Page 93 of Spock’s Snare

Keisha steps forward, placing herself between the guns and the three men. “These fools scared her, but they didn’t hurt her. They thought she was spying on them. Once we made them use the sense God gave them, they realized she needed help.”

“She said Blackwood kidnapped her,” Nia adds.

Spock’s arm tightens around me.

Wildcard glances toward the house. “Hawk, Rush, check it.”

The two men move immediately, but Spock doesn’t let go of me. He keeps me pressed against his chest while Wildcard and Dice maintain watch over DeShawn, Rico, and Mateo.

I close my eyes and listen to the steady beat of Spock’s heart. I’m finally safe.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: SPOCK

Chloe slams into my chest, and I lock both arms around her.

For one precious second, the rest of the world disappears. I don’t see the three men standing behind her. Don’t hear the furious women shouting questions. Don’t feel the hard bite of my gun against my palm.

All I feel is Chloe alive in my arms.

She’s shaking so hard her teeth chatter, but she clings to me with enough strength to bruise my ribs. I bury my face in her hair and drag air into lungs that haven’t worked right since I learned she was missing.

“I’ve got you,” I murmur. “You’re safe now, baby. I’ve got you.”

Behind us, Dice, Wildcard, Rush, and Hawk keep their guns trained on the three men. The big bastard who grabbed Chloe has both hands raised, his expression caught somewhere between pissed and confused.

“Easy,” he says. “We weren’t hurting her.”

“You put your fucking hand on her,” I growl.

“She was running toward five armed men,” one of the others points out. “We didn’t know who the hell you were.”

I’m not in the mood to appreciate his logic.

Keeping one arm locked around Chloe, I lower my weapon and shove it into the waistband of my jeans. Then I pull back far enough to look at her.

Rage floods every vein in my body.

One side of her face is swollen. Angry red marks streak across her cheek, and dried blood crusts beneath her nose. Her lower lip is split. Bruises circle her wrists, the skin scraped raw where she fought against whatever Blackwood used to restrain her.

My vision goes red.

I touch her cheek with the backs of my fingers, barely making contact. “Did Blackwood do this?”

She swallows and nods.

A promise of violence settles deep in my bones. Steven Blackwood is going to learn exactly what happens to a man who puts his hands on a Demon Dawgs’ woman. My woman.

I look toward the rundown house. “You’re going back to the clubhouse.”

Her fingers tighten in my kutte. “No.”

“Chloe—”

“No.” Her voice trembles, but her gaze doesn’t. “I’m not leaving.”

I force myself to breathe. “Blackwood could be inside. If he isn’t, he could come back any minute. I need you somewhere safe while my brothers and I take care of him. I’ll see you back at the clubhouse when it’s done.”

“We’ll take her,” one of the women says immediately.