Chapter 11 #2
Barking frantically, running in circles despite the cone still strapped around her neck, the plastic bumping into everything.
She's looking for Grace.
Knows her person is gone.
Knows something is terribly wrong.
The sound of that dog's distress is like a knife to my chest.
I'm out of the truck before it fully stops, Banshee right behind me.
"Siren!" My voice cuts through the noise, through the chaos, through everything.
She turns, sees me, and her face crumbles. Fresh tears spill down her cheeks. "Shadow, I'm so sorry—we tried—there were so many of them—I had my gun on Flint but he put his gun to her head and I couldn't—I couldn't risk it—"
I cross the distance between us in three strides and grab her shoulders.
Not rough, but firm.
Need her focused. Need information. Need to know everything so I can find my wife.
"Tell me everything," I say, keeping my voice level despite the hurricane inside me. "From the beginning. Every detail. I don't care how small. Tell me everything."
Siren takes a shuddering breath, wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, visibly pulling herself together.
Shiver's ol’ lady. MC through and through. She can do this.
"Grace got a call first," she says, her voice steadying. "From Venom—Flint's father. He said the debt wasn't paid. That it wouldn't end tonight. Said it was just beginning. It was like... like a warning. Or a distraction. We didn't know which."
"What time?" I need the timeline. Need to know exactly when things went wrong.
"A little after 9. Maybe 9:05, 9:10, something like that. Right after you guys would've gotten to the meet."
Perfect timing. While we were sitting in that lot, waiting like idiots, Venom was calling Grace. Setting up the next move.
They played us. Perfectly.
"Then what?"
"A couple minutes later, we heard bikes." Siren's voice is shaking now, reliving it. "A group of them. Coming fast. Loud. They didn't try to hide the fact they were coming here. Just rolled in with guns out, cuts visible. Copperhead Kings. Flint was leading them."
"Where was Grace?"
"Inside the clubhouse with me and Sakura. We heard the bikes, looked out the window, and saw what was happening. I hollered for the other ol’ ladies to take the kids and get them into the safe rooms. We were the only ones left out here.
I pulled my gun. I wanted Sakura to get Grace to the back room, lock the door, and hide.
But there wasn't time. It all happened so fucking fast."
Phantom arrives on his bike, Thunder, Blaze, and Blight right behind him.
The Shotgun Saints brothers dismount in unison, moving with purpose toward us.
Phantom's face is a mask—no expression, no emotion showing. But his eyes are blazing with fury.
"What happened?" he demands, his Prez voice cutting through the lingering chaos. "Everything. Now."
Siren repeats the story for him, and I listen again, cataloging every detail.
The phone call from Venom at 9:11.
The bikes arriving at 9:15.
Ten Copperhead Kings, all armed.
Pope trying to radio for help.
The gunshot that took him down—shoulder wound, not fatal, but a message. Cooperate or die.
Siren confronting them with her gun drawn.
Flint putting his gun to Grace's head.
The impossible choice—lower the weapon or watch Grace die.
"Grace tried to run," Siren says, and despite everything, there's pride in her voice. Fierce, protective pride. "Didn't just give up. Didn't just surrender. She saw an opening and she ran. Fast. Made it maybe a few feet before one of them grabbed her."
That's my girl. Fighting until the last second.
"Flint caught up to her," Siren continues, her voice breaking again. "Put his hand around her throat. Not choking, just... holding. Told her she could come quietly or they'd kill everyone here. Starting with me."
I'm going to throw up. The image of Flint's hand on Grace's throat—
"What did she do?" Phantom's voice is tight.
"She spit in his face." Siren's almost laughing through her tears. "Right in his face. Called him a coward. Told him Shadow would kill him."
Pride and terror war in my chest.
That's Grace. Defiant to the end.
But God, what did that cost her?
"What did Flint do?" I have to know. Have to hear it even though I don't want to.
Siren's face falls. "He told one of his brothers to knock her out. She tried to fight—kicked, scratched, everything—but they held her down and hit her. Hard. She went down. They carried her to one of the bikes. Put her on it, unconscious. And they left."
She's crying again, guilt and rage mixing together. "I should've shot him. Should've taken the risk. Should've—"
"You kept her alive," Phantom says, his voice softer than I've heard it in days. "That's what matters. She's alive. We can work with her being alive."
"How long ago?" I ask, though I already know roughly. Need the exact number.
Siren checks her phone. "Thirty-five minutes. They left at 9:22."
