved from stone. I follow them to Rabid's office. My pulse is still banging from the adrenaline, visions of blood, vengeance, and murder dancing through my head.
Rabid closes the door behind us. “Talk.”
“Someone’s hunting in our territory,” I say. My voice comes out low, lethal. “A man named Randall Pike. That’s the alias. Real name might be something else. But he’s dangerous. A predator. A killer with some sick proclivities. He’s after Riley.”
Goldie stiffens, his surfer-Zen features taking on a murderous vibe. Rabid's eyes darken.
“What kind of dangerous?” Rabid asks.
“The worst kind,” I answer. “Sick. A monster. He preys on women, mutilates and kills them.”
