Hex
He sat up fast, noting that the sheets still smelled like her citrus shampoo and something wild he couldn’t name. On the nightstand sat a note, scrawled in her messy handwriting.
I had to run home to feed the cat. See you later — H.
A faint grin tugged at his mouth until he remembered that Harley didn’t have a cat. He read the note again—once, twice, and then his stomach turned. Why had she left, and where had she really gone?
He was on his feet in seconds, jeans half-buttoned, his boots barely tied.
The bar downstairs was quiet and cold. The fall air had started settling in, and he shivered.
Chairs were still up on the tables, morning light cutting through the haze of dust. Her car was in the parking lot, her keys still sitting in the drawer behind the counter, and a sick feeling consumed him.
That’s when his unease sharpened into panic. “Harley?” His voice echoed through the bar. There was no answer. He tore through the place — the storeroom, the office, and even the walk-in freezer. He found nothing. There was no sign of her—not a sound, no sign she’d been in the bar since last night.
Hex grabbed his phone and called her. His call went straight to voicemail—again and again. “Damn it, Harley,” he growled. A coldness had settled into his chest. He stalked back into the office, flipped on the surveillance feed, and scrubbed through the night’s footage.
The timestamp blinked past 3:12 a.m., and there she was, walking out the front door, alone. She looked relaxed, maybe a bit tired, and was wearing his hoodie. He watched as Harley stopped just outside the door and turned her head like she heard something back in the woods behind the bar.
That’s when he noticed the headlights pulling into the parking lot.
A van pulled up to the bar, dark and unmarked.
The side door slid open fast, and two men in leather cuts stepped out.
He tried to make out the patches on their cuts, but they were just flashing white blobs in the camera’s grainy feed.
But he knew who they were. He had seen those patches enough to know that they were trouble.
The Dead Rabbits had stopped by in the dead of night—like the cowards that they were, and no one was around to stop them from doing what they did next.
Hex’s stomach dropped as he watched them quickly grab Harley.
They were efficient, like they’d done it before.
He knew that they had. The Dead Rabbits were notorious for trafficking women, and the thought of them taking Harley to do just that with her made him sick.
His girl struggled, kicked, and fought like hell.
He had no right to feel proud of her for doing that, but he did.
They still got her into the van. He watched the video fees as the door slammed shut and the tires squealed out of the parking lot and into the darkness.
They were gone, and they took his woman with them, and he slept right through the whole fucking ordeal.
The screen froze on the last frame—her hand reaching toward the camera, mouth open in a scream the feed couldn’t catch, and he felt sick.
Hex’s hands curled into fists, blood roaring in his ears.
He’d been through firefights, medivacs, everything hell could throw at a man to help his brothers in the field — but this was different.
This was personal. They had taken his woman, and he wanted her back.
He grabbed his cut from the back of the chair and swung it on, heart pounding so hard it hurt, as he called his club’s Prez on his cell. “Savage,” he growled into his phone the moment the line clicked. “They took Harley. The Dead Rabbits have her.”
There was a pause at the other end of the call. Then Savage’s voice, low and steady. “Are you sure?” he asked.
Hex’s eyes stayed on the frozen frame of the video feed.
Harley’s face caught in the glare of the headlights, and he nodded.
“I’m sure,” he growled. His voice was pure steel.
“And I’m getting her back.” It was a threat—at least he meant it as one, because there was no way that he’d let the Dead Rabbits keep his woman.
Harley was his now, and no one touched what was his.
It had been days, and Hex hadn’t slept—not really.
How could he after watching the Dead Rabbits’ van pull away with his woman inside it?
Knowing that Harley was trapped somewhere in their territory made him sick, and every hour that ticked by felt like it was pushing her further and further out of his reach.
He finally got a call mid-morning. It was Savage’s voice, low, clipped, and dangerous. “Hex,” Savage said, no preamble. “Reacher up at the Royal Bastards in Yonkers, New York, has eyes on her. They’re holding her in a warehouse down by the docks.”
Hex’s stomach tightened. “Yonkers? That’s deep into Dead Rabbits’ territory. Are you sure? The Dead Rabbits had strongholds all over the country, and even overseas. And they had history with the Royal Bastards that couldn’t be undone and would never be forgotten.”
