Chapter 1 #2
"I don't give a fuck about your orders." My voice drops into that dangerous register that makes men think twice. "You've got three seconds to let her go and get the fuck out of here. After that, I'm not responsible for what happens."
They exchange glances. The math isn't hard. Three of them, one of me, but I'm wearing Saint’s colors, and that changes everything. Saint’s Outlaws don’t freelance.
Anyone who tangles with one of us tangles with all of us.
We've got a reputation in this city. The kind that makes people weigh their paychecks against their survival instincts.
The guy holding Ava releases her with a shove. She stumbles but catches herself against her car.
"This isn't over," the lead guy says, backing toward the SUV.
"Yeah, it is." I don't move until they're in their vehicle and the sound of their engine fades into the distance.
Then I turn to Ava.
She's gathering her things from the ground: a notepad, pens, a digital recorder, and what looks like a USB drive. She shoves everything back into her bag with shaking hands, though she's trying to hide it.
"You're welcome," I say when she doesn't look at me.
"I didn't ask for your help." She straightens, finally meeting my eyes. Up close, she's prettier than her photo, but it's the steel in her gaze that catches me off guard. Most people don't look at me like that. Most people look away.
"You were about to get your face rearranged. Seemed like you could use the assist."
"I've dealt with worse." She slings her bag across her body, chin lifted in defiance.
"I'm sure you have. But those guys? They weren't playing. Next time, they might not settle for threats."
Her jaw tightens. "Who are you?"
"Someone who knows you've been asking dangerous questions." I step closer, using my size deliberately. Not to scare her, but to make a point. "Ava Langley. Investigative journalist. Currently writing a story about the Reapers MC and their connection to missing women."
Her eyes narrow. "You've been following me."
"Only for the last hour. But I know enough." I cross my arms, holding her stare. "You need to drop this story."
"Not happening."
"Then you're going to end up dead."
"I've been threatened before, and yet I’m still here." She moves toward her car door, but I step into her path.
"This isn't a threat. It's a fact. The people you're investigating don't just threaten. They make problems disappear. Permanently."
"Then I'd better work fast." She tries to sidestep me, but I mirror her movement.
"You're not listening…"
"No, you're not listening." She jabs a finger into my chest, and I'm so surprised by the audacity that I don't stop her.
"Those men were following me because I'm getting close to something.
Women are disappearing. Young women. And no one's doing anything about it because the men responsible have money, power, and connections.
So excuse me if I'm not going to let some biker with a savior complex tell me to walk away. "
I think of Tess’s bar. Of kids asleep in rooms they trust are safe. Of lines we don’t cross, and monsters who don’t give a damn about lines at all.
"Savior complex?" I catch her wrist before she can poke me again, my hand wrapping around it easily. Her pulse hammers against my fingers. "Sweetheart, if I wanted to save you, I wouldn't be telling you to drop the story. I'd be helping you write it."
"Then what do you want?"
Good question. What do I want? To keep her from stumbling into the Saint’s Outlaws' business. To make sure she doesn't connect the Reapers to us. To keep Vulture happy and the club safe.
But looking at her now, defiant and fierce despite the fear I can smell on her, I realize this isn't going to be as simple as intimidation.
"I want you to be smart," I say finally, releasing her wrist. "You're in over your head."
"I can handle myself."
"Those three guys would've put you in the hospital.
Or worse." I lean in close enough to catch the scent of her shampoo, something floral that doesn't fit the hard edge she's trying to project.
"You want to play investigative reporter?
Fine, but do it with your eyes open. The Reapers aren't some small-time MC you can expose and walk away from.
They're connected. And the people pulling their strings?
They're the kind who make problems vanish without a trace. "
"I know." Her voice is quieter now, but no less determined. "That's why I can't stop."
For a long moment, we stand there, locked in some kind of standoff neither of us wants to lose. She's not going to back down. I can see it in every line of her body. And that's going to be a problem.
"Get in your car," I say, stepping back. "Go home. Lock your doors."
"Are you going to follow me?"
"Probably."
