Page 7 of Dark Savior

“Whatever, brother. Now can you get the fuck out so I can shower? Got your sister’s jui⁠—”

He shoved me aside with a scowl. I snickered as I caught myself with a hand on the wall. “I don’t want to fucking know,” he snapped as he headed for my door.

I barked out a laugh and shut the door behind him, flipping the lock so I wouldn’t be disturbed.

She’s your responsibility now.

I shook my head as I toed off my boots and headed for my bathroom.

Carter had said that as if Rachel being my responsibility was some kind of prison sentence. My lips tilted up into a smirk. I was looking forward to Rachel and I clashing heads when she realized who she’d let in her sweet pussy tonight.

I wasn’t the nice guy. I’d take damn good care of her, but when she wanted to be a fucking brat? I’d show her who was in charge.

That woman was made for me, and I would enjoy twisting her around until she figured it out for herself.

4

Callan

I slid off my bike and let my helmet dangle from the handlebar as I ran my eyes over the small, single-story home. It was a secluded house in the middle of the countryside with no neighbors for quite a while, but it wasn’t too far of a drive from the nearest city. It was an ideal location for Rachel, who attended college and had a pretty good social life from what I’d understood over the years while she was gone.

Raymond had picked well when he decided to take Rachel in and buy this place.

“Granddad should be home,” Carter grumbled. “His bike is here.”

Rodney, Carter’s dad and Raymond’s son, strode up the small, brick steps to the wide front porch. His boots thumped across the boards until he was in front of the door. When he tried the handle, the door swung inward.

Unlocked.

A biker from a club like ours—a club that had more enemies than friends—didn’t leave their fucking front door unlocked, no matter how secluded they might be. A man could leave the club, but the club never left him.

Everything about this spelled trouble.

“Fuck,” I muttered, pulling my gun out of my cut. I quickly followed Carter inside. Gretchen—Carter’s mom—stood watch at the front door, armed and ready if trouble decided to strike. We quickly scouted the house, and my gut clenched when I saw the state of Rachel’s room.

It had been fucking trashed. Her mattress was cut open, her drawers yanked out of the dresser and nightstand, everything fucking thrown everywhere. Her closet was in shambles, and her bathroom was no goddamn better.

She was definitely on the fucking run and seeking shelter and safety in the only place she knew she could.

The club.

I gritted my teeth, rage boiling in my gut at whoever had put my woman in this fucking predicament.

Whoever was after her would have to get through me first. That was for fucking sure.

“Shit!” Carter barked. “Dad, I found him.”

I made my way out of the room, putting my gun back in my shoulder holster on the inside of my cut. “Rachel’s room is fucking trashed,” I announced as I headed in the direction of Carter’s voice.

Raymond was lying flat on the ground in the middle of his destroyed bedroom, blood drying beneath his head. Stepping over a messy pile of clothes, I pressed my fingers to his pulse, finding it steady and strong, but he was unconscious. Judging by the blood, he’d been knocked out.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Rodney snarled, staring down at his father with his hands planted on his hips. “Find his truck keys. Gretchen and I will get him to the hospital and sit with him.”

Carter nodded once, beginning to search Raymond’s room for the truck keys. “Callan and I will head back to the clubhouse. See if we can get Rachel to talk. Something is going on. I knew she wasn’t coming home just because she suddenly fucking missed us,” Carter grumbled. “She never showed interest in coming back to the club.”

Rodney shook his head. “I called bullshit the moment you called me, remember?” I frowned at Carter’s back. He’d been the one to tell their parents she was back? That was kind of fucked up, especially when he knew they didn’t get along.

Carter tossed his dad the keys he found buried under a pile of clothes. “Bring him to the truck,” Rodney ordered.