Chapter 2 - Kelly
The motorcycle roars beneath us as I cling to the stranger's back, my fingers digging into the worn leather of his cut.
Wind whips my hair around my face and stings my eyes, bringing fresh tears that quickly dry on my cheeks. My wedding dress flutters behind us like a surrender flag, the fabric I'd once thought beautiful now nothing but a hazardous tangle around my ankles.
I don't even know this man's name. The thought hits me suddenly, and I almost laugh at the absurdity of it all. I'm clutching a nameless biker with a gun and scars like he's my lifeline, because right now, he is.
Running from one dangerous man straight into the arms of another. But something about this one feels different. His eyes aren't cruel, just... empty. Like looking into a deep well where the bottom isn't visible. He didn't pretend to be nice, didn't offer false comfort or promises.
He simply offered help, take it or leave it.
And God help me, I took it.
We've been riding for maybe fifteen minutes when I feel him tense. At first, I think I've done something wrong. Gripped too tight or leaned when I shouldn't have. But then he suddenly accelerates, the bike lurching forward with such force that I nearly slide off the back.
"Hold on," he shouts over his shoulder, voice barely audible above the wind and engine.
I press myself against him, arms locked around his waist as we take a sharp turn off the main road onto a narrow side street. The bike tilts at an angle that makes my stomach drop, and I squeeze my eyes shut, certain we're about to crash.
When I dare to look again, we're racing down a dark street lined with abandoned storefronts, their windows boarded up or broken. This doesn't look like the way to safety. It looks like we're heading deeper into danger.
"What's happening?" I try to yell, but the wind swallows my words.
He doesn't answer, just takes another turn, this one even sharper. I risk a glance behind us and see headlights in the distance, following our path, gaining ground.
My blood turns to ice. They've found me already.
We weave through a series of back alleys and unmarked roads, the bike expertly navigating potholes and debris that would have sent a less experienced rider crashing. The man's body is rigid with concentration, his movements precise and controlled even at this breakneck speed.
After several more turns that leave me completely disoriented, he suddenly cuts the headlight, plunging us into darkness. I stifle a scream as we continue forward, guided only by moonlight. How can he even see where we're going?
Eventually, we slow, turning onto what feels like a gravel path. The bike rumbles more quietly now as we approach what looks like an abandoned warehouse, its silhouette a massive shadow against the night sky.
He stops the bike behind the building, killing the engine. The sudden silence is jarring.
"Get off," he orders, voice low and urgent. "Stay close."
My legs are numb and shaking as I slide off the motorcycle. The torn wedding dress catches on something, and I hear the satisfying sound of fabric ripping further as I yank it free. Good. Let it fall to pieces.
The man dismounts, drawing his gun again as he scans our surroundings. His face reveals nothing, but there's a new tension in his shoulders that wasn't there before.
"Are they following us?" I whisper, though I already know the answer.
He nods once. "Vultures MC. Two cars."
Terror seizes my chest. "How did they find me so quickly?"
"Questions later." He grabs my elbow, pulling me toward a rusty side door of the warehouse. "Inside. Now."
The door groans as he pushes it open, revealing a cavernous space filled with shadowy shapes—old machinery, crates, forgotten inventory from whatever business once operated here. Moonlight filters through broken windows high above, casting eerie patterns across the concrete floor.
He guides me toward the back, where stacked pallets create a sort of alcove.
"Stay here. Don't move. Don't make a sound."
"You're leaving me?" Panic edges into my voice.
His dark eyes meet mine, and for the first time, I see something flicker in their depths, something alive and dangerous. "I'm going to deal with the problem."
"They'll kill you," I say, though I'm not sure why I care. He's a stranger. A dangerous one at that.
The corner of his mouth twitches. Not quite a smile, but something close to amusement. "They can try."
He turns to go, but I grab his arm. "Wait. What's your name?"
He pauses, looking down at my hand on his leather sleeve. For a moment, I think he won't answer.
"Blade," he finally says.
"Is that your real name?"
"It's the only one that matters."
With that, he pulls away, moving silently toward the entrance. I watch as he positions himself in the shadows beside the door, gun ready, body coiled like a predator preparing to strike.
I should be terrified, and I am, but not just of the Vultures MC. There's something about the calm, calculating way Blade prepares for violence that sends a different kind of shiver through me. He's not nervous or afraid. He's in his element.
Minutes pass in agonizing silence. I strain to hear anything beyond the rapid beating of my own heart. Then, faintly, the crunch of tires on gravel reaches my ears. Car doors open and close. Voices murmur outside, using the same crude language I've come to dread over the past months.
I sink deeper into my hiding place, pressing my back against the cold wall. My wedding dress glows faintly in the darkness, a beacon I desperately wish I could extinguish. I gather the fabric as tightly as possible, trying to make myself smaller, invisible.
