Chapter 41
Amber
The world is a blur of headlights and cold metal.
My arms ache where the zip ties bite deep into my skin, each bump in the road making the plastic dig sharper.
The gag is stiff against my tongue, pressing my jaw open until it throbs.
I’m wedged on the cold floor of a van that smells like oil, leather, and cigarettes, my cheek pressed to ridged steel as the engine growls beneath me.
I try to breathe slowly and steadily, but every inhale feels like I’m pulling air through a clenched fist. My chest is tight, my pulse loud in my ears.
My mind skitters—Bas, Dad, Bea, Jess, Andrea, my shop.
A life I can almost feel slipping from my grip.
I should have stayed in the cabin. Should have bloody listened.
The van jolts, and I’m slammed into the wall. A sharp laugh cuts through the air from the front.
“She’s awake,” a man grunts. The London in his voice should feel familiar, but it’s twisted, ugly. “You can stop pretendin’, princess. We know you’re listenin’.”
My whole body stills, the sound of my heartbeat thudding against my ribs.
“She’s a pretty bitch,” another voice says, low, oily. “No wonder the old man’s losing his fuckin’ mind over her. Shame to waste her pussy on a warnin’.”
My stomach flips hard. I know exactly what they’re doing. They’re trying to scare me. It’s working. Dad’s warnings echo in my head—about how the MC world never let’s go once it’s got you in its teeth. I used to think that was just a shadow I could outrun.
Tears prick my eyes. I blink hard, forcing them back. I can’t give them that. Not one tear.
I shift my shoulders, trying to ease the ache in my arms. The movement earns me a boot in the side.
“Still now, princess,” the first man says, amused. “We’ll be there soon.”
The road drags on. My fear sits heavy and cold in my gut, but I keep my face blank, eyes closed, like none of this matters. Inside, I’m coiled tight, my body ready to shatter under the strain.
I think of Bas. His dimpled smile. The way his hands felt steady, even when everything else was chaos. How he once told me he was scared to lose me—and now I know that fear for myself, bone-deep and suffocating.
The van lurches to a stop. Doors slam. Gravel crunches under heavy boots. Rough hands drag me out into the cold. The air stings my cheeks, sharp with salt and gasoline.
Industrial docks. Shadows swallowing everything except the faint orange glow of cigarettes.
“She’s lighter than she looks,” someone chuckles, like this is entertainment.
Then another man steps out of the dark. Their President. Bigger. Broader. His leather cut worn and patched. The MC insignia stitched over his heart is one I’ve heard in Dad’s low, warning voice—The Reapers.
“Well, well.” His voice is deep, cold. He takes my chin, turning my head like I’m livestock. “The VP’s little girl. Finally.”
I jerk back. His grip clamps harder, pain blooming along my jaw.
“You tell your daddy,” he says, slow and deliberate, “that this is what happens when he sticks his nose where it don’t fuckin’ belong. We needed him to understand how serious we are. Taking you? That cuts deep.”
Fear surges hot, but I meet his eyes. Flat. Defiant.
He smirks. “Feisty. Good. Makes it more fun. If this goes wrong—if your daddy don’t do what I want—you’ll stay with us. In the basement. I’ll stick my dick in every hole you’ve got ‘til you’re nothing but bone and breath. Then I’ll let my boys have you.”
His eyes are empty, shark-like. I know he means it. The bile creeps up my throat, but I force it down. Men like him feed on fear. I will not give him that.
They shove me into a small, freezing room in one of the dock offices. Concrete walls. No windows. My wrists are bound again; the gag left in place. The lock clicks.
The silence is brutal.
I slide down the wall to the floor, every muscle taut. My heart hammers against the gag, each breath loud in my own head. The air smells of dust and rust and something faintly rotten.
I let my head rest against the wall, but my eyes stay open. My fear is a living thing now, pacing inside my ribs, whispering what they could do to me. I push back against it.
I think of Bea, Jess, and Andrea—how scared they must be. Of Dad’s fury when he finds out. Of Bas…
Oh God, Bas.
I left because I thought I was protecting my heart. Because he thought he couldn’t give his. But all I want is to hear his voice and know he’s coming for me.
A thread of hope pulls tight in my chest. He won’t let this be the end.
Hours drag. My legs cramp. My shoulders burn. Every creak in the building makes my pulse jump. The fear presses in, heavy, but I keep my breathing even.
Outside—footsteps. Muffled laughter. The metallic clink of a chain.
“Bas will come,” I tell myself through the gag, the words distorted but steady in my head. “He’ll come. He promised.”
Because if I stop believing that, the fear will eat me alive.
Then—engines in the distance. Low, heavy, and familiar. Harleys.
Hope spikes sharp in my chest—or maybe dread.
Either way, I know the night’s about to change.