Chapter 29
HOLT
M y head is pounding like someone took a sledgehammer to it.
The pain radiates from the base of my skull, sharp and vicious, making my vision blur at the edges.
I try to move and can’t. My hands are locked behind my back, wrists bound tight with something plastic.
Zip ties, from the feel of them cutting into my skin.
I force my eyes open. Dim light. Concrete floor beneath me, cold seeping through my jeans. My back is against a wall, and when I try to shift, I realize my ankles are tied too. More zip ties.
Fuck.
The room slowly swims into focus. Not the run-down “bakery” we walked into.
Definitely not. This is different. A small warehouse from the look of it, with metal racking lining the walls.
All of it empty. No boxes, no equipment, nothing.
Just bare shelves and concrete and the smell of dust and motor oil.
They moved us. The fuckers who took us down moved us while we were out.
I glance to my left. Arrow is there, maybe ten feet away, also sitting with his back against the wall. His head is lolling forward, strands of blond hair covering in his face, but I can see his chest rising and falling. Breathing. Alive.
Luke is on my right, closer. He’s starting to stir, groaning low in his throat.
The fact that none of us have gags tells me everything I need to know. We’re in the middle of fuck knows where, far enough out that no one can hear us scream.
Rage floods through me. I thrash against the zip ties, pulling hard enough that the plastic cuts deeper into my wrists. Pain flares, but I don’t care. I need to get free. Need to get back to Cindy.
There’s no one else in the room with us. Just the three of us and empty space. But across the warehouse, maybe thirty feet away, there’s a door. Light bleeds under it, and I can see shadows moving. Legs. Someone is standing guard out there.
“Fuck,” Luke croaks. “What the hell happened?”
“Chloroform,” I mutter, testing the restraints again.
Arrow lifts his head, blinking hard. “How long were we out?”
“Don’t know.” I scan the room again, looking for anything useful. “Could be minutes. Could be hours.”
“Fuck!” Arrow, fights his own restraints, his face twisting with fury. “This has to be fucking Van. That fake cake pickup, Victoria’s text, all of it.”
“When I get hold of them,” I start, then stop. When I get hold of him, what? What am I going to do? Every violent thought I’ve ever had is flooding through my head right now, and none of them are enough.
Luke is cursing steadily now, a stream of profanity under his breath. “We fell for the oldest trick in the fucking book. Fake address, open door, boom. Down we go like amateurs.”
“Save it,” I snap. “We need to get out of here.”
“No shit.” Arrow is thrashing harder now, and I can see blood starting to stain his wrists. “Cindy is back there. With them. With Van and Victoria and God knows who else,” he murmurs quietly.
The thought makes my vision go red. Cindy, alone, dealing with whatever nightmare they’ve cooked up. She’s stronger than she knows, but she shouldn’t have to face this alone.
We’re supposed to be there, to protect her.
I force myself to think past the rage. Focus. We need to get free, and we need to do it fast.
My belt. I keep a small knife hidden on the inside of my custom belt, tucked into a pocket. It’s saved my ass more times than I can count.
I shift, trying to reach behind me. The angle is awkward, my hands barely able to move. My fingers brush the leather of my belt, searching for the hidden pocket.
“They patted us down,” Arrow whispers. “Took the blade I keep in my boot. Fucking thorough.”
“Give me a second.” I’m stretching, fingers straining. Almost there. Just a little more.
The knife falls from my grip.
“Fuck!” The word slips out of me.
I hear it hit the concrete with a tiny metallic clink, somewhere behind me and to the left.
Luke’s head snaps around. “You had a knife?”
“Yeah. And I just dropped it.”
“Well, pick it back up!”
“Working on it.” I’m tilting sideways now, trying to feel around on the floor behind me. The zip ties dig in harder, my shoulders screaming in protest at the angle. “Just give me a damn minute.”
Arrow hisses. “Van’s got Cindy. You know what he’s going to do to her.”
“I know!” The words come out sharper than I intended. “I’m trying.”
Luke is cursing again.
My fingers brush something metal. There. I stretch farther, ignoring the pain in my shoulders, and manage to get my fingertips on the knife.
“Got it,” I say.
“Thank fuck.” Luke shifts, angling toward me. “Hurry up, man. We’re wasting time.”
I’m working the blade open one-handed, which is about as easy as it sounds. The small folding knife has a thumb stud, and I’m pressing it awkwardly, trying to get leverage.
It opens. Finally.
Now comes the hard part. Cutting zip ties behind my back, blind, while my hands are numb from lack of circulation.
I angle the blade against the plastic, sawing carefully. Too much pressure and I’ll cut myself. Not enough and this’ll take forever.