A ghost of a smile crosses her face. "At least you're honest."
“Give me your phone.”
“Why? What do you want it for?”
“Just give it to me, Ava.” I hold my hand out, and she hands me her phone. I add my number to her phone, dial my number, and then hand it back. “If you need me, get into any trouble, or you’re worried about something, just call. I’ll be there as quick as I can.”
She slides into her car and starts the engine. Before she can pull away, I lean down to her open window.
"Ava."
She looks at me, waiting.
"Next time someone corners you in a parking garage, aim for the throat with that pepper spray. Face is good, but throat drops them faster."
Her eyes widen slightly, and then she laughs. It's sharp and surprised, like she can't quite believe I just gave her tactical advice.
"Thanks for the tip," she says, and there's something in her voice that sounds almost like respect.
I watch her drive away, committing her license plate to memory even though I've already got it memorized. She's going to be trouble. The kind of trouble that gets people killed.
And somehow, I've just made her my responsibility.
I pull out my phone and dial Vulture.
"Well?" he answers on the first ring.
"We've got a problem. She's not backing down, and someone else is already trying to shut her up. Hired muscle, not Reapers."
Silence on the other end. Then, "Who?"
"Don't know yet, but they mentioned the missing women. She's digging into something bigger than just the Reapers."
"Can you handle her?"
I think about the fire in her eyes, the way she didn't flinch even when she was outnumbered. The way she poked me in the chest like I wasn't six-four and two-twenty of muscle and violence.
"Yeah," I say, though I'm not entirely sure what handling her is going to look like. "I've got it under control."
"Keep me updated. And Ice Pick? Don't let her become a liability."
The line goes dead.
I stare at my phone for a moment, then in the direction Ava's car disappeared.
A liability, that's what Vulture’s worried about.
But standing in this garage, adrenaline still humming through my veins from the confrontation, I'm starting to think the real liability might be the fact that I'm already more interested in this woman than I should be.
I swing back onto my bike and head toward her apartment. If she's being tailed by hired muscle, she's going to need protection whether she wants it or not.
And I'm going to be the one providing it.
Even if it kills us both.
I park down the street from her building, keeping watch. She makes it inside without incident, and I see her apartment light flick on the third floor, corner unit. There’s no movement in the windows, and no sign of the SUV.
My phone buzzes. Text from Zip.
Zip:
Need backup?
I type back quickly.
Me:
Not yet. Keep your phone on.
Zip:
Always do. Don't do anything stupid.
Too late for that. Getting involved with a journalist who's investigating the same trafficking ring we're trying to dismantle, that's the definition of stupid.
But something about her pulled at me. Maybe it was the way she didn't back down. Maybe it was the conviction in her voice when she talked about the missing women. Or maybe I'm just tired of standing by while innocent people get hurt by the same kind of monsters who took my sister.
The thought of Elena twists something dark in my chest. I couldn’t save my sister.
But I’ll be damned if I let history repeat itself while I’m breathing.
She was fifteen years old and disappeared from a party.
She was found three months later in a shallow grave two states over.
The trafficking ring that took her was dismantled eventually, but it didn't bring her back.
I've spent the last eight years making sure that doesn't happen to anyone else. The Saints Outlaws might run guns and deal in gray areas, but we've got lines we don't cross. And human trafficking is so far over that line it might as well be in another country.
If Ava's investigating the same ring the Reapers are tied to, if she's got evidence that could blow this thing wide open, then maybe she's not the enemy.
Maybe she's the key.
My phone rings, it’s an unknown number.
I answer. "Yeah?"
"Is this Ice Pick?" It’s a female voice. My hopes surge, but just as quickly I realize it’s not Ava.
"Who's asking?"
"Someone who knows Ava Langley is in trouble. She gave me your number to call if anything happened."
That tells me everything I need to know. Ava doesn’t give her number to just anyone. Women like her build quiet networks. Lifelines.
I sit up straighter. "What happened?"
"She didn't give me details; she just said if she didn't check in by midnight, I should call you. It's 11:45."