The warehouse door creaks open.
Flashlight beams cut through the darkness, sweeping across the floor and walls. I hold my breath, fighting the urge to run. Running is what got me into this mess. Running is what they'll expect.
"Come out, come out, little bride," a voice calls in. "Mike is very disappointed. The wedding guests are waiting."
A second voice laughs. "He promises not to hurt you... much. Well, not until after he fucks you in front of everyone."
I close my eyes, pressing my fist against my mouth to stifle a whimper.
Images of what awaits me if they take me back flash through my mind.
Mike's cruel smile, the "ceremony" that would be nothing more than a prelude to claim and ownership, my sister Amy watching with empty eyes as they drag me away.
The footsteps and flashlight beams separate, the Vultures MC spreading out to search the warehouse. They're getting closer to my hiding spot. It's only a matter of time before they find me.
Then, from the darkness, Blade makes his move.
I see him emerge from the shadows like a demon from hell, silent and deadly.
The first man doesn't even hear him coming.
Blade's arm shoots out, grabbing the man by his hair and slamming his face into a metal support beam with a sickening crunch.
Blood sprays across the concrete as the man's nose shatters.
Before he can scream, Blade spins him around, one massive hand clamping over his mouth while the other wraps around his throat.
I should look away. I know I should. But I can't tear my eyes from the scene.
The man claws at Blade's forearms, his eyes bulging in terror as those powerful fingers crush his windpipe. There's no emotion on Blade's face. No rage, no satisfaction, not even concentration. Just cold, mechanical efficiency. He might as well be taking out the trash.
I watch as the enemy struggles weaken, his face turning purple, legs kicking uselessly. Blade doesn't flinch, doesn't loosen his grip even when the man pisses himself, dark liquid running down his pant leg to puddle on the floor.
Jesus Christ. I'm watching a man get choked to death, and I can't look away.
The second man calls out, "Daniel? Where the fuck are you?"
Blade lets the now-limp body slide to the floor, not even sparing it a second glance as he moves toward his next target.
The remaining enemy comes around a stack of crates, flashlight beam wobbling as he walks.
When the light catches Blade's face, the man freezes for a split second—just long enough for Blade to close the distance between them.
"Shit—" is all he manages before Blade's fist connects with his jaw, the impact so hard I can hear teeth crack from my hiding spot.
The flashlight clatters to the ground, rolling to illuminate both men in its beam.
The man is big, taller than Blade and heavily muscled, but he moves with the sluggishness of someone who relies on intimidation rather than skill.
He throws a wild punch that Blade easily sidesteps before driving his knee into the man's stomach.
The man doubles over, gasping for air, and Blade grabs him by the back of his neck, forcing him face-first into the concrete floor. The man's nose breaks on impact, blood pooling beneath him as he tries to push himself up.
Blade doesn't give him the chance. He drops onto the man's back, knees pinning his arms, and wraps his forearm around the thick neck in a crushing choke hold.
"How many more outside?" Blade demands, his voice terrifyingly calm.
The man spits blood. "Fuck you, Outlaw trash."
Blade increases the pressure, and the man's face contorts in pain. "Wrong answer. Try again."
"T-two," he gasps. "In the car."
"Where's Charles?"
"I don't—" The words cut off as Blade tightens his hold.
"Last chance."
"I'm never," he chokes out, "going to tell you."
Blade nods once, adjusting his grip and twisting.
I expect to hear the crack of breaking bones, but instead, Blade maintains steady pressure, cutting off blood flow to his brain. The man's struggles become more frantic, then weaker, until finally, his body goes slack.
Unlike with the first man, Blade immediately releases this one once he's unconscious. He checks for a pulse at the man's neck, then stands, wiping blood from his knuckles onto his jeans.
When he turns in my direction, his eyes find mine immediately, as if he knew I'd been watching the whole time. There's no shame in his gaze, no concern about what I might think after witnessing his violence. Why would there be? He is what he is.
And what he is, is fucking terrifying.
And—God help me—something else too.
My heart pounds against my ribs, and it's not just from fear. There's a heat spreading through me, a sick, twisted appreciation for the lethal efficiency I just witnessed. He took down two armed men without breaking a sweat, without hesitation.
What kind of fucked-up person am I that I find that attractive?
The same kind who always gravitates toward the most dangerous man in the room, I suppose. The same kind who thought the Vultures MC's interest was flattering until I saw behind the mask.
"Stay here," Blade says, his voice cutting through my thoughts. "There are two more outside."
"You'll kill them too?" I whisper, surprised to find my voice steady.
He glances at me, as if gauging whether I'm about to fall apart. "Yes."
"Good."