Chapter 14 #5
His fingers close around my throat, cutting off my air. Black spots dance at the edge of my vision as I fumble for the knife I dropped in the initial attack. My hand closes around a rock instead. I bring it down with all my remaining strength, connecting with his temple. His grip loosens instantly.
Two down. One to go.
The third man, the one who touched Livie, is nowhere to be seen. I retrieve both weapons and move cautiously back toward the cabin. Volkov will be regaining consciousness soon, if he hasn't already.
As I approach the clearing, I spot movement at the cabin door. Volkov staggers outside, blood streaming down his neck, barking orders into a satellite phone. The third man emerges behind him, gun drawn, scanning the tree line.
I could end them both now. The gun in my hand has enough rounds. Two quick shots and this nightmare would be over.
But death would be too merciful for what they've done—to Livie, to Diane, to countless others. No, I have other plans for them. Plans that will make them wish I'd killed them here and now.
Instead, I melt back into the forest, circling wide to approach Livie's hiding place from a different direction. I don't want to lead them straight to her if they're tracking me.
"Livie," I whisper as I near the thicket. "It's me."
She emerges cautiously, leaves clinging to her hair, the gun still in her hands. The sight of her—alive, unharmed, fierce despite everything—nearly brings me to my knees.
"Are they dead?" she asks, lowering the weapon.
"Two of them," I confirm, helping her to her feet. "Volkov and the other one are still at the cabin, but they've called for backup. We need to move."
"What about Diane?" Her eyes search mine. "We can't just leave her."
The loyalty in her heart, even now, even for someone who betrayed her, steals my breath. "If she's still alive, she's not here. They would have used her against us if they could."
Pain flashes across her face, but she nods. "Which way?"
* * *
Olivia
As I take a step forward, sharp pain shoots up from my right ankle, making me gasp. I stumble, grabbing Greyson's arm to keep from falling.
"What's wrong?" His eyes scan my body, immediately alert to my distress.
"My ankle," I admit, testing it with another step, only to wince as the pain intensifies. "I must have twisted it when we jumped from the bike. I didn't notice until now—adrenaline, I guess."
Greyson crouches to examine it, his touch gentle despite the blood still drying on his face. "It's swelling already." His expression darkens. "Can you walk?"
"I'll manage," I insist, gritting my teeth. "I can go as far as I need to."
He shakes his head, decision already made. "No. You're not putting any more weight on it."
Before I can protest, he scoops me into his arms, cradling me against his chest like I weigh nothing.
"Greyson, you're hurt too," I argue, noting the grimace he tries to hide. "Put me down. I can walk."
"Not happening." His voice leaves no room for argument. "I'm not letting you hurt yourself more."
"But—"
"Livie." He looks down at me, his eyes fierce with determination. "I can't stand the thought of you in pain. Not for one more second. Let me do this."
The raw emotion in his voice silences my protests. I wrap my arms around his neck, surrendering to his protection.
He carries me through the dark forest, his breathing steady despite the exertion. The moon provides just enough light to navigate between the trees, and I can tell he's following some internal compass, keeping us moving east toward the highway.
"How far do you think it is?" I whisper after what feels like an hour.
"Three, maybe four miles," he replies, adjusting his grip to hold me more securely. "We'll make it."
But I can feel the strain in his muscles, see the exhaustion creeping into his face. He's lost blood, taken multiple blows, and now he's carrying me through rough terrain in the middle of the night. Even Greyson has limits.
"Let's rest," I suggest. "Just for a minute."
He shakes his head stubbornly. "They could be right behind us."
"You're no good to either of us if you collapse," I reason. "Just five minutes. Please."
Reluctantly, he lowers me onto a fallen log, his hands lingering as if he can't bear to the break contact. He crouches beside me, scanning our surroundings with predatory focus.
"How's the ankle?" he asks, gently probing the swollen joint.
"Throbbing," I admit. "But I'll survive."
His fingers brush my cheek, tenderness replacing the warrior's mask for just a moment. "Yes, you will. I promise you that."
After barely three minutes of rest, he's lifting me again, ignoring my insistence that I can hobble along with his support. The forest gradually thins as we continue east, the underbrush becoming less dense.
