Chapter Twenty
Kath
Kath woke to a deep, bone-crushing ache that had nothing to do with the blow to her head anymore.
Her back screamed in protest as she tried to shift on the thin, lumpy mattress.
Hours on the hard concrete floor had left her stiff and sore in places she didn’t even know could hurt—shoulders locked tight, hips bruised, legs numb from being curled up for so long.
Every small movement sent sharp twinges through her muscles, reminding her exactly how long she’d been here.
At least a full day. Maybe more. Time had blurred into one endless stretch of dim light, distant voices, and the growing terror of not knowing.
She stayed still for a long moment, breathing through the pain, eyes fixed on the same cracked patch of ceiling she’d memorized yesterday. The nausea had mostly passed, but the fear hadn’t. If anything, it had grown heavier, sinking deeper into her bones with every hour that passed without rescue.
Why me?
The question wouldn’t leave her alone. She’d turned those men’s words over and over in her mind until they felt like knives.
They’d taken her because of Bear’s garage.
Because of the custom bike. Because they thought she was someone’s old lady—someone important enough to hurt the club. They wanted leverage against Mason.
Mason.
The name sent a chill through her. Chase’s father.
The man at the center of all this. She’d never met him, and now her life was somehow tangled up in whatever old war these people had with him.
What if they found out she wasn’t just some girl on a bike?
What if they realized she was with Chase—Mason’s actual son?
The thought made her stomach twist so violently she had to close her eyes and breathe through it. If they figured that out, she wouldn’t just be leverage anymore. She’d be a weapon.
Kath pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, trying to push back the rising panic.
She was alone. No one was coming for her.
Not yet. Chase had gone quiet before all this even started—probably trying to keep her safe in his own way—and now she was paying for it.
The silence from the outside world felt louder than the low voices drifting through the door.
She rolled onto her side with a wince, curling into herself as best she could.
The stiffness made every breath hurt, but it was nothing compared to the fear that had settled deep in her chest. A full day of thinking had stripped away any denial.
These men weren’t playing games. They had history with the club.
History with Mason. And she was caught right in the middle of it.
Kath swallowed hard, whispering the only thing that still felt true.
“Just hold on,” she told herself, voice barely audible. “They’ll come. Chase will come.”
But even as she said it, the doubt crept in. Twenty-four hours was a long time to be gone. A long time for fear to grow roots.
And she had no idea how much longer she had left.
***
Chase
Chase killed the truck’s engine in the clubhouse lot, stomped on the emergency brake, and was already running before the tires stopped sliding.
The parking area was a controlled storm of leather and chrome. Engines were rumbling, brothers mounting up, last-minute checks being shouted across the lot. They were getting ready to roll out—fast.
He didn’t hesitate.
He spotted Slate’s second bike—a sleek black machine he kept prepped for emergencies—parked near the edge. The key was still in it. Chase swung a leg over, fired it up, and pulled the helmet off the handlebar. The engine roared to life under him, deep and familiar.
He’d grown up around bikes. He might not wear a patch yet, but he could ride with the best of them.
Chase dropped the visor, tucked his chin, and eased into the formation just as the group started to move.
No one looked twice. He blended in—black helmet, dark clothes, riding like he belonged.
He slotted in near the back at first, then began working his way forwards with smooth, confident shifts—passing one rider, then another, then another.
By the third block, he was right behind Bear, who was riding point.
Bear’s hand suddenly lifted to the side of his helmet, adjusting the comms. Chase saw the big man’s shoulders stiffen as someone clearly reported an interloper in the pack.
Bear’s head turned slightly, checking his mirror.
Chase flipped up his visor just long enough for his face to catch the light.
Bear’s eyes widened. Chase saw the man’s lips move clearly in the mirror as he cursed:
“Goddammit, Chase.”
Bear didn’t slow down. Didn’t signal the group to stop. He just shook his head once—sharp, frustrated, but not surprised—and kept riding.
Chase dropped the visor back into place, heart pounding with adrenaline and grim determination.
He knew he’d catch hell for this later. Mason would lose his mind. Bear would probably sit on him until he couldn’t breathe.
But none of that mattered right now.
Kath was out there somewhere.
And Chase wasn’t going to sit at the clubhouse waiting for someone else to bring her home.
He twisted the throttle and stayed glued to Bear’s rear wheel, the pack rumbling through the night around him like dark thunder.
He was Mason’s son.
And right now, right here, that meant something.