“Reacher wouldn’t lie. You’ll need backup. I’ve already called Hurricane. He knows what’s coming. He’s dealt with the Dead Rabbits before, man,” Savage said.
Hex cursed under his breath, tugging on his boots. “Where do you want me?”
“Ryder is waiting for you at the hangar. He’s got the plane gassed up and ready to go. Get up there and work with Hurricane. Keep your head on straight, Hex. The Dead Rabbits don’t play fair,” Savage warned.
He knew exactly what the Dead Rabbits were capable of, but he couldn’t think about that right now—not while they had Harley. “Take care of yourself, man, and do your fucking cardiac rehab,” Hex ordered.
“Yes, Doc,” Savage grumbled and ended the call. He was going to grab a bag and get to the hangar to meet with Ryder because there was no way that he’d sit this fight out. He wanted his woman back, and if he had to take down a few Dead Rabbits to get to her, he’d have no problem with that.
Within the hour, Ryder had them in the air.
Savage Hell was shrinking behind them with each passing mile.
Every mile north tightened the knot in his chest as he replayed the surveillance footage in his mind, over and over, memorizing her movements, her face, the van’s license plate—anything that could give him leverage over the Dead Rabbits.
By late afternoon, he pulled up to the Royal Bastards’ compound in Yonkers.
The bar reminded him of the club down in Huntsville, and he couldn’t help but smile at the pair of men leaning against the gate with scowls on their faces.
This wasn’t a friendly visit—it was business, and Hurricane ran this place like a fortress and knew how to conduct business.
A tall man with a beard and silver in his hair met him at the gate. He didn’t smile. Didn’t nod. He just studied Hex.
“You Hex?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Hex said, keeping his voice calm. “I’m here about Harley.”
The guy’s eyes flicked up to his, sharp and assessing. “Savage sent you?”
Hex nodded. “She was taken by the Dead Rabbits. We got intel she’s being held in a warehouse down by the docks. I could use your help getting her out.”
Hurricane’s jaw tightened. “Name’s Hurricane.
” He clapped Hex on the shoulder once, hard.
“We’ll do it by the book. You follow my lead, and she comes out alive.
But we’ll only get one shot at this. The Dead Rabbits don’t play with a rulebook, and once they know that they have something that we want, they’ll move her. We can’t screw this up.”
Hex swallowed. “I don’t plan to screw up,” he spat.
Hurricane gestured toward the bar. “Follow me,” he ordered.
Hex followed the big guy into the bar, and it felt so much like Savage Hell that a wave of nostalgia hit him.
Hurricane led him to an office where he pointed to a map spread across a steel table that sat against the wall.
Hex leaned in to study it. Red dots marked entrances, shipping routes, and patrol patterns.
“The Dead Rabbits have women stashed in warehouses all over the place down by the docks,” Hurricane said grimly.
“The asshole who’s holding them usually stays upstairs.
This is the same shit we’ve dealt with before.
We go in quietly; we get her out clean. I have a few other guys who have agreed to help us out. ”
Hex studied the map. His hand hovered over one of the marked buildings.
It was Harley’s last known location. “That’s her,” he said, pointing at the map.
When do we leave?” Sure, he sounded anxious, but there was no way that he wanted her to sit in that hellhole for one second more than she needed to.
Hurricane nodded, “That’s her. We prep first. You need eyes on every door, every exit. I want her out without a scratch. I’ll let you know when we’re ready to move out.”
Hex straightened, feeling the tension coiled like steel in his chest. “I’m ready when you are.” He knew that rushing things would be a mistake, but he wanted her out of that warehouse—the sooner the better, and God help any man who got in his way of getting to Harley.
Hex felt alive and focused for the first time in days. Hurricane paced in front of a whiteboard covered in crude maps, with red X’s marking routes, entrances, and patrol points. Hex studied every line, memorizing details like he’d been doing it for years.
“This is our window,” Hurricane said, pointing to the main warehouse near the docks. “Dead Rabbits shift crews every four hours. Patrol patterns change after 2 a.m., but their security cams are offline for maintenance.”
Hex nodded, already running through contingencies in his head. “We need a distraction outside, and a clean sweep inside. One wrong move and they scatter or hurt her.” The thought of the Dead Rabbits laying one hand on her had him wanting to fly into a rage.
Hurricane’s face darkened. “Exactly. That’s why you’re sticking with me. You know her, right? Is she a fighter?”