Chapter 19 Chaos and Danger
NINETEEN
CHAOS AND DANGER
Rage
I pull the throttle back on my motorcycle and speed all the way to the park until I see the club truck.
I park behind it, pull my helmet off, and rush to the vehicle.
I suck in a breath and peer inside, but Rose isn’t there.
A sick feeling twists my stomach. I hear the bikes pull in.
The truck looks like it was abandoned in a hurry, as the keys are dangling from the ignition.
Boots crunch against gravel behind me. I look up to see the men staring at me . . . waiting . . . I frown and shake my head.
“Fuck!” My scream is strained, as if torn from deep within me. The sound echoes across the park, but it doesn’t do a damn thing to ease the pressure building inside of me.
She’s gone. My Rose. Taken. And I wasn’t there to stop it.
The cool breeze does nothing to calm the storm raging inside me.
Thoughts of what Rose is going through flash through my head like a goddamn horror movie.
I imagine her scared, hoping I’ll save her, and it’s like a knife slicing my heart with no anesthesia.
I want to punch something, to tear the world apart until I find her.
Reaper’s voice cuts through the haze. “I’ve got their number,” he says, holding up his phone.
“Call them,” I growl, my voice low and dangerous, barely holding on to control.
He dials them, putting them on loudspeaker. We all step forward so we can hear.
The line rings twice before a voice answers, dripping with arrogance. “Took you long enough.”
I recognize Ivan’s voice.
He chuckles smugly. “We were starting to think you don’t care about your precious lady.”
My blood boils. Bomber shakes his head at me, telling me to be quiet, keeping me in check. For now . . .
“Where is she?” Reaper demands, his voice cold and steady. “What do you want?”
Ivan laughs, the sound grating on my nerves.
“A rematch with Rage. One more round. You set it up. We fight, we give her back. Simple.”
Reaper’s jaw tightens. “We can’t organize a fight for tonight with no notice. These things take time. People are aware well in advance when the fights are on.”
“You have until tomorrow. No fight, no girl. And don’t even think about getting the cops involved. You know how this works.”
The line goes dead and the silence that follows is deafening.
I stare at Reaper, my chest heaving, my hands trembling with the need to hit something. “We’re not waiting until tomorrow,” I snarl. “We find her . . . now.”
Reaper nods, his expression hard. “We’ll call around Crown Village, see if anyone’s seen her.
If they’re not in town, they could be anywhere.
In the meantime, we’ll organize the fight just in case we can’t find her.
It all has to look real or they’ll know something is up.
We need Rose back unharmed.” He puts a hand on my shoulder.
“We’re not stopping the search. We’ll have men out looking for her. ”
The rage, the fear, the helplessness . . . it’s building inside of me. I want to rip those bastards apart with my bare hands. “I want them in the earth to pay for every second Rose has had to be with them.”
“Oh, can I join?” Demon’s voice breaks through my anger, light and mocking.
His grin is wide and wicked. He flicks his knife open, the blade catching the light.
“I haven’t had fun in a while, not since I’ve been a family man, you know?
But now . . .” His eyes gleam with something sinister. “Now, I feel like having some fun.”
Reaper gives him a single nod.
Demon is the one who tortures and kills anyone who hurts our club members or their ol’ ladies. And right now, Ivan and his crew are in our sights.
A part of me—the darkest part—rejoices at the thought. I want them in the ground. I want them to pay for every threat, every touch, every moment of fear they put Rose through. No one lays a hand on one of our ol’ ladies and gets to keep breathing.
This isn’t just about getting Rose back. This is about sending a message: You don’t mess with the club. You don’t mess with me. And you sure as hell don’t mess with Rose.
I’ll put them in the earth myself if I have to. And I’ll enjoy every second of it.
Rose
I wake up in darkness. The moonlight filters through a small, grimy window high on the wall. How long have I been here? Rage still hasn’t found me. My head throbs, a deep pulsing ache that makes it hard to think. I wince as I shift, the pain flaring where his fist connected with my face.
The room is cold. My wrists and ankles are bound tightly, the rope cutting into my skin. I try to move, to wriggle free, but the rope burns. Everyone seems to be outside the trailer. I can hear music and laughter.
My mouth is parched. I need water. My tongue feels like sandpaper, and every swallow is a struggle. I lean back against the wall. My breaths are shallow and uneven. Tears fall harder, silent but relentless. I don’t want to give them that satisfaction, but I’m alone, trapped and helpless.
The door opens. I freeze, my breath hitching in my throat. Ivan steps inside, his massive frame filling the doorway. His face twists into a cruel smile, and my stomach drops.
“Looks like I’m fighting your man tomorrow. Finally, a proper fight, and I can claw back the money I lost when I win.” He crosses his arms. “And I’m going to smash his face in.”
A heavy unease settles in my chest. I can’t bear the thought of Rage stepping into the ring again and getting hurt because of me.
“When can I go home?” I ask, my voice small and shaky. I just realized that he didn’t use the duct tape—he probably thought knocking me out was easier.
