The thought of having to sleep here has me blinking back tears. The manager pulls me toward the front door. I don’t even look at Ivan and his partner. I feel their death stare burning a hole into my back as I walk. I nearly trip over the scattered beer cans near the entrance.
The trailer smells of mold and cigarette smoke, and it feels cramped and suffocating. The manager yanks me forward. The living area is cluttered with mismatched furniture, and a worn-out couch sits in front of an old TV surrounded by beer cans, fast-food wrappers, and an overflowing ashtray.
We walk further in and he pushes me into a bedroom. He leaves, slamming the door shut behind him. Inside, a bed is pushed up against one wall. I take my chances with the floor and slide down the wall, feeling the heavy weight of the situation. The room is a prison. I stare at the cracked ceiling, my mind clinging to one thought: Rage will come for me. He has to.
The bedroom door opens wide, making me jolt. It’s Ivan. He has rope and duct tape in his hands. My blood runs cold. “You don’t have to put that on me,” I beg. “I won’t yell or run away.”
No response. All I see is his fist coming toward my face, and I’m out cold.
Rage
I wakeup with a pounding headache and the faint taste of whiskey lingering on my tongue. The events of the wedding come back to me—lots of laughter and toasts, and too many drinks. I groan and run a hand over my face as I sit up. The bed beside me is empty. I grab my phone from the nightstand. A message from Rose lights up the screen. She went to the post office and took the truck.
My breath hitches. That was hours ago... too long ago. She should have been back by now. I call Rose. No answer. My heart slams against my rib cage. I call again... one... two... three more times. A knot forms in my stomach. Something isn’t right. She’d answer. I stand up and pace the room.
Yesterday at the club meeting, we were discussing the escalating threats from the Russians now that we told them I wasn’t fighting anymore. Reaper told them they’re banned from entering and going to all future matches. Reaper kept tabs on them. He had the owner of the units they were staying at in Crown Village keep him updated. Apparently, they left yesterday.
The club thought it was over. That the Russians had given up and left. But I had a gut feeling that it wouldn’t be that easy. Ivan is too proud. Losing the fight had cost him his pride and his money, and men like him don’t just walk away from that.
My chest tightens. They know I care about Rose. Even the Russian’s partner knew who she was at the fight, so they had talked about her importance to me.
I had a feeling it wasn’t over. I just hope I was wrong.
I must search the clubhouse for Rose. I yank the bedroom door open, my heart already racing, and rush to the spare room where Rose keeps her business stuff. It’s empty.
Panic starts to creep in as I dart to the bathroom and throw the door open. No one.
My breathing quickens, my chest tightening, as I bolt down the stairs. My bare feet pound against the floor, the sound echoing through the quiet clubhouse.
“Someone’s in a rush this morning,” Axle calls out, but I barely register his words as I whip past him.
I search everywhere—the kitchen, the living room, outside, in the gym. Each empty room only fuels the dread building inside me. By the time I’ve scoured the entire clubhouse, sweat is dripping down my back and my mind is spiraling with every worst-case scenario.
What if they’ve taken her? What if she’s hurt? I can’t lose her. Not Rose.
I dart past a few of the men playing pool and go out the front and check in the shed. The truck isn’t there.
The front opens and Viper, Bomber, and Reaper walk out. “What’s wrong, man?” asks Viper, his voice laced with worry.
“Rose is gone,” I say frantically. “She sent me a message hours ago saying she left for the post office. She’s not answering her phone. She’s not at the clubhouse.”
The men stand tall, immediately full of unease.
“What car did she take?” asks Bomber.
“The club truck.”
“Twitch is on his honeymoon, but come with me. I know how to track it,” says Reaper.
A spark of hope ignites. The truck has GPS. I hope we can find her.
We follow Reaper to the computer room. Seconds feel like years as I wait for him.
“The car’s sitting outside the park at the beach. Are you sure she didn’t just go to the beach?”
My fists clench at my sides. “She’s never strayed from her word. She would have told me. We’re good like that.” Until lastnight. I didn’t tell her my concerns. Maybe if I did, she wouldn’t have gone out by herself this morning.
Reaper nods, his face grim. “Let’s go to the truck. Bomber, tell Demon he’ll want to come with us. Viper, notify the other men to stay here with the women and children.”
