Page 36 of Liberated By the Logger

Grabbing my axe by the front door, I yank the damn thing open, ready to unleash my fury on the idiot who took me away from my woman. “You better be dying or bleeding to be trespassing on my property and knocking on my front door at this ungodly hour.”

Expecting someone on my porch, I do a double take when I find four someones, all dressed in black tactical gear and looking as pissed as drenched cats.

The grip on my axe handle tightens, ready to use it if need be. I don’t know who the fuck these men are or why they’re here, but I’m about ready to swing first and ask questions second.

The biggest dude in the group steps forward, hands on his hip where his Glock is unlocked in its holster. He’s got a mean-looking mug and eyes as black as ink. “Are you Ambrose O’Mara?”

“You’re on my private property, you tell me?”

“My name is Atlas,” he says. He motions to the surrounding men. “And this here is my team. We were hired to find a missing woman.”

What the hell? “There’s a woman missing out in this storm?”

Atlas nods, his face unreadable as he shows me the screen of his cell. I suck in a ragged lungful of air when I find my woman’s beautiful face staring back at me.

Before I can say anything, Atlas continues. “An unconscious man was dropped off at the hospital right as the storm hit yesterday. When he woke, he was high as a kite, quoting The Lorax. It took a while for him to sober. Once he did, he flipped out on the emergency room staff, shouting claims that his girlfriend was stuck on the mountain. The hospital didn’t believe him at first, thinking he was still high, but after so many hours, they had to take him seriously.”

Fuck Gary and the horse he rode in on, trying to act all white knight after the fact while being the one responsible for Aspen being “stuck” on the mountain. It takes everything in me not to grind my teeth at the mere mention of Aspen’s douche canoe ex.

“When Search and Rescue went to the location Gary reported having left her, she wasn’t there. They contacted law enforcement. My buddy—Luke Quire—is the new chief of police. He reached out to my crew, recruiting us to find the missing woman. Locating people is what we do for a living.”

The word “crew” has alarm bells going off in my head. I know who these men are, seen them plenty riding their hogs around or hanging out at the local watering hole—Mickey’s Pub. They’re members of the mercenary biker crew in Fort Collins—the Mercy Ravens MC. Though they’re known for their military training and skills in rescuing abducted people, they have a reputation for getting rough occasionally. And if I’m not mistaken, this Atlas dude is the president of the motorcycle club.

The Mercy Ravens MC showing up at my door means they suspect I had something to do with Aspen’s disappearance, as in I took her against her will.

“There wasn’t much to go on. The missing woman’s boyfriend did not know who dropped him off at the hospital and the emergency room staff never got to question the men who dropped him off before wheeling him back for treatment. The rain obscured hospital footage of the truck arriving at the ER entrance. Inside, the footage only showed two men in rainwear dropping Gary off—nothing else. All that Gary could recall was a big dude with a red beard arguing with him over a tree before he went lights out.”

Atlas studies my face, noting my red beard. His face hardens, already assuming I’m the man Gary recalls last seeing before Mother Nature hit him over the head.

“A few tire treads surviving the rain matched to a set near the logging road.” He thumbs a man with long hair tied back in a wet man-bun. “Chase is our head of tech. He did a little digging and found out what logging company had the bid for felling rights in the area. Your company popped up. We called your brother first, but he didn’t know if anyone came across our missing woman. We called you next, but there was no answer.”

“Reception is shit in these parts of the mountains and nonexistent during bad weather,” I mutter, defending why I never got their call.

“Ain’t that the truth,” the shortest of the mercenary bikers gripes. He turns his attention to Atlas. “He’s clearly our guy, brother. Tire treads on his truck match the one’s from the logging road.”

“Is Aspen Fair here with you?” Atlas asks, his voice borderline menacing.

I swing my axe across my shoulder, gripping the handle with both hands as I step forward. “Depends on who’s asking. If it’s that stupid fuck ex-boyfriend who chained her to a tree, knowing damn well a storm was on the horizon, then my answer is to piss off.”

The shorter of the men steps forward, looking like he’s ready to go to blows with me. Atlas holds his arm out, stopping his MC brother.

Atlas cocks his head, scrutinizing me. “We don’t need to tell Gary where—as you stated—his ex-girlfriend is. We only need to report to the police she’s alive and well.”

“The police can call off the hunt. She’s here,” I admit. “You can tell that piece of shit ex of hers she’s being well taken care of.”

“We need proof of life,” the shorter biker says, his green eyes looking between me and his president.

“She’s sleeping,” I grit through my teeth, unwilling to let any of these men look at my woman.

“Well, wake her up,” the biker snaps back.

“Settle, Gauge,” Atlas orders.

“The fuck I will,” Gauge argues back. “We’ve been tracking this asshole for hours only for him to not cooperate with us. I’ve got a pregnant wife at home, waiting for my return and to warm our bed.”

“Same,” says Chase, echoing his friend and folding his arms across his chest while looking equally pissed.

“As do I,” Atlas says coldly to his men. “But making demands will not get us home any faster.”