Thirty-five minutes. They have a thirty-five minute head start.
On motorcycles, that could put them fifty, sixty miles away. Depending on direction, speed, and destination.
Too far.
Not far enough that we can't catch them, but too far for comfort.
Charlie's suddenly at my feet, whining, pushing her cone-covered head against my leg.
She's trembling, distressed, looking for Grace and not finding her.
I crouch down, and she immediately tries to climb into my lap, desperate for comfort.
For something familiar. For her person who isn't here.
"I know, girl," I murmur, scratching behind her ears the way Grace does. The way Grace showed me. "I know she's gone. But I'm going to bring her back. I promise you. I'm going to bring her home."
Charlie whines again, a heartbreaking sound, and licks my hand.
This dog trusts me to find Grace.
Grace trusts me to find her.
I can't fail them.
Damon's organizing brothers inside the clubhouse, his voice carrying through the open door. Pulling out maps, making calls, and mobilizing resources.
I stand, leaving Charlie with Sakura who wraps an arm around the dog, and head inside.
It’s time to hunt.
The room where they hold church is pure and complete madness.
Maps spread across every surface—tables, the bar, even the floor.
Phones everywhere, brothers on calls, coordinating, gathering intelligence.
The energy is focused, even if it is chaotic.
Everyone is working toward one goal.
Finding Grace.
Damon's at the head of the main table, Phantom beside him.
Both Prezs united in purpose, their usual territorial bullshit set aside completely.
This is bigger than club politics.
This is about Grace.
I move to the table, and brothers make space for me without a word.
They know. They understand.
She's my wife.
"Highway 95 West," Damon says, pointing at the map with one tattooed finger. "That's the most direct route out of Vegas toward California. Could be heading to LA. Could be a safe house in the desert between here and there. Could be anywhere along that corridor."
"We need eyes," Thunder says, his arms crossed, face grim. "Someone who saw them. Gas station attendant. Cop. Someone."
Rogue's already on his laptop at a side table, fingers flying across the keyboard. "I'm pulling traffic cam footage now. Hacked into the Vegas Metro system. Give me five minutes and I'll have every camera along 95."
Shiver's on his phone, pacing. "Calling every allied club between here and the California border. Barstow, Victorville, San Bernardino. Someone must've seen ten bikes rolling through with a woman."
Blaze is coordinating with Shotgun Saints contacts back in Texas and in California, his voice low and urgent.
Everyone working. Everyone searching. Everyone ready to ride the second we have a direction.
And I'm standing here, useless, watching, and I want to scream.
I want to put my fist through a wall.
I want to be doing something, anything, other than staring at maps while Grace is out there with Flint.
Scared. Hurt. Alone.
My wife. My Grace. The woman who chose me over everything. Who marked herself permanently with my name. Who trusted me to keep her safe.
And I failed.
"Got something," Rogue says suddenly, his voice cutting through the noise. "Traffic cam on 95, timestamp 9:23 PM. Ten bikes, Copperhead Kings cuts clearly visible on three of them. Heading west at high speed toward the California state line."
"How fast?" Phantom asks, leaning over to look at the laptop screen.
"Eighty, maybe ninety miles per hour. They're not being subtle. Looks like she’s strapped to one of them too."
I go around and take a peek at his laptop. They have her fucking ratchet strapped to one of the members.
"How far to the California border from that camera's location?" I ask, my mind already calculating.
"Forty-five minutes at that speed. They'd be across the state line by now."
Damon's phone rings. He answers, listens for thirty seconds, his expression darkening with each word. "Understood. We're on our way. Twenty minutes."
He hangs up, looks around the table at all of us.
"That was Ghost. Prez of a friend’s chapter in Barstow, California.
Says a group of Copperhead Kings rolled through town about forty-five minutes ago.
Stopped for gas at the truck stop on the east side.
One of his brothers was there, saw them.
Said there was a woman on the back of one of the bikes. Unconscious. Slumped forward."
Grace.
My vision tunnels. The room goes quiet except for the rushing in my ears.
"Where were they headed?" My voice is barely above a whisper, but it cuts through the silence like a knife.
"West from Barstow. Ghost says there's an old ranch property out that way. Abandoned cattle ranch, been empty for years. Copperhead Kings have been known to use it as a safe house. Off the grid. No neighbors. Perfect place to hide someone."
A ranch.
An abandoned ranch.
With a barn.
Where you could put a cage.
My vision goes red at the edges, rage and terror mixing into something cold and deadly.