Yes. Fucking yes. A goddamn lead.“Where? Where do they have her?”
Stillman groaned. “They’ll kill me if they find out I talked.”
“I’ll kill you if you don’t. Swear to Christ, Stillman, there’s nowhere on earth you’ll be able to hide if they hurt my woman and you could have prevented it.”
Another groan. “I shouldn’t have called.”
“But you did. It’s too fucking late to pussy out now.”
“I ain’t a pussy.”
Saint knew that would get to him.
“You have five seconds before I hang up this phone and track you down. Trust me, you don’t want that to happen.”
Silence.
“Four… three… two… on—”
“Fine! Fucking fine.” He lowered his voice so Saint had to strain to hear him. “That old sawmill. You know the one.”
“The one that closed five years ago?”
“Yeah.”
Fuck yes, they had a location. He waved Copper over. “Thank you, Stillman. Text me where you are, and I’ll send someone to bring you to the clubhouse for safety.”
“Saint?”
“What?”
“She doesn’t look too good. Busted lip. Maybe worse. She got a mouth on her, man, and Demo don’t like that.”
Saint’s vision went red at the edges. In no reality would Beth sit back quietly while someone kidnapped her. Of course, she was fucking with them. Hell, knowing her, she’d probably try to protect Melody as well.
Pride surged, mixed with terror and dread.
When he got her back, he’d tie her to the bed for the rest of her life.
“I owe you, Stillman,” he said as Copper reached him.
“Nah, Demo’s a real shit heel. Deserves whatever’s coming to him. Don’t let him kill me, and we’ll be even.”
The line went dead.
Saint was already sprinting for the door. “She’s at the old sawmill.”
“For fuck’s sake, Saint. Hold the fuck up.”
He reached the door. “All due respect, Copper, I’m not fucking waiting.”
“We need a battle plan.”
Saint slipped out the door. The last thing he heard before it closed was Copper’s pounding boots and shouted, “Mount up!”
He threw a leg up and sailed onto his bike like a trick horse rider. Two seconds later, he peeled out of the lot while the rest ofhis club raced to their bikes, and Copper cursed him to hell and back.
Riding a motorcycle on mountain switchbacks was a skill he’d mastered after so many years of living in the Smoky Mountains. Saint took the sharp turns at a harrowing clip, burning rubber and sending a trail of smoke behind him.
