He didn’t need Rage to start fucking shit up. Zeke was a pro at fucking shit up on his own.
And for fuck’s sake, he didn’t need his son to get caught in any crossfire.
Despite it being a struggle, he managed to lower his voice. One of them needed to stop spiraling. “Need you to stay here with Ky, brother.”
“Plenty of others here to do that.”
“Not like you.”
Rage’s chin jerked into his neck, then after a moment, he gave Zeke a slight nod.
Good. Because he didn’t have any more time to fucking waste. He needed to go get his son and he needed to do it now.
“Stay here with Rage and Zane,” he told Kyra, ignoring the shock of seeing her quietly crying in Cherry’s arms. “Gonna go get our boy.”
He didn’t even wait for her to respond before spinning on his boot heel and striding toward the back door.
“Zeke!” he heard behind him.
He ignored her yelling his name, kicked the emergency bar with the soul of his boot, and headed out to his sled.
Two wheels would get him where he needed to go a lot faster than four.
Zeke couldn’t twisthis throttle any harder. Black Betty’s engine was screaming and she got squirrelly when taking corners.
He didn’t give a fuck.
All he could see in his mind’s eye was his boy scared and crying. Maybe even tied up and being tortured.
When he finally reached the corner of 36th and Lawrence in one piece, he pulled over to the curb and stared at the nondescript metal building. No company name. No signs at all.
Nothing to indicate what—or who—was inside.
He threw a leg over his sled and stared at what reminded him of the Shadows’ warehouse. That alone made his spine prickle.
Out of habit, he double-checked to make sure his Ruger .380 was still tucked in the inner pocket of his cut.
He didn’t normally carry a gun because getting caught with it while on parole would send him directly back to prison.Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200.But that day, he didn’t give a fuck about getting locked back inside if it meant his son would be safe. He’d always sacrifice his freedom for his son’s safety.
While he rarely carried his Ruger, he always carried concealed knives. Knives that, at first glance, wouldn’t set off any pig’s alarm bells.
One was made to be hidden in his boot.
Another was a small blade built into the skull pendant he wore around his neck. It might be small, but was good enough to puncture flesh at close range. One punch to the throat with it tucked between his fingers would do enough damage to give him the advantage. It could even be deadly, if it severed an artery.
He had another on his keychain that appeared to be a bottle opener. Only, it would easily slice open a vein instead.
And years ago, after being voted in as the latest sergeant at arms, Rage had commissioned DAMC belt buckles to be made with another blade hidden within the design.
While none of the knives Zeke carried were obvious, if used correctly, they could get the job done.
However, if the assholes who had Ledger patted him down for weapons and took his Ruger, he was screwed. The undetectable knives he carried would be useless against bullets.
And he had no fucking doubt whoever kidnapped his son would have them.
There was also a good chance he was walking into a fucking ambush. But they were using Ledger as bait, so Zeke had no choice but to bite. His only hope was that if it was an ambush and he didn’t survive, Vi and her Shadows would exact revenge for him.
A tall, lean figure appeared at the corner of the building and jerked his chin up.
