Streetlights streak past in violent flashes. The city blurs into heat and motion and fury.
We ride like men with nothing left to lose.
I push harder, faster, every reckless manoeuvre fuelled by the image of her trapped somewhere I can’t reach yet. Every second matters. Every heartbeat counts.
“You still with me?” I snap into the helmet intercom, my voice tight with tension I can barely contain.
There’s a breath, then Jaxon’s voice crackles back, rough but unbroken. “Yeah. Don’t you dare worry about me.”
I don’t reply.
I just twist the throttle and let the city burn behind us as we race toward the one place I’m not prepared to arrive too late.
We hit the hospital like a war zone.
Bikes are abandoned where they stop, engines still ticking as we shove through doors and sprint down sterile corridors. Shoes skid against polished floors. People shout. Alarms blur into background noise.
ICU.
We split without a word, instinct and urgency tearing us apart in opposite directions.
I rip open doors one after another.
Empty.
Empty.
Wrong.
Then,
Bed nine.
I burst through the doorway.
And the world freezes.
My father stands in the centre of the room with Emmy pressed tight against him, her back locked to his chest, her feet barely brushing the floor as he lifts her just enough to steal her balance. His arm is cinched around her throat in a perfect, merciless hold. Her hands claw desperately at his forearm, fingers trembling as she struggles to breathe.
Her eyes meet mine.
Wide. Terrified.
Alive.
The gun is pressed to her temple.
My hand moves on instinct, reaching for my weapon,
Click.
The sound comes from behind me.
One of my father’s men steps into view, gun levelled straight at my heart, finger already resting on the trigger.
“I wouldn’t do that,” my father says calmly.
He drags the barrel slowly along Emmy’s temple, down her cheek, tracing her skin with intimate cruelty. She shudders violently in his grip, breath hitching as he strokes her face like she’s nothing more than a possession he’s decided to admire before breaking.
