I'm on him before he finishes his next breath, fisting his shirt and dragging him close. "What happened?"
"They jumped me." He's barely coherent. His eyes won't focus. "Three of them. I tried to stop —"
"Who?” I shake him hard enough his teeth rattle.
"Iron Serpents."
I drop him. He sways.Steel catches the kid. I'm already moving toward my bike.
"Wrath. Stop." Steel's voice cracks like a whip.
Diesel blocks my path. "Get the fuck out of my way."
"Church. Now." Steel calls. Behind him, Bulldog and Tank spread out, ready to tackle me if necessary. "Five minutes."
"We don't have five fucking minutes!" I can hear my voice rising, feel control slipping. "Every second they're getting farther away. They could be hurting her right now and you want to call fucking church?"
Steel steps close. "You go off half-cocked, you get her killed. You know that. I know you know that because I taught you better." His hand grips my shoulder hard enough to hurt. "So breathe, brother. We do this smart, we get her back alive."
His words cut through my rage. My body screams to move, to chase, to kill. But he's right.
I force myself to nod.
Five minutes feels like five hours. Prospects lock down the compound. Old ladies hustle into the main building. Weapons appear from hidden caches—guns, knives, enough firepower to start a war.
I stand in the parking lot clutching her broken phone and breathe. In. Out. Each breath tastes like fear and failure.
This morning she woke up in my arms. I watched her sleep before dawn, memorizing every detail of her beautiful face. The way her hair spread across my pillow. Her soft breaths. The small smile when I kissed her awake.
"Good morning, Rhett. Last night was perfect."
Perfect. Now she's terrified. Hurt. Alone.
Because of me.
"Wrath." Jigsaw touches my elbow. "We're ready."
Every patched member crowds the chapel. No formality. No gavel. Just hard men ready for blood and vengeance, watching their VP barely hold it together.
"Intel." Steel's voice cuts through the tension. "What do we know about Iron Serpent movements?"
Tank speaks first, consulting his phone. "Not much. They've been asking questions at her old jobs."
"Why?" I force the question through clenched teeth. "What the fuck do they want with her?"
Jigsaw shakes his head, his face grim. "Makes no sense. They pulled out of the trade negotiations with no explanation and started treating us like some kind of lepers. That alliance would have benefitted them as much as us."
"And now this?" Tank adds, his fist pounding the table. "Kidnapping a fucking ol' lady right from under our noses. Right from our own fucking clubhouse.”
The table erupts. Fists slam wood. Curses fly. Someone kicks a chair so hard it splinters against the wall.
But I've gone completely silent. Still.
In my mind, I'm seeing Cami as she was two hours ago—wearing my vest, my claim, dancing in my arms. Laughing when I whispered dirty promises in her ear. Safe. Happy. Mine.
And now she's in the hands of another club.
My hands curl into fists so tight my knuckles crack. Blood pounds in my ears like a war drum. Fifteen years I've been the club's VP. Doing what needed to be done without hesitation. I've broken bones and taken lives and never lost sleep over it because those men deserved what they got.
