18. Vance
18
VANCE
I stand over Mace, my hands clenched into fists, the rope biting into my palms. The bastard's tied to the chair, looking like a trapped animal, his eyes wide with fear and defiance. Sweat beads on his forehead, dripping down his face, and I can see the pulse in his neck pounding rapidly.
“Where is she, Mace?” I growl, my voice barely above a whisper but carrying the weight of my fury.
Mace’s eyes dart around the room, looking for a way out, but there is none.
The basement of the clubhouse is dark and damp, the air thick with tension. The other Hellfire Riders are upstairs, dealing with the fallout, but down here, it’s just me and Mace. And he’s got nowhere to run.
Hawk had a feeling it was either he or Gunner, but not both.
Dammit. Damn them. There’s more too. We see that now.
At the meeting most of them were on edge, but when Hawk announced he knew there was a mole among us, it didn’t take long for the truth to work its way out. Mace made it known he wanted to remove Hawk as our president. He tried to make it be a game of politics, but it was all a ruse. It was bull shit. Gunner dipped while Mace distracted us, and there’s a minor rebellion on our hands, but more importantly, Gunner has Izzy. He took her from us.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he spits, trying to sound tough, but his voice wavers.
I lean in closer, my face inches from his.
Hawk is our president. He leads us, and Tank keeps shit running. He enforces the law, but me—I have another role entirely. I do what the other’s can’t handle.
I deal in blood and bone, and tonight Mace is going to talk or he’s going to beg for death.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. You helped Gunnar, didn’t you? You helped him take her, and I want to know where the fuck you’ve got her.”
Anger boils in my veins, white-hot and pulsing with a desire to hurt him.
“Look at you. Such a little bitch. All three of you are fighting for some slut,” he hisses. Big mistake.
I exhale, leaning backwards.
I don’t have time for this. Every second counts, and Izzy’s out there somewhere, in danger. I step behind Mace, placing my hands on his shoulders, feeling him tense under my grip.
He’s trying to bait me. It won’t work. Not this time.
“I’ll ask you one more time, Mace. Where is she?” I ask, my voice even, cold as the steel I’m holding in my hand. He squirms against his restraints.“I won’t ask again.”
“Fuck you!” he spits.
I sigh, frustrated. He’s either scared or stupid.
“Okay, Mace. If that’s how you want to be.” I draw my pocket knife, flicking it open. The steal catches the single light bulb hanging overhead.
His eyes widen when he sees the blade, and a small whimper escapes his lips.
I lean in close to his ear, my voice no more than a whisper. “You know I’ll do it. You know that I won’t hesitate to end you right now.”
His teeth grind together. That was his last cue to walk out of here unscathed.
I press the blade against his left hand, tracing a line across his palm before digging in.
“—Agh!” he screams, thrashing against his restraints.
“Shh. We’re trying to have a conversation, Mace.” I say, pressing the knife deeper.
“You’re fucking insane!” he cries out.
“Insane? I’m not the one who kidnapped an innocent woman.”
I press the blade harder into his flesh, drawing a line from his palm to his wrist. Mace thrashes more, attempting to break free of his restraints.
“She’s a fucking cop!” he yelps.
“I’ll ask you one more time. Where is she?” I keep my voice ice cold, though inside I’m an inferno, waiting to burn this whole forest to the ground to find Izzy.
I withdraw the blade, pressing it to the soft flesh of his neck. Red wine blood trickles down his neck where the knife begins to bite his skin.
“Talk or I’ll cut your vocal cords next.”
“Alright! Alright! Fuck!”
“That’s more like it.” I keep the sharp steel against his neck as though I’m simply a barber giving him a shave. He gasps.
Mace flinches. “I heard Gunnar talking to someone—I don’t know who. He just promised me I’d move up if I helped him out.”
“Helped him with what?”
“Getting Hawk out of the club. But they said something about taking her—Izzy to the bluffs. There’s a cave there, hidden in the rocks. That’s all I know, I swear!”
I step back, my heart pounding. The bluffs. It makes sense. The perfect place to keep someone hidden, out of sight
“Where exactly, Mace?”
The knife digs deeper.
“H-here. I have the coordinates on my phone.”
I reach into his pocket, pulling out the cracked iphone. I unlock it with his face, as I don’t know his passcode.
“It’s in my notes,” he whimpers, tears collecting in his eye. Jesus Christ this one’s soft .
I memorize the number and slide the phone in my pocket, before I turn and head for the stairs, leaving Mace tied to the chair, his breathing heavy with relief and fear.
“Are you just going to leave me down here?” he wails after me.
I hold the knob of the heavy metal door.
“No. I’ll send some guys down to take care of you in a bit.”
“Wait! What? What does that mean?” he cries out, but I slam the door.
As I reach the top of the stairs, Tank and Hawk are waiting, their expressions grim. “What did you find out?” Hawk asks, his eyes sharp.
“They’ve taken her to the bluffs,” I say, my voice steady but filled with urgency. “There’s a cave. I have the coordinates. We need to move, now.”
Tank nods, already moving toward the door.
“How many are running with Gunnar?” I ask.
“As far as I know, about five guys. Mace is the only one that’s still here. Poor kid got left behind to take the fall,” Hawk says, shaking his head. "Gunnar really has no idea how badly he fucked up. I’ve known for a while he had issues with me, but this—” Hawk trails off, the rest unspoken but understood. The betrayal cut deep for all of us.
Out in the garage, Hawk stands by the door, his eyes cold and hard, jaw set like he’s ready to tear someone apart. Tank checks his gun, the click of the safety echoing ominously. I tighten my gloves, my thoughts on Izzy and the hell we’re about to rain down on Gunnar and Reynolds.
“We leave now, we can get to the bluffs before dawn,” Hawk growls, voice low and dangerous. “We can’t waste any time.”
Tank nods, slipping his gun into its holster. “We get her out, and we make those fuckers pay.”
We ride out of the compound, engines growling like angry beasts. Hawk takes the lead, Tank and I close behind, our bikes a tight formation on the winding road.
The rain pelts down like bullets, the cold soaking through my jacket and chilling me to the bone. The roar of our bikes cuts through the night. The headlights carve out a narrow path on the slick road ahead, but the visibility is shit.
Halfway down the drive, I catch sight of flashing blue and red lights in my mirror. My stomach drops. The compound is swarming with cops.
"Shit!" I shout over the roar of the engines. "Hawk, look!"
Hawk glances back, his face twisting with anger. "Keep moving!" he barks, but there's a tightness in his voice.
We've been made. Someone tipped them off.
Tank pulls up alongside me, his expression grim. "They're raiding the clubhouse," he says, barely audible over the wind.
“Gunnar must’ve sent them,” I say to the others.
“Or Reynolds,” Hawk shouts over the engines. His face falls as a cold, ice appears in his eyes. There’s a darkness there that I’ve only seen once, when Reynolds killed one of our men.
“We’re gonna fuck them up,” Tank growls through gritted teeth.
I keep imagining her being dragged away by Gunnar in my head, each time a little worse, a little more vivid. I twist the throttle harder, urging the bike to go faster.
Tank glances over at me, his expression grim but resolute. We’ve been through hell and back together, but this feels different. This is personal. Izzy’s not just a friend, she’s... more than that. Hawk’s focus remains forward. He hasn’t looked back. Not in a long while.