Chapter Ten
Ace
The warehouse hunched at the edge of town like something abandoned long before anyone cared enough to condemn the property.
Rusted metal walls and broken windows formed a shape once built for purpose, now left to rot for scavengers.
I shut off the truck two blocks back and walked through knee-high weeds clinging to my jeans and slowing every step.
The structure rose against a moonless sky, a jagged silhouette marked by missing roof panels and empty window frames resembling blind eye sockets.
Every instinct warned of a trap. Walking inside alone counted as suicide.
Marci remained somewhere beyond those walls. Nothing else mattered.
The loading dock door hung partially open, narrow enough for only someone to roll under.
I stopped in front of the gap and dropped low, eyes adjusting to the dark interior, ears straining for any sound revealing danger.
Silence stretched across the entrance. Only distant water dripped and wind whispered through broken glass.
I rolled under the door.
The interior opened into a cavernous space once used for storage or machinery.
Hard to tell now, since everything functional had been stripped.
Moonlight filtered through shattered windows high above, silver bars falling across concrete floors stained by decades of oil and grime.
A harsh smell hit fast, a mix of rust, mold, and some kind of chemical residue strong enough to sting my eyes.
Support beams rose toward the ceiling, corroded and pitted, ready to crumble from neglect.
My footsteps echoed across the expanse. Every sound announced my position and vulnerability. I forced myself to walk with purpose instead of caution, forced my gaze forward instead of into every shadow. Mercer wanted this meeting. Mercer controlled the stage. Running would only doom Marci.
The warehouse stretched farther than expected, divided by half-walls and support columns creating smaller sections.
I crossed the first, then the second. My boots struck concrete hard enough to bounce sound across metal and stone.
Graffiti covered lower walls, layered tags and crude drawings left behind by whoever drifted through before this night.
Broken glass littered corners. A shopping cart lay overturned, one wheel spinning slowly as if touched a moment earlier.
A glow caught my attention.
A single bulb hung from a cord in the third section, rocking just enough to make the circle of light unsteady. A metal chair rested in the center. Marci sat bound to the chair, motionless.
Everything in my body screamed to run to her.
The distance could be gone in seconds. I could cut ropes and carry her out.
I forced myself to remain steady. I advanced slowly, studying every shadow outside the light.
Mercer had arranged this place down to the last detail.
Charging blindly would only hand him what he wanted.
Marci raised her head as I approached. Even from several feet away, damage told the story.
A swollen left eye, skin darkening from deep bruising.
A split lip marked by dried blood. Torn fabric at the collar revealed fresh bruises across her collarbone.
Rope tied her ankles to each chair leg. Pale skin around the bindings spoke of circulation cut off for too long.
Her eyes told a different story. Fury burned behind them, joined by defiance and something far more powerful than fear. She refused to break. She refused to remain a victim.
“Ace.” Her voice scraped out, raw from pain.
“I’m here.” I stepped closer. Empty hands stayed visible, proof I came unarmed as Mercer demanded. “You’ll be okay.”
“How touching.”
The voice came from my left. I’d checked that side earlier, yet Mercer stood there now, half in the shadows.
His service weapon dangled loosely in his hand, ready to lock on in a heartbeat.
His suit jacket hung crooked, shirt rumpled, hair wild, as if from running fingers through it over and over.
His look shot ice through me -- no focus, no reason, nothing left to lose.
“You actually came. Alone and unarmed. Color me shocked. Never figured bikers had honor.”
“Release her.” My voice stayed level. “That agreement brought me here. I came. Release her.”
Mercer laughed, the sound bouncing off concrete and metal until the echo warped into something feral.
“A trade? You thought tonight involved a trade?” He stepped closer to Marci, the gun waving in random arcs as he gestured.
“Tonight teaches you a lesson. You don’t take what belongs to me and walk away. ”
“I never belonged to you.” Marci delivered the words steady and strong.
His entire expression twisted. Rage flooded every feature.
He moved fast, fisting her hair and yanking her head back.
