Chapter 4 #2
Her name pulls me back. Just enough to remember why we're here.
"Listen," Colt says, "There's more to this story than you know about."
"Oh fuck you, Ashby. But yeah," I narrow my eyes down at him. "There's a lot fuckin' more to this story. Shit that would turn your insides sour if you knew."
Colt loses some color in his face, but he recovers quick—meeting my gaze straight on. "You think I don't know that? Why the fuck do you think I'm here?"
"Because you got a conscience? Little fucking late for that." I spit blood onto the dirt between us. "Three years late."
"I'm not Cash," he says, checking the tranquilizer gun. "And I'm not Wyatt. I've been planning this for a long time."
"Planning what?" My fingers tighten around the gun he gave me.
"Getting away from them. All of them." He looks up at the mountain where Savannah's being held. "There’s something you need to know about—" But he suddenly quits talking.
"About what," I sneer. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Let me just say this, " Colt replies, his voice just as low and threatening as mine. "This isn't just Cash being a protective brother. It's not just Marcus being a jealous fiancée. It's fucking business, Legion."
"She's not property," I growl.
"To them, she is. Savannah is the key to forty-seven thousand acres of Ashby land.
This is an empire, Legion. A legitimate American dynasty on the line here and Savannah has control of all of it.
Every fucking square inch. Water rights are worth more than gold, you know that much.
" He looks me dead in the eye. "You think they're going to let her run off with some ex-con biker because she's in love, Legion? Fuck no. They'll break her first."
My knuckles go white around the gun. "I'll kill them all."
"And end up back in prison, leaving Savannah with no one." Colt shakes his head. "That's exactly what they want. Why do you think they let you out a day early? Why did Cash pick you up instead of your club?"
"To fuck with me."
"To isolate you. Set you up. They've been playing chess this whole time. It's all been planned." Then he pauses. And this pause here is what makes me go pale now. Because he finishes up with, "You don't even know the half of it."
We stare at each other for a few moments, all three horses getting anxious. Stomping their feet.
Colt cuts away first, swings up onto his horse.
"You're out of your depth here, Kane. You need my help.
I'm not asking you to be nice about it or even grace me with a fuckin' thank you because Savannah is my sister.
My blood. And we both know how you'd act if it was your blood on the line.
You'd forgive an ex-con biker if your sister loved him. "
I don't say anything back because… he's right. But I don't want to admit that either, so—
"Can you even ride, Legion?" Colt asks, sneering down his nose at me from atop his horse.
I spit blood into the dirt. "I'll fuckin' manage."
Then I swing up too, he grabs Cassia's lead, and we bolt down the mountain.
The horses move like ghosts beneath us, silent across Ashby land. Colt leads, I follow, my body a temple of pain and my mind a slaughterhouse of revenge. Every step jolts my broken ribs. Every heartbeat pounds inside my head.
The north ridge rises against the twilight, a black shape cutting into purple sky. The cabin sits nestled in pines, windows glowing yellow.
"No horses," Colt whispers as we dismount. "Cash and Wyatt aren't here."
Good. Two less bodies to put in the ground.
We tie the horses. My hands shake—not from fear but from something darker. Something rising. I've spent three years in a cage learning to control it, but now I feel the lock breaking.
"Legion," Colt grabs my arm. "Remember what I said."
I shake him off without agreeing to shit.
We don't waste time with stealth. The door splinters under our combined weight, wood cracking like bones. Inside, the smell hits first—antiseptic, sweat, and something medicinal.
And there she is.
Savannah lies on a bed, wrists bound with plastic ties cutting into flesh. Her eyes are wide, unfocused, drugged but on the verge of alert. Her dress—the same one from the silo—is wrinkled and stained.
Marcus stands over her with a fucking syringe.
Our eyes lock. His widen with recognition, then fear.
"You're not supposed to be—"
I don't let him finish. My body becomes a weapon, launched across the room. I hit him with the force of every dark day in Whitefall, every night I dreamed of her voice, every second she's been in this nightmare.
We crash to the floor. Something snaps beneath us—his arm, maybe his collarbone. The sound feeds something primal in me.
My fist connects with his face. Once. Twice. A third time. Each impact sends blood spattering across the floor. His nose caves. His cheek splits. His teeth crack against my knuckles.
"Legion!" Colt's voice sounds miles away.
I keep hitting. Four. Five. Six. Blood slicks my hands, warm and satisfying. I feel nothing but the rhythm of destruction. Seven. Eight.