I'm already starting my bike. "Where is she?"
"I don't know. Last I heard, she was heading to the Reapers' warehouse at the docks. Said she had a meeting with someone inside."
Ice floods my veins. "When?"
"Two hours ago."
How the fuck did she get out of her apartment without me noticing? I’m furious at myself and furious at her for going to their warehouse. Thank god she hasn’t gone to their clubhouse, that would be suicide, and I know she really has a death wish.
I gun the engine and tear out of the parking spot. The Reapers' warehouse is across town, deep in their territory. If she went there alone, if she tried to get information without backup...
Fuck.
I weave through traffic, pushing the bike faster than I should. My phone's in my pocket, but I don't have time to call for backup. Every second counts.
As I pull into the docks, I know which is their warehouse. It’s where they take people to beat them and kill them. There are a few bikes outside like a wall of chrome and steel. I kill my engine a block away and approach on foot, sticking to the shadows.
There’s no sign of her car, and no sign of her.
But there's shouting coming from inside, and one of those voices sounds female.
I don't think, I just move.
The back door's unlocked, which should've been my first warning. I slip inside, following the sound of voices to a storage room in the rear of the building.
What I see makes my blood boil.
Ava's on her knees, hands zip-tied behind her back, with blood trickling from a cut above her eyebrow. Three Reapers surround her, and one of them is holding a phone, filming.
"One more time," the guy with the phone says. "Who sent you?"
"Nobody sent me." Her voice is hoarse, but still defiant. "I told you, I'm writing a story…"
One of the others backhands her hard enough that she goes down. "Lying bitch."
That's all I need to see.
I step into the room, and the temperature drops ten degrees. "Get away from her. Now."
All three of them turn. The guy with the phone has a Reapers Sergeant-at-Arms patch. The other two are enforcers, judging by their cuts.
"This is Reapers’ business, Saint," the SAA says. "Turn around and walk away."
"Can't do that."
"You're on our turf. Alone." He grins, mean and ugly. "Bad decision."
"Won't be the first one I've made today." I crack my knuckles, measuring the distance between us. "Let her go, and I'll make this quick."
"You really want to start a war over some nosy reporter?"
Vulture’s going to be pissed. If I make this decision, it could lead to a war. Sometimes it doesn’t take a bullet to start one, just a decision on the fly.
I glance at Ava. She's looking at me with wide eyes, surprise, and something else I can't quite read.
"Yeah," I say. "I really do."
Then I move.
The first guy doesn't even see it coming. I'm on him before he can react, my fist connecting with his jaw hard enough to spin him around. He crashes into a shelf, and the whole thing comes down on top of him.
The second one pulls a knife. Amateur move. I catch his wrist, twist until I hear bones crack, and relieve him of the weapon. He's on the ground screaming before his partner even finishes falling.
The SAA is smarter. He backs toward the door, reaching for his phone. "You're dead, Saint. You and your whole club…"
I throw the knife. It embeds in the doorframe two inches from his head, and he freezes.
"Leave," I say quietly. "Tell your president that if any of you come near her again, what I did to your boys here will look like a fucking massage."
He runs.
I turn to Ava, who's struggling to her feet. There's blood on her face, bruises forming on her cheek. Fury ignites in my chest, and it’s hot and consuming.
"Hold still," I mutter, pulling out my pocketknife to cut the zip ties.
Her hands come free, and she rubs her wrists. "You shouldn't have come."
"You're welcome."
"I'm serious. You just assaulted three Reapers on their turf. Do you know what that means?"
"Yeah. It means they'll think twice before touching you again." I cup her chin, tilting her face up to examine the cut. "You need stitches."
"I need to get out of here before more of them show up." She pulls away from my touch, grabbing her bag from where it's been tossed in the corner. "How did you know where I was?"
"Your friend called, said you gave her my number."
"I didn't…" She stops, her eyes widening. "Someone's setting this up, they wanted you to come here."
The words barely leave her mouth before I hear it: motorcycles. A lot of them.
"Time to go," I say, grabbing her hand.