Chapter 3
Rowan
The dumpster lid flies open, and my heart nearly stops. They found me.
A large hand plunges through the garbage and latches onto my wrist. I scream, but the sound stays trapped in my throat as I’m yanked upward with terrifying strength. My body surfaces from the trash like some half-drowned rat being pulled from a sewer.
"What the fuck?" a deep voice rumbles.
This man doesn't look like the others. This one is bigger, broader, with dark blonde hair gathered in a low ponytail. He’s the kind of presence that commands attention. Still, panic overrides logic. All I can process is that someone found me, someone dangerous, and I'm about to die.
He pulls me up on legs that feel like overcooked pasta. My vision blurs from shock and exhaustion, but when he scoops me into his arms as though I weigh nothing, something inside me snaps.
I fight. Clawing at his leather vest, scratching at whatever I can reach, thrashing in his hold like a cornered animal. My nails rake across his neck, drawing blood, but he doesn't retaliate. He doesn't strike me or shake me or even tell me to shut the hell up.
Both his arms wrap around me like steel bands—one supporting my back while the other cradles my legs.
"Shh," he murmurs, his voice vibrating through his chest against my cheek. "Breathe, sweetheart. I'm not going to hurt you."
I should protest, scream, flail—anything—but I'm too exhausted to fight anymore.
"Please," I whimper. "I didn't see anything. I swear."
I experience a moment of extreme confusion. His touch is...gentle? That can't be right.
"That's it," he murmurs, his breath warm against my temple. "Just calm down. I've got you."
My face presses into the crook of his neck. He smells like leather and whiskey and man, a scent that makes my head spin. Or maybe it’s shock and fear making my head spin.
He carries me across the parking lot with long, purposeful strides, and I catch glimpses of other large men in leather vests watching us. They all have the same menacing edge, the same confident way of moving that screams power and danger. My fingers curl into his vest, clinging despite my fear.
We go through a back entrance of the warehouse, and suddenly we're inside what looks like some kind of arena.
The air is thick with body odor and alcohol, and I hear the murmur of a crowd.
He doesn't stop moving. He carries me down a long hall until we reach a small room furnished with a few chairs and a battered couch.
He settles me carefully on the couch, but when he tries to step back, my hands fist his vest tighter. The thought of him leaving, of being alone again, makes panic spike through me.
"Hey." His voice is impossibly gentle for such a big, intimidating man. "I'm not going anywhere."
He crouches in front of me, and I get my first real look at his face. Strong jaw covered in scruff, piercing blue-green eyes that seem to see straight through me, and features that are so handsome my stomach flutters. But it's the concern in his expression that undoes me completely.
"What's your name, sweetheart?"
I open my mouth, but only a croak comes out. My throat feels raw. And I stink so bad I don’t know how he can stand being near me. Carefully unlatching my fingers, he disappears for a moment and returns with a bottle of water, twisting the cap off before pressing it into my shaking hands.
The water tastes like heaven.
"Rowan," I manage after taking a sip.
"Rowan." He repeats my name. "I'm Jace. But most people call me Chaos."
Chaos. The name fits—there's something wild and untamed in his eyes that suggests he's capable of extreme savagery if pushed. But right now, with me, he's being indescribably tender.
"Are you hurt?" His gaze rakes over me.
I shake my head, though I'm not entirely sure that's true. Everything hurts, but I think it’s just muscle cramps.
The sound of approaching voices makes me tense, and Chaos notices immediately.
He shifts position, placing himself between me and the door as four men enter.
They're all wearing the same leather vests, declaring them members of the Renegade Kings Motorcycle Club. Cuts, I’m pretty sure the vests are called.
One has "VP" patched on his chest, another has "Road Captain," a third has “Sergeant at Arms,” and the fourth has "Treasurer. "
Chaos’s reads “President.” Oh my god! I was pulled from the dumpster by the president of the Renegade Kings?
They're all staring at me, and the weight of their attention makes me want to shrink further into the couch cushions. I’ve heard of the Renegade Kings. Of course I have. They’re notorious in Detroit. These are truly dangerous men.
Chaos again crouches in front of me as though I’m a scared child.
Hell, I feel like one. "That's Demon." He points to the dark-skinned man.
"And that's Fury." The bearded one. "And this is Zeus.
" A guy with Greek features and intelligent brown eyes.
“And that guy over there is Fiend.” He gestures to the man who has remained by the door.
