Ahead of them, the night waited, and Cyclops finally felt alive. He loved how the night seemed to swallow them whole as Trixie clung to him. The bike shot down a narrow service road bordered by trees that bent inward like skeletal arms. The darkness here felt thicker and seemed quieter. It was the kind of quiet that hid secrets and bodies with equal ease, and it was the perfect place for an ambush.
Trixie’s heart hammered against his back as the terrain grew rougher under the bike’s tires. Every jolt sent vibrations through her legs as they hugged his ass. She had her chest pressed tightly to him, and damn if she didn’t feel right pressed up against him. He could tell that she knew how to ride and wondered if she had ever ridden on the back of any of her father’s men’s bikes. That thought just pissed him off as he sped deeper into the darkness. He rode like he didn’t fear death, because he didn’t. He had already danced with it and learned its steps. He knew how toplay the game, and right now, that was exactly what they were doing.
The comm crackled faintly between the bikes, but he couldn’t hear the words—just the tension. It coiled in the air like wires waiting to snap. When the trees opened into a clearing, Cyclops braked hard. Gravel spat under the tires. The convoy fanned out around them with practiced precision, forming a semicircle as they blocked the road ahead. They were blocking any escape for the men who were following them.
“Why are we stopping?” Trixie demanded, ripping the helmet off. Her voice came out sharp. “If they’re following us, we should be running, not stopping here in the middle of nowhere.”
He cut her off with a single look over his shoulder. “We’re done running, honey. I’ve already told you that, back at the clubhouse.” He meant it too. He refused to cower to any threat. He was going to show her what it meant to have his club behind her. Cyclops just hoped like hell that they’d be able to handle whatever had followed them into the darkness—not just for Trixie’s sake, but for his guys too.
TRIXIE
Her father’s men had picked up her trail, and that terrified her more than anything else that had happened tonight. How had they found her so easily? Had one of the guys at the Road Reapers reported her for the money? She wouldn’t blame them if they had. It was a lot of money, but the imagined betrayal hurt her heart more than she wanted to admit.
Facing the men her father had chasing her scared the hell out of her. Not so much because she worried about herself, but for the men who had agreed to help her. Venom, Razor, Ink, and Cyclops had all put their lives on the line for her, and now, they might lose them. She wouldn’t let that happen. If things got bad, she’d agree to go back to her father and face whatever punishment that he had waiting for her because there was no way that she’d let them hurt the men who were helping her.
The sedan’s headlights appeared at the curve of the road. The car was moving slowly, and Trixie felt as though she was holding her breath as she watched it. It reminded her of a predator testing its prey.
Cyclops reached back and gently pried her arms from his waist. “Stay behind me,” he ordered.
“I can fight,” she snapped.
“Not asking if you can fight. I’m telling you where I want you,” he said. His words should have infuriated her. They would have if they had come from any other man. But Cyclops wasn’t trying to cage her. He was trying to protect her. He wanted to shield her from the threat that was coming for her, and she couldn’t allow him to take the brunt of their punishment.
Her pride reared its ugly head. “I can handle myself,” she spat. He stepped off the bike and turned to fully face her. The dim moonlight carved harsh shadows across his scarred face, making him look dangerous in a way that should’ve sent her running. Instead, she felt herself steady and even leaned into him.
“Trixie,” he said quietly. “If you want to stand beside me, then do it. But I’m telling you now that if shit goes bad, I’m the one taking the hit, not you.”
She stared at him. “I won’t let you do that for me, Cyclops. You don’t even know me.”
He gave a humorless smile. “I know enough about you to know that we’re doing this my way. You let me handle these assholes.” Her throat tightened as she tried to hold back the threatening tears. Damn him—crying was the last thing she wanted to do right now. They didn’t have time for her theatrics, and they certainly didn’t have time for the two of them to stand there and argue about this.
The sedan rolled to a stop twenty yards away, and the doors opened as two men stepped out. They were both wearing dark, expensive, tailored suits. They were the kind her father liked his soldiers to wear when he wanted to send a message. “They are my father’s men,” she whispered to Cyclops as he tucked her behind his big body.
One of them called out, “Trixie Lee, by order of Vincent Lee, you’re to come with us unharmed. Cooperate, and nobody here has to die tonight.” Trixie flinched at her name being spoken in like an accusation or a claim. But Cyclops didn’t flinch. He didn’t even move.
Ink laughed darkly. “Wrong place, wrong night to fuck around, boys,” he shouted back. Razor cracked his knuckles, and the sound echoed like gunshots.
Trixie stepped forward before she could think better of it. “My father doesn’t own me.”
The man in the suit smiled politely. “Mr. Lee disagrees. Now, let’s not escalate this. You’re valuable. He needs you returned in one piece, and I plan to follow his orders.”
Cyclops’s voice dropped to a low rumble. “She’s not going anywhere with you, asshole.”
The suited man’s smile disappeared. “Half a million says otherwise.” Trixie felt the shift in the air. It was something primal and ugly. It was the kind of tension that preceded violence or bloodshed—or both.
She moved closer to Cyclops until their shoulders brushed. She hadn’t planned it. It was just instinct. His eye cut sideways at her, and something heated flashed there—approval, maybe, or something stronger.
The second suited man reached into his jacket. Trixie inhaled sharply. “Gun!” But she didn’t even finish the warning. Cyclops moved—fearless, fast, and reckless. He grabbed her arm and yanked her behind him at the exact moment the man pulled a pistol free. The clearing erupted into chaos—gravel flying, engines revving, and men shouting. Venom barreled forward like a bull, tackling the gunman before he even had the barrel lifted fully. Ink fired a warning shot into the air. Razor flanked the sedan, as they blocked every possible escape route.
Cyclops shoved Trixie behind a fallen tree trunk and crouched in front of her, one knee in the dirt, with his gun drawn. “Stay down,” he ordered.
She bristled. “I can fight!”
“You will,” he said. “But not until I say when.” Anger, hot and fierce, warred with something far more dangerous inside of her—trust.
He turned his head slightly, listening to the scuffle behind him. “They’re scouts,” he said low. “They’re testing us to see how far they can push.”
“Meaning?” she whispered.
