The night is still. Silent. Charged with the kind of tension that would build a low hum in a movie soundtrack before something happens. I can feel it across my skin.
I work through relaxing my muscles one at a time.
It keeps my brain occupied and my body from tensing up.
Until I hear it. Far off, there’s a sound. Like growling. Not close enough to be real, but close enough to have me lifting my head and cock my ear to catch the next one.
It’s a faint engine echo, a single headlight sweeping over the far wall before fading again.
Sin. He found me.
Relief floods me before I start calling his name. Better than having to search for me. Besides, my yelling is distracting, covering any noises he might make.
“Sin!” I suck in another deep breath and let it loose, “Sin!”
23
SIN
Knox is a dumb piece of shit hiding behind an arrogant front. His people made it easy for me to follow them, even after they caught sight of me. It’s like they don’t know a bike can keep up with them in the dark.
Even as I back off so they can’t see me, tracking them is easy. As easy as spying on Knox has been this last week. Stupid fuck.
That he’s taken her at all is a bad move. Being sheriff doesn’t make him untouchable in my world. If there’s so much as a bruise on Wren, I will torture him slowly. No succumbing to rage. A methodical dismembering that will takeweeks.
Knox’s orders are predictable. He likes to rotate between the same secret locations. And this one fits the bill—an abandoned weigh station. Like it’s not obvious. It’s the only thing around for miles, off the beaten path enough to not garner attention.
And within our territory, so I know exactly how to get in there and get out without anyone seeing me.
I cut my engine, turn off the light, and stash my bike for an easy exit with Wren in hand.
Two men stand smoking under a lone working light. Amateurs. Did they really think they lost me?
I move through shadows—quiet, patient, predatory.
This won’t be a quick kill because I’mangry.
The first man doesn’t see me before I get a hold of him—a hand to his throat and a knife thrust between his ribs. Quiet, piercing a lung. He can’t scream with the gurgle of blood filling his airways.
He can survive. If he gets immediate help. Which he won’t.
The second one turns, and he shouts. I drop the first guy and meet the second with bare fists, slamming one into his nose with a crunch. He staggers, pulls his gun and gets off a wild shot.
Stupid.
I slam him into the wall beside his buddy, knock the gun out of his hand too easily, and slide my knife into his gut without remorse.
Inside, chaos erupts—doors banging, men shouting, signaling me that more are inside. Wreckless.
My fury transforms intocontrolled destruction. Instincts hone my movements. My decisions. And I’m fighting smart. Ending every man who comes through that door until I’m sure I’ve got the last guy.
I leave him alive, kicking the phone out of his hand as he tries to make a call.
He’s scrambling, but he’s cornered.
“You the one who made contact with Rook?”
“Look. It’s just business?—”