"This is for touching her," I growl, landing another blow. "This is for drugging her." Another. "This is for thinking you own her."
The next hit lands with a wet crunch. Marcus gurgles beneath me, face unrecognizable. Something in my chest breaks open—not a rib, but something deeper.
The demon they named me for, clawing its way out.
"LEGION!" Colt's voice cuts through the red fog. "THINK ABOUT SAVANNAH!"
I pause, fist raised, blood dripping between my fingers. I turn to see her watching, eyes glassy but fixed on me.
There's a soft pop and hiss. Marcus's body goes slack beneath me as Colt's tranquilizer dart finds its mark in his thigh.
"Get off him," Colt hisses, pulling at my shoulder. "He's done. Look at her. Look at Savannah."
Her name breaks through. I push off Marcus, leaving him crumpled on the floor, face a ruin of blood and bone. Still breathing. The senator's son lives.
For now.
I move to the bed, finding a scalpel on a metal tray beside it. The sight of it—clean, precise, meant for her skin—makes bile rise in my throat. I use it to slice through the zip ties binding her wrists.
Her skin is raw underneath, bleeding in places where she fought against the restraints. Bruises circle her ankles. Her lip is split at the corner. But her eyes—they find mine, recognition flickering through the drug haze.
"Legion," she whispers, voice cracked from disuse or screaming. I don't want to know which.
"I'm here." I gather her up, one arm under her knees, one supporting her back. She weighs nothing. "I've got you."
She starts to cry then, silent tears tracking down her face. Each one feels like a knife between my ribs as I carry her from that room.
"We're leaving," I murmur against her hair, keeping my voice low and steady despite the rage still burning through me. "You're okay now. I've got you. Nobody's gonna touch you again."
Outside, the night air hits us. Clean. Cold. Real.
I lift her onto Cassia, who stands perfectly still, like she knows. Savannah's fingers curl weakly into the mare's mane.
"Can you hold on?" I ask her.
She nods, eyes clearer now, like the fresh air is burning away some of the fog. I mount my own horse, muscles screaming in protest.
Colt appears, his horse jogging excitedly. "We need to move. Now."
We start down the mountain, away from the cabin where Marcus lies bleeding but alive. Away from the nightmare. Toward my trailer, toward something like safety.
But the demon in me isn't satisfied.
It wants to go back.
Wants to finish what I started.
And part of me knows I have woken something up that I can't put back to sleep.
We ride through darkness, three shadows cuttin’ across Ashby land. The horses' hooves beat a rhythm like war drums against packed earth. Savannah slumps forward on Cassia, leaning onto her neck. Her fingers white-knuckled in the mare's mane. Her breathing comes shallow. Too shallow.
Cassia steps carefully. Like she knows.
The trailer appears over the ridge, no lights on.
I dismount first, legs nearly buckling. My ribs scream, but I ignore them, reaching up for Savannah. She falls into my arms like something broken, all the fight gone from her limbs. Her skin feels cold despite the summer night.
Colt stays mounted, gathering the reins of my horse. He promises to handle his brothers, says something about buying us time. I barely hear him. The world has narrowed to the weight of her against my chest and the way her breath hitches when I shift her.
He tells Savannah to stay with me for now, that he'll make this right.
Empty words from an Ashby. But he takes the horses, snapping lead ropes to their bridles and securing them to his saddle, and then he's gone—hoofbeats fadin’ into the desert like distant thunder.
I put Savannah down and help her inside, she stumbles through as I kick the door shut behind us. My hand finds the shotgun I keep mounted by the entrance, I check it's loaded, then slide the deadbolt home.
The demon in me still burns for blood. For Marcus's throat beneath my hands. For Cash's skull cracking against stone. For every man who touched her, drugged her, thought they owned her. The rage sits in my chest like something living, something starved.
Savannah leans against the kitchen counter, swayin’ on her feet. The movement draws my eyes to her—really see her. Her wrists raw meat where the zip ties bit. Bruises blooming on her arms like dark flowers. Her lip split. Her eyes vacant from whatever they pumped into her veins.
Something cracks inside me. Not the demon breaking free, but something worse. Something that feels like drowning.
She looks up, her gaze finding mine through the haze. She tries to say something, but the words won't come.
I set the shotgun down as Savannah places her hands on the counter. Her eyes catch on something I missed—a piece of paper. She lifts it with trembling fingers, holds it up like evidence.