Chapter Three
The morning air was crisp, heavy with the scent of rain. Puddles glimmered on the pavement, and the sound of cars on the highway filled the silence. The diner across the street was already open, neon “Open” sign buzzing weakly.
Inside, it smelled like coffee and fried grease. A few truckers sat at the counter, a waitress with tired eyes pouring refills without being asked. Mara picked a booth in the corner, her back to the wall, view of the door clear. Old habits.
She ordered the cheapest thing on the menu. Black coffee and eggs, and kept her head down.
Every time the bell over the door jingled, her heart jumped. She’d scan the new arrivals, measuring their clothes, their posture, their hands. Always the hands. The men her father sent had a certain way they carried themselves, like violence was second nature.
She ate fast, barely tasting anything. Her stomach wasn’t ready for real food, but she forced it down anyway. Better to have something in her than go light-headed later.
By the time she drained the last of her coffee, she’d managed to slow her pulse. The waitress gave her a distracted smile when she paid, and Mara mumbled a quiet thanks before stepping outside.
The sunlight was brighter now, the world too awake for her liking. She tugged her hood up and started back toward the motel. She didn’t make it to the door.
Two bikes were parked near the front office. They were sleek black and red machines with Blood Vultures patches on the seats. Her blood turned to ice.
For a split second, she thought maybe she was imagining it. Maybe they belonged to some other crew. But then she saw the two men leaning against the counter just inside the office, talking to the clerk.
She froze mid-step, heart slamming into her throat. Even from here, she recognized them. Jax and Denny. Two of her father’s enforcers.
They weren’t the brightest, but they were loyal and mean enough to make up for it. She’d seen them drag people out of bars for less than what she’d done.
Mara ducked behind a car in the parking lot, pulse hammering so hard she thought they’d hear it. Her breath came in short, shallow bursts.
Think. Think, dammit.
She could run. Slip through the lot, cut across the back fence, and make for the woods. However, if they’d already talked to the motel staff who recognized her from the night before and this morning, it was only a matter of time before word spread.
She risked a glance over the hood of the car. The clerk looked nervous, glancing between the bikers and the guest log. One of the men tapped the counter impatiently, his hand brushing the gun at his hip.
Her stomach knotted. Jax said something she couldn’t hear. The clerk hesitated, then pointed toward the row of rooms. Hers. Shit.
Mara’s body moved before her mind caught up. She turned to run, but the crunch of gravel behind her froze her in place.
“Well, look who it is.”
Her heart stopped. She turned slowly.
Jax stood a few feet away, that same lazy grin she remembered stretching across his scarred face. Denny flanked him, heavier, meaner, his eyes cold.
“Didn’t make it far, princess,” Jax drawled. “Your old man’s been worried sick.”
Mara’s throat went dry. “Stay back.”
Denny snorted. “Relax. We ain’t here to hurt you. Just here to take you home.”
She gripped the strap of her bag tighter, forcing her voice steady. “Home’s the last place I’m going.”
“Funny.” Jax took a step closer, slow and deliberate. “Because your daddy’s offering good money to anyone who brings you back in one piece. Hell, he even promised a bonus if you come along quiet.”
“Not happening,” she said.
He sighed, the sound mocking. “Didn’t think so. You always were the stubborn type.”
Mara’s pulse roared in her ears. The parking lot was empty. There were no witnesses, no help. The motel clerk had disappeared into the office, pretending not to see.
She took a step back, trying to angle toward the diner. Maybe she could make it to the road and flag someone down.
Jax moved fast. He shot his hand out, grabbing her by the arm. His fingers bit into her skin, hard enough to bruise.
“Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” he said, voice low and dangerous now. “You come with us quiet, you don’t get hurt.”
She yanked at his grip, but he held firm. Panic surged through her, hot and electric.
“I said let go!”
Denny chuckled, taking a step closer. “Don’t bother, sweetheart. Ain’t no one comin’ for you.”
Mara’s breath hitched. The smell of oil and leather flooded her senses, dragging her straight back to the nightmare. The laughter. The hands. Her father’s voice.
No. Not again. Something in her snapped.
She drove her knee up, hard, catching Jax in the gut. He grunted, loosening his grip just enough for her to twist free. She stumbled back, heart slamming, reaching instinctively for the knife in her pocket.
“Bitch!” Jax spat, doubling over.
“Get her!” Denny snarled.
Mara backed toward the edge of the lot, knife trembling in her grip. Her mind screamed for a plan, any plan, but all she could think was run.
Jax straightened, eyes blazing. “You just made this a whole lot worse for yourself.”
He lunged. Mara turned to bolt and slammed straight into someone coming out of the motel. The impact jolted through her like static.
Her breath caught as strong hands steadied her by the arms, firm but not rough. She looked up on instinct, ready to apologize, ready to run again, but the words died on her tongue. The man towering over her wasn’t one of her father’s.
He was tall, easily six-two, maybe six-three, with broad shoulders that filled the doorway behind him.
His black leather cut clung to a body built from hard muscle and years of work, not vanity.
The patch on the back was unmistakable, the coiled serpent and crown emblem shining faintly in the morning light. Devil’s Crown MC.
Mara’s pulse stumbled. She knew that patch. The Vultures had cursed it enough times, called them troublemakers, smug bastards who didn’t know when to back off. The Devil’s Crown had been a thorn in her father’s side for years.
Her first instinct was panic. Here was another MC, another man with power in his stride and danger in his eyes, but something about him was ... different.
She forced herself to look up again. The morning sun caught the faint sheen of stubble along his jaw, the curve of a scar that cut through his right eyebrow and disappeared into his temple. He wasn’t pretty, not by any stretch, but there was a kind of quiet, brutal handsomeness to him.
His features were sharp, carved from shadows and exhaustion. A few strands of dark hair fell across his forehead, damp from a recent shower or maybe the misty morning air. But it was his eyes that made her freeze.
They were cold steel gray, steady and unreadable. Focused on her in a way that made her heart pound for a whole new reason. He looked like someone who’d seen too much and trusted too little. The kind of man who didn’t bother pretending to be safe.
For one dizzy second, she forgot to breathe. Her nerves were screaming at her to move, to get away, but her body stayed rooted, caught between fight and fascination.
Something in his gaze pinned her there, a spark of recognition she couldn’t explain. As if some buried part of her knew him, or had been waiting for someone like him all along.
It was ridiculous. She didn’t believe in fate, and yet...
The stranger furrowed his brows slightly, loosening his grip on her arm as he flicked his gaze toward Max and Denny behind her.
“You all right?” His voice was low and full of gravel.
Mara opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Jax barked out, “Hey! The hell you think you’re doin’, sweetheart? We were talkin’ to you.”
The stranger’s attention shifted instantly, like a switch had flipped. His stance changed, he squared his shoulders and angled his body subtly between Mara and the two men.
She caught the faint gleam of metal under his jacket. A holster. Her breath hitched.
Jax and Denny approached, swaggering and careless.
“She’s coming with us,” Denny said. “Family business.”
The man in front of her, this Devil’s Crown biker, didn’t move at first. He tightened his jaw, eyes still cold and assessing. When he finally spoke again, his tone had dropped, quiet but dangerous.
“Didn’t look like she wanted to.”
Mara’s stomach flipped.
The air between them crackled with something sharp and electric. Fear, tension, and something else she couldn’t name. She’d been around men like him her whole life, but none had ever made her feel like this.
Safe and scared at the same time. Drawn in, even when every rational part of her said run.