Chapter Twenty-Five
THE RIDE FELT long, not because of distance but because every second stretched in a way that made it harder to breathe, the sound of the engine too loud beneath me and the wind biting against my skin as I sat there behind Kane with nowhere to go and nothing to hold onto except the reality settling in piece by piece.
I was in big trouble.
My hands stayed locked on his sides because I didn’t have a choice, my fingers curled tighter than they needed to be, not for balance but because letting go felt like falling into something worse, something I couldn’t see yet but already knew was waiting.
He didn’t speak.
Everything about him said the same thing without words.
This was happening.
The road shifted under us after a while, the smooth pavement giving way to something rougher, uneven, the bike kicking up small bursts of gravel as we turned onto the dirt road that stretched out, cutting through trees that swallowed the last of the light as we moved deeper into something that felt too far removed from everything I knew.
By the time the clubhouse came into view, my chest was already tight, my pulse uneven as I took in what I could see through the dim light, bikes scattered instead of lined, men moving in ways that screamed violence.
Kane slowed the bike before cutting the engine, the sudden quiet hitting harder than the ride had, and for a second I didn’t move, didn’t trust myself to, because stepping off meant I wasn’t ever going back.
“Off!” he practically snarled, not looking back.
I swallowed hard and got off, my legs unsteady for half a second when my feet hit the ground, the weight of everything catching up all at once as I pulled the helmet off and handed it back to him, my fingers brushing his for the briefest moment before I stepped away.
It didn’t give me distance.
Nothing here did.
Eyes were already on me.
I felt it before I fully saw it, the shift in attention, the way conversations dipped just slightly, not stopping but changing, like I’d become something to watch without anyone needing to say it out loud.
“You pissed me the fuck off,” he muttered, his voice furious as he took the helmet from me and hooked it onto the bike, his movements unhurried, controlled in a way that made it worse. “And I fuckin’ warned you.”
The way he said it made my stomach turn so hard I thought I double over.
“I just couldn’t do it,” I said, the words coming out tighter than I wanted them to, but I forced them anyway, because I needed to hear myself say it, even if it didn’t matter.
That got a reaction.
Not big.
Just enough.
His mouth tipped slightly as he turned back to me, his gaze moving over me slow, deliberate, like he was taking inventory of something he already owned.
“You did plenty,” he said after a second. “You fucked him.”
My chest tightened hard at that, panic pressing in again as I shook my head, already stepping back before I could stop myself. “No. That isn’t—that isn’t what was supposed to—”
He moved faster than I expected, his hand catching my arm again, not rough but firm enough to stop me, to hold me in place like the ground itself had shifted under my feet.
“You’re mine,” he said, quieter now, closer, his grip tightening just enough to make the warning clear. “Got it?”
Fear slid cold down my spine, my breath catching as I forced myself to meet his eyes, even when every instinct told me not to.
“Please,” I said, my voice lower now, shaking just enough that I couldn’t hide it. “I was getting close like Drago wanted.”
His expression didn’t change.
Didn’t soften.
“I told you I didn’t give a fuck what Drago wanted. Now your fine ass can give me a taste of what that bastard had.”
The words landed heavy, final in a way that stripped away anything I’d been holding onto, anything that made this feel like something I could still step out of.
I was at a dead end with no way out.
My gaze flicked past him, taking in more of the place, more of the men watching, the way they looked at me like they were already making decisions about me I hadn’t been part of, and my stomach twisted hard at the realization of just how far this had gone.
This wasn’t about passing information or keeping quiet or playing a part.
This was something else.
Something worse.
It hit me, not sudden, not loud, just… there, settling in the way everything had been all night.
Nobody was coming to my rescue. These men had no intention of stepping in and stopping what was about to happen. Kane was going to rape me, and I may even be killed, and they didn’t care.
My chest tightened so hard it hurt, my throat closing as I looked down for half a second before I could stop myself, because Gatsby was going to go to my place, he was going to knock, he was going to call, and I wasn’t going to answer.
He was going to think—
I sucked in a breath that didn’t go all the way through, my hands curling into themselves as I fought to keep it together, because there wasn’t room for that right now, not here, not in front of them, even if it was the only thing that mattered.
There was still hope that Gatsby would break into my house and find the note.
Something in my chest broke a little at that, quiet but deep, the kind that didn’t make noise but didn’t go away either, and I pressed it down hard, forcing my expression to stay neutral, to stay calm, because falling apart here wasn’t an option.
Kane was still watching me.
Waiting.
“C’mon,” he said after a second, his grip loosening just enough to turn into a pull instead, guiding me forward toward one of the larger buildings without giving me the chance to resist.
As we moved deeper into the clubhouse, the weight of it settled heavier with every step, every glance, every look that followed us, until there wasn’t anything left to pretend about anymore.
Ruby had gotten me into something that was going to cost me everything.
***
THE NOISE FROM outside faded into something distant as Kane led me down the narrow hallway and into the same room as before, my steps slowing without meaning to when I saw Drago already there, sitting back in a chair like he’d been waiting long enough for it to settle into something routine, one arm draped along the side, his posture loose in a way that didn’t feel relaxed so much as controlled, his gaze lifting slowly when we stepped in and landing on me like I’d just confirmed something he already knew.
