Page 56 of What They Say

Their eyes met for a brief second. His gaze was steady, concerned, carrying the same quiet strength he’d shown when he’d held her back. He gave her a single, small nod—she imagined it meant “We’ve got this”—before twisting the throttle and pulling out to join the formation.

The pack surged forwards in a thunderous wave of chrome and leather, peeling out into the night. Chase watched them go for one frozen heartbeat, then leapt in his truck, slamming the door and roaring after them without a backwards glance.

Maudie sank onto the porch steps as the sound faded, the sudden silence pressing down on her like a weight. Tears burned hot in her eyes. She had failed Kath again and again—ignoring the dangers at home, pushing her away when she needed support most. And now her little sister was out there somewhere because she’d gotten close to Chase.

“Please,” Maudie whispered into the empty dark, voice breaking. “Bring her home. Please.”

She hugged her knees to her chest, the night air suddenly cold against her skin. If they brought Kath back—when they brought her back—things were going to change. No more hiding behind bottles and denial. No more letting fear rule them.

She owed her sister that much. And maybe, just maybe, there was room in this terrifying new world for her too.

Chapter Twenty

Kath

Kath woke to a deep, bone-crushing ache that had nothing to do with the blow to her head anymore.

Her back screamed in protest as she tried to shift on the thin, lumpy mattress. Hours on the hard concrete floor had left her stiff and sore in places she didn’t even know could hurt—shoulders locked tight, hips bruised, legs numb from being curled up for so long. Every small movement sent sharp twinges through her muscles, reminding her exactly how long she’d been here. At least a full day. Maybe more. Time had blurred into one endless stretch of dim light, distant voices, and the growing terror of not knowing.

She stayed still for a long moment, breathing through the pain, eyes fixed on the same cracked patch of ceiling she’d memorized yesterday. The nausea had mostly passed, but the fear hadn’t. If anything, it had grown heavier, sinking deeper into her bones with every hour that passed without rescue.

Why me?

The question wouldn’t leave her alone. She’d turned those men’s words over and over in her mind until they felt like knives. They’d taken her because of Bear’s garage. Because of the custom bike. Because they thought she was someone’s old lady—someone important enough to hurt the club. They wanted leverage against Mason.

Mason.

The name sent a chill through her. Chase’s father. The man at the center of all this. She’d never met him, and now her life was somehow tangled up in whatever old war these people had with him. What if they found out she wasn’t just some girl on a bike? What if they realized she was with Chase—Mason’s actual son?

The thought made her stomach twist so violently she had to close her eyes and breathe through it. If they figured that out, she wouldn’t just be leverage anymore. She’d be a weapon.

Kath pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, trying to push back the rising panic. She was alone. No one was coming for her. Not yet. Chase had gone quiet before all this even started—probably trying to keep her safe in his own way—and now she was paying for it. The silence from the outside world felt louder than the low voices drifting through the door.

She rolled onto her side with a wince, curling into herself as best she could. The stiffness made every breath hurt, but it was nothing compared to the fear that had settled deep in her chest. A full day of thinking had stripped away any denial. These men weren’t playing games. They had history with the club. History with Mason. And she was caught right in the middle of it.

Kath swallowed hard, whispering the only thing that still felt true.

“Just hold on,” she told herself, voice barely audible. “They’ll come. Chase will come.”

But even as she said it, the doubt crept in. Twenty-four hours was a long time to be gone. A long time for fear to grow roots.

And she had no idea how much longer she had left.

***

Chase

Chase killed the truck’s engine in the clubhouse lot, stomped on the emergency brake, and was already running before the tires stopped sliding.

The parking area was a controlled storm of leather and chrome. Engines were rumbling, brothers mounting up, last-minute checks being shouted across the lot. They were getting ready to roll out—fast.

He didn’t hesitate.

He spotted Slate’s second bike—a sleek black machine he kept prepped for emergencies—parked near the edge. The key was still in it. Chase swung a leg over, fired it up, and pulled the helmet off the handlebar. The engine roared to life under him, deep and familiar.

He’d grown up around bikes. He might not wear a patch yet, but he could ride with the best of them.

Chase dropped the visor, tucked his chin, and eased into the formation just as the group started to move. No one looked twice. He blended in—black helmet, dark clothes, riding like he belonged. He slotted in near the back at first, then began working his way forwards with smooth, confident shifts—passing one rider, then another, then another.