Chloe
"Get on the bike,” he ordered.
"What?" she asked.
"I thought you said there were three,” she breathed.
"There were,” he insisted.
"What changed?" she asked.
"They called for reinforcements." He swung onto the bike in front of her. "Hold on." The engine roared to life, and instead of heading back toward the road, he shot deeper into the woods. Branches slapped against her arms as the motorcycle bounced over roots and rocks.
"Where are we going?" she shouted over the engine.
"The road's compromised,” he said.
"You can ride through the forest?" she asked.
"I can ride just about anywhere,” he assured. She almost laughed—almost.
Another set of headlights flashed behind them. "They're boxing us in!"
"I know,” he growled. The motorcycle fishtailed before climbing a steep embankment.
Chloe wrapped both arms tightly around his waist. She didn't even realize she'd done it until she felt his body tense beneath her.
For a split second, he relaxed just before they went airborne.
The Harley launched over a fallen tree before crashing back onto the ground, and she screamed.
His hand reached back without looking. "You okay?"
"I think so,” she stuttered. She wasn’t, but there was no way that she’d admit that to him.
"Good." He sped up, and within minutes, they burst from the tree line onto an abandoned gravel service road.
Vengeance finally eased off the throttle as the headlights behind them had disappeared.
He pulled beneath an old railroad bridge and killed the engine.
The silence was almost painful, and neither of them moved.
Chloe slowly loosened her grip around his waist.
"I thought—” Her voice shook. "I thought we were going to die."
"That’s what they were hoping for, but we’re not going to allow that to happen," he said, sounding so sure of himself. He nodded toward the woods they'd just left. "I doubled back twice and led them on a goose chase."
"You did?" she asked. She had her eyes closed for most of the ride, just trying to hang onto him and stay on the back of the bike. She didn’t realize that they were running in circles.
"They're looking in the wrong direction now, so I think that we’re safe,” he said. She climbed off the bike, her legs trembling so badly she nearly fell, but Vengeance caught her elbow before she hit the ground.
"I've got you." The words slipped out so naturally that they both froze. He slowly released her. "Sorry."
"No need to be sorry,” she said, rubbing her legs, “I appreciate the help. Thank you.” For several long moments, they simply stood beneath the bridge. The only sounds they could hear were crickets chirping and the ticking of the motorcycle's cooling engine.
"I think that someone betrayed my family." The words tasted bitter as she said them out loud.
Vengeance didn't answer immediately. "I hope not."
"But you don't believe that,” she said.
"No,” he said. “I don’t believe that.”
She closed her eyes. "My dad trusts those men with his life."
"I know,” Vengeance said.
"They're family,” she continued. "They helped raise me."
"I know,” Vengeance whispered.
She looked at him. "Then why would they betray my family?” she asked.
His expression hardened. "Because money makes people do terrible things."
"You don't know the Royal Bastards,” she insisted.
"No,” he said, “but I know the Black Veil Syndicate." His certainty frightened her. "They don't attack unless they already know they'll win."
"You really know them,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
"I do." She studied him again. Everything about him suddenly felt wrong. Not dangerous, but incomplete, like she was looking at only half the picture.
"You lied to me,” she said. It was a guess, but a good one from the way that he looked at her.
He met her eyes. "I omitted things."
"That's lying."
"Yeah, it is,” he agreed.
"What else haven't you told me?" she asked.
His jaw tightened. "A lot."
She laughed bitterly. "Wonderful."
"I'm trying to?—”
"Trying to what?" she spat, cutting him off.
"I’m trying to tell you the truth without making you hate me."
That caught her off guard. "What makes you think that I’ll hate you?” she asked.
His eyes drifted toward the darkness beyond the bridge. "I don’t think it; I know it. You will end up hating me, Chloe."
She stepped closer to him. "You don't know that."
"I do,” he said.
"No." She shook her head. "I think I'd already hate you if you deserved it."
His lips twitched. "Bowie would disagree."
"My dad threatens everybody,” she said with a laugh. It was true. Her fathers were both overly protective of her.
"He threatened to kill me,” Vengeance reminded.
"He threatened to kill my third-grade math teacher,” she said.
That earned the smallest smile she'd seen from him. "He did?"
“I got detention,” Chloe remembered. Vengeance actually laughed. It was warm and real. The sound surprised both of them.