"Found her in the dumpster," Chaos says without turning around. His voice carries absolute authority, and the other men straighten slightly in response.
"Holy shit," the VP breathes, his dark eyes widening as he takes in my appearance. "She looks like she's been through hell."
"She has." Chaos's jaw twitches. "Haven't you, sweetheart?"
Something about his tone, the protective way he's positioned himself, makes the dam burst. All the terror and helplessness I've been holding back comes pouring out in a torrent of broken words.
“T-they killed them," I whisper, then louder, “M-murdered. In cold blood. They shot them both. Right there in the parking lot. I tried to run, but there was a fence. When did they put up a fence? And then one of them started cutting..." I trail off, my stomach lurching at the memory.
The temperature in the room drops ten degrees. The men exchange looks that could kill, and suddenly I'm reminded of exactly how vicious these guys truly are.
"You saw what happened?" The VP steps forward, his voice deadly quiet. "You witnessed the murders?"
I nod, tears streaming down my face. "I didn't mean to. I was just trying to go home from work and I took a shortcut and they were there and—"
"Did they see you?" Chaos interrupts, his hand settling on my knee. "Do they know you were watching?"
The gentle weight of his touch grounds me, but his question makes fresh terror spike through me. "Yes. One of them chased me. He almost caught me, but I kneed him in the balls and got away." I swallow hard. "That's why I was hiding in the…” I flinch. “Dumpster.”
Another round of meaningful looks passes between the men. The guy named Zeus runs a hand through his dark blonde hair and mutters, "Fuck.”
“The cartel will be looking for her," Demon says quietly.
“The cartel?!” I exclaim before I can stop myself.
Those killers were in a cartel? They saw me. They chased me. I witnessed a cartel hit!
"Rowan." Chaos's voice draws my attention back to him. "You need to lay low for a while. Take some time off work, stay somewhere safe."
I shake my head immediately. "I can't miss work. I can't afford to miss a single shift." The desperation in my voice is humiliating, but it's the truth. My grandmother's care facility payment is already late, and if I miss even one shift—
"I need to go home," I whisper.
"Sweetheart." The endearment stops my rambling. "If those men can identify you, missing a few paychecks will be the least of your problems."
The gentle way he says it somehow makes it more terrifying than if he'd shouted. My hands start shaking again as the full implication hits me. "Where do you live?"
Heat rises to my cheeks. My apartment is barely better than a closet. “Above the laundromat on Elmwood."
"That shithole?" Fiend speaks for the first time. "That place should've been condemned a decade ago."
I look down at my now filthy, disgusting clothes. "It's what I can afford."
I catch the look that passes between Chaos and Fury—a mixture of concern and something that might be pity. Great. Even hardened criminals feel sorry for me.
A heavy silence falls. Then I remember something crucial.
"My backpack," I say suddenly. "When I was running, it got caught on something. The strap broke. Everything spilled out—my phone, keys, wallet..."
"Wallet?" Chaos's voice sharpens. "With your ID?"
My stomach drops. "Yes."
The men all exchange pointed looks.
The room spins slightly. If they grabbed my wallet, it’s possible they know where to find me. My name, my face, my address.
My breathing starts coming in short, sharp pants. The walls feel like they're closing in. Is this how I end? Murdered by cartel thugs because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Chaos moves faster than I expect for such a big man, sitting beside me on the couch.
"Hey. Look at me." He tips my chin up with his free hand, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Calm down. Breathe. You’re going to hyperventilate."
Okay. Okay. I just nod. Maybe they don’t have my wallet. Maybe it’s still lying in that alley with my phone and keys.
“Look at me,” Chaos says, still holding my chin. His eyes flash with a calming strength. "I need to talk privately with my brothers.” His thumb strokes over my cheekbone and then down over my lower lip. The intensity in his gaze sparks heat between my thighs. “You’ll be okay here.”
I want to tell him that no, no, I won’t. That I can't bear to be alone right now, but I already feel like a wimpy coward among these tough guys. So again, I just nod, not trusting my voice.
He straightens and heads toward the exit. At the door, just before he disappears into the hallway, he turns back to me. The corner of his mouth curls up slightly into an almost-half-smile that flutters my insides because I know it’s meant to soothe me.
“Sit tight, sweetheart.”
And then I'm alone, surrounded by the faint scent of leather and the overpowering stink of nasty, rotting garbage.