She gasped but never screamed, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
I stepped forward and his weapon rose instantly, aimed straight at my chest. “Do not move.” His voice hit hard enough to burn.
“You take one more step and I drop you where you stand. Then I spend hours on her. She watches you bleed out before we leave together.”
I remained frozen. Every muscle locked for a strike, but the trigger sat too close and the distance stayed too wide. He would fire twice before I reached him.
“You want the plan?” Mercer let go of her hair and began pacing.
The gun swung from me to her to the ceiling, no pattern, no control.
“I walk out of here alongside her. You go to prison. I planted enough evidence in your frequent haunts and your truck to bury you for trafficking. Witnesses already lined up. The Savage Raptors collapse under federal pressure. Raids, shutdowns, every piece of your existence reduced to ash.”
“None of that will happen,” I answered softly.
Mercer screamed, “Already done!” His voice rose and cracked.
“You still don’t understand? I planned this for weeks.
Every piece is already in place. The DA owes my buddy some favors.
The evidence is airtight.” He stopped pacing and faced me fully.
“And she comes home where she belongs. Back to me. Back under my protection.”
“Your protection?” Marci’s voice carried enough contempt to jolt him. “You call that protection? Beating me? Stalking me? Destroying everyone who tries to help me?”
“I do what I have to do,” he snapped. “You refuse to listen. You run to men who don’t deserve you. No one takes care of you like I can.” His free hand tapped his chest. “A decorated officer. A career. A future. What does he have? A burned down bar and a criminal record.”
His rant poured on. While his attention stayed locked on self-justification, movement caught my eye. Marci worked the rope behind the chair, clearly attempting to free herself. Her arms were a different angle than before, one wrist already shifting toward freedom.
Our eyes met. Energy passed between us. A plan. A promise. She intended to create her own opening. All I needed to do was be ready.
I gave the smallest nod. Mercer never noticed. Marci saw. Her jaw tightened by a fraction. Understanding settled without a single word.
He continued, voice turning dreamy. “You will disappear into prison for a long time. She will come home where she belongs. Back to our life before she got scared and ran. We can start over. We will finally do everything right.”
He stepped closer, gun steady, finger far too close to the trigger. “Any last words, Ace? Anything you want to say before I make the call to the local captain and put everything into motion?”
I watched Marci. It looked like she’d managed to free her left wrist. Her arms were positioned to hide the progress from Mercer. A shift of weight tested the rope around her ankles. Calculation in every breath.
“Yes.” My voice pulled Mercer’s full attention to me. “I have something to say.”
His eyebrows rose. He seemed to expect begging, bargaining, surrender. A broken man.
“You already lost,” I told him. “The moment she chose to leave you, you lost. Everything since then has been you refusing to accept the truth.”
His face went dark. The gun rose toward my head. “You arrogant --”
Marci’s eyes locked on mine. Now.
My body moved before the thought finished forming.
Everything happened between one heartbeat and the next.
Marci threw her weight backward and the chair crashed to the concrete, metal shrieking across the floor.
She hit hard, and the sound reached my ears at the same moment my boots left the ground as I launched myself at Mercer.
His gun started to swing toward where Marci had fallen, but my shoulder hit his chest first and drove him backward into the darkness beyond the single hanging bulb.
We slammed onto concrete together. The gun jammed between our bodies, his fingers locked around the grip, my palm crushing over his to angle the muzzle away from anything that counted.
The air left my lungs in a painful rush.
Mercer twisted and landed on top of me, his elbow digging into my ribs, his knee driving toward my groin.
I twisted and caught the strike on my thigh.
“You son of a bitch,” he snarled, spit spraying from his mouth, his breath reeking of stale coffee and fury.
I didn’t waste time on a reply. Every ounce of focus stayed on the gun, on forcing the barrel anywhere except toward Marci or me.
My free hand tore at his face, fingers digging for eyes.
He jerked backward, and I twisted through the motion, driving him beneath my weight.
His fist stayed clamped around the weapon, no slack in his grip.