“You got it?” Arrow asks.
“Working on it.”
“Work faster.”
“Helpful,” I mutter.
Luke makes a frustrated sound. “We need to get back there.”
The blade catches on the zip tie, biting in. “I know, just shut up and let me concentrate.”
The warehouse is quiet except for our harsh breathing and the sound of the blade working against plastic. The shadows under the door haven’t moved. Whoever is out there is just standing guard, probably checking their phone.
The zip tie on my right wrist gives first. The plastic snaps, and suddenly my right hand is free. Pins and needles flood my fingers as circulation returns, painful and sharp.
I bring my hands around front, flexing them to get feeling back. Then I attack the zip tie on my left wrist, cutting through it in seconds now that I can see what I’m doing.
“There.” I lean forward, sawing at the ties on my ankles. “Almost free.”
“Fucking finally,” Luke mutters.
I get my ankles free and immediately move to Luke, cutting his restraints. He’s rubbing his wrists the second they’re free, red marks angry against his skin.
Arrow is next. I kneel beside him, cutting fast. “We’re getting out of here. We’re getting back to her.”
“Damn right we are.” His voice is cold. The kind that simmers beneath the surface, more lethal than any scream. “And then we’re dealing with every single person who thought they could do this.”
Luke is on his feet already, testing his balance. “What’s the plan?”
I open my mouth?—
Then we hear it.
A sound. Not from the guard’s door. Somewhere deeper in the warehouse.
Metal scraping. Footsteps. Quick. Light.
We freeze.
The kind of silence that means survival.
I tighten my grip on the knife, positioning myself in front of my men on instinct. Every muscle coils, wired to strike.
Another footstep. Closer.
Closer.
Then movement. A shadow peeling out from a stack of pallets near the far corner.
Mack.
Arrow’s brother, moving like a ghost, gaze sweeping the space. He spots the guard’s shadow under the door, raises a finger to his lips.
“Mack,” Arrow breathes. “You fucking champion. You found us.”
Mack rushes over, crouched low. “To get you the fuck out,” he mutters.
“How’d you find us?” I ask, already pocketing my blade.
“Long story. I’ll tell you when we’re not about to get shot.”
We huddle close. Mack leans in, voice tight with urgency. “Listen. Your Omega is in trouble. Bad trouble.”
My pulse stalls.
“What happened?” I ask, but it comes out too sharp. Like I already know I don’t want the answer.
“Victoria set this whole thing up,” Mack spits, pacing like his skin can’t contain him. “The wedding is fake. It’s not a party. It’s a trap for Cindy. Van’s there. The family watching, an officiant waiting, a fucking contract. He’s forcing her to marry him.”
Arrow makes a sound that doesn’t sound human. A low, broken snarl that comes from somewhere deep in his chest. “When?”
“Right now. Or any second.” Mack looks each of us in the eye, like he’s making sure we understand. “I told her to stall as long as she could, and I came to find you lot. Van threatened her. Said if she didn’t go through with it, you three would die.”
Luke goes still. That terrifying kind of stillness that means a storm is coming. His knuckles whiten. His jaw flexes. Then he whispers, “That motherfucker.”
The rage in his voice chills the air.
My heart slams against my ribs. I can’t breathe past it. I can’t think around it.
“We need to get there,” I say. My voice is low. Flat. Like it’s not even mine. Like it belongs to the animal inside me. The one ready to rip flesh from bone. “Now.”
“Yeah.” Mack nods. “But there’s a problem. There’s at least three guys outside. Maybe more. Van brought hired guns from Jon’s gang. They’re watching every exit.”
Arrow’s fingers are twitching like he’s restraining the urge to punch through the wall. “So we go through them.”
“Damn right.” Mack’s mouth curves into something that’s not a smile. “But, Holt, you need to get out first. Get to the wedding. Stop it. We’ll handle whoever is out there and be right behind you.”
Arrow’s eyes land on a metal pipe leaning against a shelf. He grabs it, tests the weight, spins it like muscle memory. That casual violence settles into his stance like a second skin. “We burst out. Holt goes for the bike. We’ll cover the way.”
“Fuck yeah,” Luke adds.
Mack pulls a set of keys from his jeans and slaps them into my palm. “Black Harley. Two blocks west. Helmet’s on the seat. Go full throttle and don’t fucking look back.”
I stare down at the keys. The weight of them is nothing. The weight of what they mean is everything.
Luke cracks his knuckles, slow and deliberate. The sound echoes. “Time to remind these bastards why no one fucks with us.”
“Ex-Savage,” Arrow says, lips twitching with a fury-laced smirk.
“Still got the skills,” Luke growls. “Still got the rage. Still got the reason .”