"Listen," I whisper suddenly, my body tensing. "Do you hear that?"
Greyson freezes, his head tilting slightly. A distant rumble breaks the night's silence—engines, multiple ones, coming closer.
"Could be Volkov's backup," he says, immediately veering toward a denser area for cover.
"Or it could be help," I counter, hope flaring in my chest. "The club would be looking for us by now."
Greyson hesitates, torn between caution and the need for allies. Finally, he changes direction, moving toward the sound rather than away from it.
"If it's not our people," he warns, "we run. No matter what."
The rumble grows louder as we approach what must be a road. Through gaps in the trees, I catch glimpses of headlights moving fast along the pavement.
"There," Greyson whispers, nodding toward a break in the tree line. "That's the old logging road. It connects back to the highway about ten miles south of town."
He sets me down carefully behind a large oak, pressing the gun into my hands. "Stay here. I'll check it out first."
Before I can protest, he's slipped away, moving silently toward the road's edge. I hold my breath, counting the seconds until he returns, the gun steady in my grip.
When he emerges from the shadows minutes later, his face is transformed with relief. "It's them." His voice is thick with emotion. "Your dad, Trenton, Zach—they've brought half the damn club."
Relief crashes through me, so powerful I nearly collapse. Greyson lifts me again, and this time I don't argue, burying my face against his neck as he carries me the final distance to the road.
The moment we break from the trees, the rumble of bikes surrounds us. Headlights illuminate Greyson's bloodied face, my torn clothes, the evidence of our ordeal written on our bodies.
"LIVIE!" My father's voice cuts through the night as he leaps from his bike, running toward us with Trenton and Zach close behind. Torch pulls up in a truck, already throwing open the back doors.
Dad reaches us first, his face ashen as he takes in our condition. "Jesus Christ," he breathes, hands hovering over me as if afraid to make contact. "What happened? Who did this?"
"Volkov," Greyson says, his voice hoarse with exhaustion. "Russian mob. They took us from the road near Cole and Harlan’s. To a cabin in the woods about six miles west of here."
Dad's expression hardens to something terrifying. "How many?"
"Two dead in the forest. Volkov and one other are still at the cabin, but they called for backup." Greyson sways slightly, his strength finally flagging. "They've got Diane. Or had her. She's the one who told them to come after Livie."
Zach steps forward, taking me from Greyson's arms just as his knees begin to buckle. Trenton catches him, supporting his weight as they move toward the truck.
"Hospital," I insist, panic rising as I see how pale Greyson has become. "He needs a doctor."
"No hospitals," Greyson counters weakly. "Too many questions. Clubhouse. Xavier can patch us up."
Dad nods, already on his phone. "Xavier's waiting. Bikes will lead, truck in the middle, more bikes behind. Full protection detail."
As Torch helps me into the truck's back seat, I catch a glimpse of the men assembling on the road—twenty, maybe thirty bikes, riders armed and grim-faced. This isn't just a rescue mission anymore. It's war.
Greyson slides in beside me, his body finally giving in to exhaustion as he slumps against the seat. I pull his head into my lap, stroking his blood-matted hair as Dad climbs in on my other side.
"Diane," I say quietly as the truck engine roars to life. "We need to find her."
Dad's hand covers mine, his touch gentle despite the rage evident in every line of his body. "We will, baby girl. But first we take care of our own."
As the convoy moves out, bikes flanking us like a lethal honor guard, I look down at Greyson's face. Even unconscious, he maintains his stance, one hand still gripping my knee.
"I love you," I whisper, though I'm not sure he can hear me. "We're going to be okay."
Dad's arm comes around my shoulders, pulling me against his side. "Damn right you are," he says fiercely. "And when you're patched up, we're going hunting."
The steel in his voice sends a chill down my spine—not fear, but recognition. This is what it means to be a Bennett, to be part of the Devil Souls and Grim Sinners. When someone hurts one of us, the entire club responds with devastating force.
As we speed toward the compound, the night air filled with the thunderous roar of motorcycles, I realize I've never felt more certain of my place in this world. These men—my father, Greyson, the brothers of the clubs—would burn everything to the ground to protect what's theirs.
And God help anyone who stands in their way.