Ruby stood off to the side, too still, too quiet, and when her eyes met mine for half a second something flickered there, guilt, fear, something I couldn’t quite hold onto long enough to name, before her gaze dropped again like she couldn’t afford to look at me any longer than that.
“Kane,” Drago said, his voice even and unhurried, like none of this took any effort at all.
Kane didn’t let go of my arm when he answered, his grip still firm, holding me in place as he shifted just enough to face him. “Picked her up at her place,” he said, like it was nothing more than routine. “She had a bag packed. Looked like she was about to take off.”
Something in Drago’s expression shifted, not much, just enough to feel it, as his gaze moved over me again, slower this time, more deliberate, like he was reassessing something he didn’t like the look of.
“Is that right?” he asked, the question landing softer than it should have.
“I wasn’t running,” I said, my voice tighter than I wanted it to be, but I pushed it out anyway because standing there silent felt worse. “I didn’t tell him anything.”
His head tilted slightly, not quite interest, not quite disbelief, his eyes still on me in a way that made it hard to breathe.
“No?” he said.
I shook my head, my pulse loud in my ears, my hands curling in on themselves just to keep from shaking as the silence stretched out for a second too long—long enough that when Drago finally stood, slow and deliberate, it felt like something had already decided where this was going.
The scrape of the chair against the floor sounded louder than it should have, the shift in the room immediate, like everything adjusted around him without needing to be told to.
He stepped closer, not fast, he didn’t need to be.
Every step closed the space in a way that made it harder to breathe, my body locking in place even when every instinct told me to move, to get away, to do anything but stand there and let him get closer.
“You expect me to believe that,” he said, his voice still level, still controlled, but something darker had slipped in underneath it now, something that didn’t need volume to carry weight.
“I’m telling you the truth,” I said, even though my throat felt tight around the words.
His gaze stayed locked on mine, unblinking, unsoftened, and when his hand came up it moved so fast I barely tracked it before the intent caught up with me—before I understood he was going to hit me—and I flinched on instinct, the reaction slipping free before I could stop it, the moment stretching tight and sharp right up until Kane’s voice cut through it.
“Drago.”
It landed hard enough to split the tension before the blow ever could, but Drago didn’t look away from me right away, didn’t lower his hand, his focus still fixed, still edged, like he hadn’t decided yet whether to finish what he’d started.
“What,” he said, quieter now, something darker threading through it.
Kane already had his phone out, his attention pinned to the screen as whatever he’d pulled up played low. “I took some video at the bar,” he said, voice tight, distracted. “Might be useful.”
Drago’s hand stilled for a fraction of a second, then lowered in a slow, deliberate motion that felt less like hesitation and more like control, like he was choosing not to follow through.
“What is it,” he said.
Kane didn’t answer immediately, just stepped closer and angled the phone so the sound carried, the video already playing through the speaker—and then a voice slipped into the room, soft, threaded with a slight accent, unmistakable.
Everything shifted before I could even fully process it, the reaction immediate, like something buried had just been dragged to the surface all at once.
Zeynep.
Drago went completely still, not calm, not controlled, but contained in a way that felt worse, like everything inside him had slammed into place at once, his attention snapping to the phone in Kane’s hand so hard the rest of us might as well not have been there.
The air changed.
You could feel it.
Everyone did.
“What is that,” he said, and this time there was something in his voice that hadn’t been there before, not control, not calculation, something else, something almost desperate.
Kane looked at Drago oddly, his grip tightening slightly around the phone. “It’s from their shitty bar.”
Drago didn’t wait for him to finish.
He stepped in closer, taking the phone out of Kane’s hand without asking, his gaze locked on the screen as the voice continued, as the reality of it settled in piece by piece.
“Zeynep,” Drago murmured, his eyes turning soft. “Alive.”
My breath caught as I watched him, because the second Zeynep appeared it shifted something in him in a way that felt louder, more dangerous, like the ground had tilted beneath all of us and nothing was sitting where it had been a moment ago, and even without moving or speaking Ruby felt it too, her shoulders drawing tight, her hands curling faintly at her sides as if her body understood before her mind caught up, as if she already knew exactly what this meant.
Drago’s jaw tightened so hard I could see it jump, once, then again, like something inside him was trying to break loose and he was barely holding it back, and it wasn’t loud or explosive—if anything, that made it worse, because it felt like standing too close to something about to snap, that kind of quiet where you just know it’s not going to stay contained much longer.
“She was with this scarred bastard,” he said, his voice dropping lower, rougher now, edged in something that hadn’t been there before.
Kane didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Rode up with him.”
And that was it, the moment everything tipped, because whatever this had been before, whatever plan he’d been running, whatever control he’d been holding onto with both hands, it shifted and then it snapped, something inside Drago breaking loose all at once, and standing there in the middle of it, caught too close with no way out, I knew without it needing to be said that whatever came next was going to be worse than anything he’d already planned.