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She turned back and rested her uninjured cheek against Mayhem’s broad back. “Where are you taking me?”
“To the Madhouse,” he said.
Her stomach tightened. “That sounds ominous.”
“It’s just the clubhouse,” he said.
“Why is it called the Madhouse?” she asked.
“Because our president is an asshole with a dramatic streak,” he said. Despite everything, Delaney smiled. The expression faded when she realized Mayhem’s hand was still covering hers.
“Who is your president?” she asked.
“Monster,” he said. Her arms stiffened around him. Mayhem glanced over his shoulder. “Relax. His wife keeps him house-trained.”
“His name is actually Monster?” she asked.
“It’s what people call him,” he said.
“What’s with your club and terrifying names?” she questioned.
“You’ll understand when you meet Riot,” he said. Delaney almost asked who Riot was, but exhaustion settled over her before she could form the words. She didn’t know that the man whose body shielded hers from the October cold was about to become one of the two most important men in her life. She didn’t know Riot would look at her as if he could see every secret she was trying to hide. She didn’t know the men hunting her had made a fatal mistake by bringing her into Toxic Monsters territory. All Delaney knew was that Mayhem had found her bleeding beside a dark road and offered her something she’d thought she would never have again—a choice. She tightened her arms around him as the motorcycle carried them into the night.
MAYHEM
Mayhem felt the exact moment Delaney stopped holding on. Her arms loosened around his waist, and the weight of her body shifted against his back. “Delaney?” She didn’t answer. “Fuck.”
Mayhem took one hand off the handlebars and caught her wrist before her arm slipped away completely. Her pulse fluttered beneath his fingers, reassuring him that she’d only passed out.
Only passed out—as if finding a beaten woman unconscious on the back of his motorcycle wasn’t enough to make him want to turn around and hunt down every man who had hurt her.
Mayhem tightened her arms around his waist and held them there with one hand. The Madhouse was less than three miles away. He could make it in two, but every bump in the road caused her body to jolt against him, so he forced himself to slow down, because Delaney had been hurt enough tonight.
The gates surrounding the Toxic Monsters’ property opened before he reached them. Monster had installed the reinforced barrier after trouble with a rival club the previous year. Between the security cameras, motion sensors, and armed prospects manning the gate, no one entered the Madhouse without the club knowing about it.
A prospect named Vex stepped out of the guard booth. His gaze dropped to the bare, dirty feet hanging on either side of Mayhem’s bike. “What the hell happened?”
“Get Doc,” Mayhem ordered. Graves reached for his phone. “Now,” Mayhem snapped. The prospect ran toward the clubhouse instead. Mayhem continued through the gate and parked near the main entrance. Music poured from inside the two-story brick building, accompanied by laughter and the unmistakable sound of someone losing badly at pool.
It was Saturday night. Most of his brothers were drinking. A few club girls had shown up dressed in costumes for the Halloween party Monster’s old lady was planning. Mayhem wanted all of them gone. He shut off the engine and turned carefully. Delaney sagged against his back, her swollen cheek pressed between his shoulder blades. His leather vest swallowed her smaller frame, making her look even more fragile.
Something dark twisted inside him. He’d seen injured people before. He’d caused more than a few of those injuries himself. Blood didn’t bother him, and neither did bruises, but Delaney’s bruises were shaped like hands. Someone had restrained her hard enough to leave fingerprints around her wrists. Someone had struck her in the face repeatedly. Someone had chased her barefoot through the woods after she’d somehow managed to escape. Mayhem wanted names, and then he wanted time alone with the men attached to them.
The clubhouse door opened, and Riot strode outside with Doc at his side. Mayhem’s gaze went straight to the man he’d been trying, and failing, to stay away from for nearly three years. Riot had earned his road name long before joining the Toxic Monsters. He could turn a quiet night into a brawl simply by smiling at the wrong person. With his sharp tongue, crooked grin, and complete disregard for self-preservation, chaos followed him everywhere. Tonight, there was no smile on his face.
His shoulder-length dark hair was tied back at the nape of his neck, exposing the silver rings climbing one ear. A fitted black T-shirt stretched across his chest beneath his leather vest, and tattoos covered both arms, disappearing under the fabric. The patch on his chest identified him as the club’s road captain. The tattoo hidden beneath his shirt identified him as something far more personal to Mayhem. It was two crossed blades surrounded by flames. Mayhem had the same design inked over his ribs. They’d gotten them six years ago after a drunken night in New Orleans. At the time, Riot had joked that matching tattoos were cheaper than wedding rings, but Mayhem hadn’t laughed.
“What happened?” Doc asked.
“Found her on Route Nine. She’d been beaten. She passed out about three minutes ago.” Mayhem dismounted while keeping Delaney balanced against him.
“I’ve got her,” Riot said.
“No,” Mayhem shouted. The word came out sharper than Mayhem intended, and Riot stopped.
Their eyes met, and something flickered across Riot’s face before he raised both hands and stepped aside. “All yours.” Mayhem ignored the strange pressure building in his chest. He slid one arm behind Delaney’s back and the other beneath her knees. Her eyes opened the instant he lifted her, and panic flooded them.
“No!” she shouted. Delaney fought against him, her fingernails scraping his neck.
