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BRING THE KEY.

Angel's hand flew to her mouth. Ghost stared at the screen. They knew about the key, and that was bad enough, but another photograph came through before he could speak. This one wasn't Viper's house. It was Monster's Madhouse. It looked to be taken from outside the front gate tonight. Larry sat in his lawn chair wearing his ridiculous cape. One prospect stood near the gate. Another smoked beneath the porch light. And there, in an upstairs window, were Angel, Hammer, and Ghost. The picture had been taken minutes ago. Someone was watching them right fucking now.

Ghost ran. “Hammer!”

He took the stairs three at a time. “What?” Hammer shouted.

“Lock the clubhouse down!” Ghost yelled. Monster came out of the main room as Ghost hit the bottom floor.

“What the fuck is happening?” Ghost shoved the phone into his hand. Monster looked at the photographs, and his face went murderous.

“Close the gates!” he roared. “Now!” The clubhouse exploded into motion. Men grabbed weapons. Prospects ran outside. Hammer came down the stairs with Angel behind him.

Ghost spun around. “Keep her upstairs!”

“Fuck that,” Angel snapped. A gunshot cracked outside, and everyone froze. It was followed by another shot, and the lights went out. Darkness swallowed Monster's Madhouse, and Angel screamed.

Ghost drew his weapon. “Angel!”

“I’m here!” she said. He reached for her in the dark, and his fingers caught nothing.

“Hammer?” Ghost called.

“Right here,” Hammer said.

“Where's Angel?” he asked. He was met with silence, and Ghost's heart stopped. “Angel?” His phone buzzed in his hand, and Ghost looked down as the screen illuminated his face with one final message.

YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT OUR ANGEL ALONE.

A crash sounded from upstairs, and Ghost ran. Hammer was directly behind him. They reached the bedroom to find that the window was open. Cold October air poured through it, making the curtains billow into the room. Angel was gone, and lying in the middle of the bed was the Halloween card Viper had given his daughter seven years ago. Ghost picked it up with shaking fingers. The card had been opened, and inside was a handwritten message with just three words.

TRICK OR TREAT.

ANGEL

Angel knew better than to scream. Her father had taught her that when she was twelve. If somebody grabs you, don't waste your breath screaming unless there's someone close enough to hear you. Fight. Bite, scratch, and kick. Make yourself too fucking difficult to take. Angel had always thought it was a strange lesson for a father to teach his daughter. Right now, she was grateful for every word.

The hand clamped over her mouth tightened as the man dragged her backward, and she bit down hard. “Fuck!” The hand disappeared from her mouth, and Angel drove her elbow behind her and connected with something solid. She heard him grunt, and she twisted, trying to see his face, but the clubhouse was dark. Someone grabbed her around the waist.

Angel kicked backward. “Get the fuck off me!” she shouted.

“Hold her!” the man ordered. There were at least two of them, maybe more, and she knew that the gunshots outside had been a distraction. The lights going out had been planned, and somehow these men had gotten inside Monster's Madhouse without anyone noticing. Or—Angel's stomach dropped just thinking about it—maybe they were already inside. A hand tangled in her hair and pain shot across her scalp as her head was yanked backward.

“Stop fighting,” the man spat. She knew that voice, and Angel froze. Not because he told her to, but because she recognized him.

“No,” she breathed.

A low laugh sounded near her ear. “Hello, Lina.” Nobody called her that anymore. Nobody except⁠—

“Crow?” she said. The grip on her loosened—not enough to free her, but just enough to let her turn to face him. Moonlight spilled through the open window, and for one second, she saw his face. He was older, harder, and a scar now ran from the corner of his left eye toward his ear—but it was him. “Holy shit.”

“Been a long time,” he said, sounding like they were just two old friends catching up, and he wasn’t trying to kidnap her. Derek “Crow” Dawson was the Nomad Knights Enforcer. At least, that was his role under her father’s time as Prez. He was the man who'd taught Angel how to throw a punch when she was fourteen because Viper said his daughter needed to know how to defend herself. Crow was the man who had carried her home after she wrecked her dirt bike at sixteen. He was the man who'd stood beside her at her father's funeral.

“You're supposed to be dead,” she said.

“People keep saying that, yet here I am,” he said, holding his arms wide for her to see for herself. Angel's shock lasted exactly two seconds before she drove her knee toward his groin. Crow turned just enough to take the hit against his thigh. “You’re still mean.”

“Let me go!” she ordered.