His smile widens. “After the fight . . . But”—he leans closer, his eyes narrowing—“if they try anything, or if the police get involved, you’ll never see him again. I’ll make sure of it.” The warning is clear.
Tears threaten to spill again, but I blink them back, refusing to let him see me break. I hope Rage makes the right choices. I know what he’s like when he’s furious, but I have faith in him.
A sliver of relief flickers inside me that there is an end date to this hell. If everything goes okay, I’ll be back with Rage tomorrow. I cling to that thought like a lifeline, even as fear gnaws at the edges of my mind.
Ivan’s smile fades as he turns toward the door and slams it shut behind him. I flinch, the noise rattling my already frayed nerves.
And then I’m alone again, the silence pressing down on me. I pray that I get to see Rage’s face and feel his arms around me again. And as the tears fall, I wish that Rage will find me and bring me home.
I wake up to the full ache in my wrists and ankles, the raw skin stinging with every small movement. My head throbs, but not as sharply as last night. The faint light tells me it’s morning. My throat is dry and my lips are cracked. I need to find a way to get out of here.
The door creaks open and I flinch instinctively, my body tensing.
It’s not Ivan or his manager—it’s Ivan’s partner.
She might be smaller than him, but her fierce presence is no less intimidating.
Her sharp features are set in a scowl. Her eyes are cold as they sweep over me.
In one hand she holds a water bottle, in the other is a gun.
“Do you need to use the bathroom?” she asks with a roll of her eyes.
I nod. My throat is too dry to speak. She steps forward and starts working on the knot binding my hands together. When she finally manages to get it loose, the relief is immediate, but the pain lingers where the rope had dug in.
“Don’t try anything,” she snaps, waving the gun around for emphasis. “Ivan’s not here, but I don’t need him to handle you.”
I nod again, keeping my eyes downcast. She shoves the water bottle into my hands, and I drink greedily. If Ivan’s not here, he must be training for tonight. It might be my only chance to escape.
She gestures for me to move.
“Can you undo the rope around my feet too?” I ask softly.
“Fine,” she says, her voice clipped and impatient.
When she undoes it, I stretch my legs; they’re stiff and sore.
Then I walk to the bathroom. The trailer is small and cramped.
My heart pounds as I glance around. The front door is only a few feet away.
If I can get past her . . . without getting shot .
. . I take a quick glance outside. The car isn’t there, so they’re gone like I thought they were.
When we reach the bathroom, I hesitate with my hand on the door. Rage’s voice echoes in my mind. If you’re ever in trouble, don’t hesitate. Go for the weak spots. Be fast. Be smart.
I turn suddenly, slamming the bathroom door into her face with all my strength. She stumbles back with a cry of pain. I lunge, aiming for her wrist, and knock the gun from her grip. It clatters to the floor. I kick it away.
She swings at me, blood gushing from her nose, but I duck, adrenaline surging through me. I jab her throat; she gasps. I don’t check if she’s okay. I rush to the locked door. I fumble but manage to get it open. The sun’s brightness has me squinting, but I bolt, my legs burning as I sprint away.
“Help!” I scream, my voice hoarse and desperate. “Somebody help me!”
No one comes out. It’s quiet. The windows are dark and closed. I run past trailer after trailer, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I hear the woman yelling. She’s furious. It only makes me run faster.
I pass the entrance of the trailer park and then I’m out on the main road, where only a few cars zip past. I wave my arms, screaming, but the cars don’t stop.
There’s a tightness in my chest and I’m sweating.
There’s nothing else around here, only a few run-down houses, so I run along the road in the hope someone will stop.
I’m not safe. Not until I’m back with Rage.
The woman yells louder. She’s getting closer. There’s another car coming. I frantically wave my arms in the air. When I see the car slowly veering toward me with the blinker on, relief pours over me.
As the car gets closer, I see it’s being driven by an elderly woman. When she stops, the window slides down. “Are you okay?” she asks with curved brows, her eyes wandering over me.
A loud pop, sharp and deafening, makes me jump.
“Don’t you dare get into that car,” the Russian woman yells.
I jiggle the door handle. “Please let me in.” My voice breaks. “She kidnapped me and she’s going to kill me.”
I hear the door unlock. “Get in, sweetheart!” the driver shouts. I jump in the passenger seat and we speed away. As we drive pasts the woman with the gun, I duck, but she doesn’t shoot. In the mirror, I watch her throw her hands up in the air and run back inside the trailer park.
“Oh deary me,” the driver says loudly as she stares into the rearview mirror. “Would you like me to take you to the police station?”
I swallow over the large lump in my throat. My hands are still shaking in my lap. I feel safest with Rage, but I don’t expect her to take me to the clubhouse. “Can you take me to the women’s shelter in Crown Village?”
The woman nods. “I don’t know where that is.”
“If you can take me to the main street of Crown Village, I should be able to direct you from there.”
Fear still lingers, coiled tight inside of me. I lean back against the seat as the reality of what just happened sinks in. I escaped. I’m out. But Ivan and his crew will be after me, and that makes my stomach churn. I’m not safe . . . not yet.