"So, you can laugh,” she teased.
"What?" he asked.
"I like your laugh,” she said, “it’s like you’re letting me see the real you.”
His smile faded. "You don't want to meet the real me."
"I think I do,” she countered.
"No." He looked almost sad. "You really don't."
Before she could respond, his head snapped toward the road. "Do you hear something?" she asked.
He held up a finger as though he was trying to listen, but she still heard nothing. "I’m not sure." A twig snapped. Not in front of them, but behind them.
Vengeance shoved her behind one of the bridge supports. "Stay down."
"What is it?" she asked, but he didn't answer.
Instead, he raised his pistol. "Come out,” he shouted. “I know you're there." An older man stepped from the shadows with both hands raised. He wore jeans, a faded leather vest, and no club colors. His hair was gray, and his face was well-weathered.
"I don't want trouble,” the man insisted.
Vengeance didn't lower his weapon. "Then you picked the wrong bridge to be standing on."
The stranger's eyes shifted to Chloe. "I'm looking for the girl."
Every muscle in Vengeance's body went rigid. "You found the wrong one."
The old man smiled. "I don't think so." He slowly reached into his jacket, and Chloe's heart stopped.
Vengeance's finger tightened on the trigger, and the stranger pulled out a folded photograph.
He held it up, and she noticed that it was a picture of herself, taken less than twenty-four hours ago outside Savage Hell.
"I was paid fifty thousand dollars," the man said calmly. "To report if I ever saw her."
Chloe felt the blood drain from her face. "They're not just hunting me."
The old man nodded once. "No, sweetheart." His eyes met hers with something that looked almost like pity. "They've put a bounty on you." And suddenly, the entire country no longer felt big enough to hide in.
A bounty. The word echoed through Chloe's head until it drowned out everything else. Fifty thousand dollars. Someone had put a price on her life. No, not her life—her capture. There was a difference, and somehow, that made it even worse.
She stared at the old man standing beneath the bridge.
He didn't look dangerous. He looked tired.
Worn down by life. The kind of man who probably fixed tractors for a living and spent weekends fishing.
That was the terrifying part. The Syndicate wasn't using soldiers anymore; they were using ordinary people.
"You took the money?" she asked quietly.
The old man shook his head. "No."
"Why not?" she asked.
His eyes softened. "I buried my granddaughter last year."
Chloe frowned. "I'm sorry."
"So am I." He rubbed the back of his neck. "She was about your age."
Vengeance hadn't lowered his gun. "Get to the point."
The old man didn't seem offended. "I drove to the meeting.
" He looked at Chloe. "I even planned on making the call.
" Her stomach churned. "But then I saw your picture.
" He unfolded the photograph again. It wasn't just a picture of her.
There was a file attached with her name, age, height, the make and model of her Jeep, the community college she had attended, her favorite coffee shop, the nights she worked at Savage Hell, who her parents were, along with her younger brothers and sisters.
It was her entire life, reduced to a target profile.
"Oh, my God." She reached for it with trembling fingers.
Vengeance caught her wrist. "Don't."
"I need to see everything,” she insisted.
"No, you don’t,” he said.
"I said?—"
"You don't need those images stuck in your head,” he spat, cutting her argument off. She looked up at him. His eyes never left the old man. "You've seen files like that before." The guy didn't answer because he didn't have to. She already knew the truth—the old man slowly lowered the photo.
"I figured you ought to know what they are doing,” the old guy said.
"So you tracked us down?" Vengeance asked.
"I followed the black SUVs,” he admitted.
"You were behind them?" Vengeance questioned.
The man nodded. "They almost hit me trying to get onto the logging road."
Vengeance finally lowered his pistol an inch. "How'd you find us?"
"Lucky guess,” the man breathed, pointing toward the motorcycle. "Not many people take that trail unless they're trying not to be found."
Silence settled over the bridge. "Who paid you?" Chloe asked.
"I never met ‘em,” the man said.
"So, it was a man?” Chloe asked.
"Nope, it was a woman,” the man said. His answer surprised her. "She wore sunglasses, a hat, and gloves. She never gave a name.”
Vengeance's eyes narrowed. "What did she sound like?"
"Educated,” the man gave a simple answer as though it didn’t describe half the women she knew.
"Southern?" Vengeance asked.
"No,” the man breathed. "She sounded like she was from Chicago, maybe."
Vengeance went completely still, and Chloe noticed immediately. "What is it?” she asked, but he ignored her.
The old man continued. "She said the girl had stolen something from her."
"I haven't stolen anything,” Chloe defended. The only thing she had ever stolen was a twenty from her father’s wallet.
Savage sat her down and explained that all she had to do was ask for the money, and he would have given it to her.
He made her work to pay him back double, saying that it was to teach her a lesson.
She did chores around the house for weeks, and when she had finally earned forty dollars, he took her and her siblings out for ice cream.
He even told the other kids that it was Chloe’s idea and she was treating.
He paid the bill, and none of the other kids ever knew what had happened.
"I figured she was lying,” the man said.
"What else are you not telling us?” Vengeance asked.
The old man hesitated. "She said if anyone else got to you first, they’d lose their bonus.” His eyes dropped, and a chill crept down Chloe's spine.
"She’s turned it into a competition,” Chloe whispered.
Vengeance nodded once. "She’s running multiple crews."
"What does that mean?" Chloe asked.
"It means whoever captures you gets paid. It’s that simple,” the man said.
She wrapped her arms around herself. "I don't understand."
"You don't have to,” Vengeance insisted.
"No." She looked directly at him. "I think I do. Why would someone want to do this to me?” she asked.
His shoulders slumped. "You've become a commodity." Those words hurt more than she expected. She wasn’t Chloe anymore—not Savage's daughter or Bowie's kid, but a commodity. She was being thought of as something to be bought, sold, or collected—like she wasn't even a person anymore.
The old man reached into his pocket. "I almost forgot." He pulled out a small, folded map. "I took this."
Vengeance stepped forward carefully. "From where?"
"The meeting,” the man said, holding out the map to him. He accepted it and unfolded it across the motorcycle seat. Several locations had been circled in red—gas stations, rest stops, hotels, and even highway exits. Vengeance's face darkened.
"What is it?" Chloe asked.
He pointed to the map. "They knew."
"Knew what?" she asked.
"Our route,” Vengeance said. Chloe stared at the map. Every place they'd planned to stop was marked—every single one.
"They expected us,” she said.
"Yeah, they did,” he grumbled.
"How could they anticipate where we’d stop?” she asked.
"I don't know,” he said. "But I’m betting that somebody fed them information before we ever left Huntsville." The realization settled heavily between them. Bowie had been right to send them away, but whoever betrayed the Royal Bastards had known about the safe house before they ever left.
The old man cleared his throat. "There's something else." Neither of them looked away from the map. "The woman?—"
"What about her?" Vengeance asked.
"She said something strange.” He closed his eyes, as though he was trying to remember. "'Don't damage the merchandise.'" Chloe felt sick at the mention of her being someone’s merchandise. It was the same word that she had heard Dante call her when she was just a kid, and the Dragons took her.
"They don't see me as a person at all,” she breathed.
"No," Vengeance said quietly. "They never will."
She looked at him. "You know because?—”
His jaw clenched. "Because that's how traffickers think.” The certainty in his voice made her blood run cold. He wasn't guessing—he knew. Before she could ask another question, headlights flashed across the underside of the bridge. It was a single pickup truck.
Vengeance immediately folded the map and shoved it into his saddle bag. "You were never here," he said to the old man.
The man nodded. "I understand."
He started toward the truck before stopping and looked back at Chloe. "Your daddy?—"
She swallowed. "Which one?"
A sad smile crossed his face. "The one you just buried." Tears immediately filled her eyes. "He must've been one hell of a man."
"He was,” she whispered.
The old man nodded once. "My granddaughter used to say—” His voice cracked.
"That good men leave footprints long after they're gone.
" He climbed into his truck. "I reckon your daddy's still leaving them.
" As the pickup disappeared into the darkness, Chloe stood perfectly still.
Savage had been gone less than forty-eight hours, and somehow, even now, he was still sending people to save her.
She wiped away a tear before turning toward Vengeance. He was already studying the map again. He was completely focused and guarded. She watched him for a long moment and then quietly asked the question that had been haunting her since Huntsville.
"Who are you really?" For the first time since they'd met, Vengeance looked like a man who knew that he couldn't hide from the truth much longer.