Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Kelsey
Waiting at the clubhouse while Boulder and the others are gone is a special kind of torture.
I've tried sketching, tried reading, even tried sleeping, but my mind won't quiet down.
All I can think about is what might be happening out there—if Craig was telling the truth about the weapons shipment, if Benji knows he’s betraying him, if Boulder’s safe.
Sam finds me pacing the main room, my sketch pad abandoned on the couch.
Even though he’s injured, he's moving around better today.
The dark circles under his eyes are less noticeable, though the haunted look in them remains.
He lowers himself carefully into one of the worn leather chairs. "You're going to wear a hole in that floor."
I shoot him a weak smile. "Just burning off nervous energy."
There's a hint of teasing in his voice, the first I've heard since he arrived. "Worried about your prospect?"
My words come out a lot sharper than I want them to. "He's not a boy at the drive-in, Sam. He's out there risking his neck because of our psychotic brother."
Sam doesn't flinch. "I know. I was trying to lighten the mood, but that was a stupid idea."
I sigh, dropping onto the couch beside his chair. "Sorry. I'm just..."
"Scared," he finishes for me. "Yeah, me too."
We sit in silence for a moment, the distant sounds of the clubhouse—motorcycles pulling in and out, laughter from the garage, Zorro’s deep voice calling out orders—the only interruption.
"Remember when we used to go to the lake?" Sam asks suddenly. "Just you and me, sneaking away when Benji and Craig were with Dad on 'business trips'?"
A smile tugs at my lips even though I’m anxious as all hell. "You were terrible at skipping rocks."
"I was ten," he protests. "And you were hardly Olympic material yourself."
"I was better than you," I say, feeling grateful we’re able to have this normal sibling banter.
"Yeah, you were," he admits. "Better at a lot of things. Braver too."
I shake my head. "I wasn't brave, Sam. I was terrified every single day."
"But you still did the right thing," he says softly. "You stood up to Dad, to Benji. I should have done more to help you."
"You were a kid," I remind him. "And you did help me. You're the reason I got away from Billings before Benji could finish what he started."
Sam's eyes darken at the memory. "He was so angry after you left. Tore the trailer apart looking for any sign of where you'd gone. For weeks, it was like living with a tornado. Then one day, he just... calmed down. That's when it got really scary."
A chill runs through me. "Cold Benji is worse than angry Benji."
"Always has been," Sam agrees. "It's like he shuts off everything human inside him."
The image of Benji's eyes—flat, emotionless, calculating—flashes through my mind. The man who was once my protective big brother transformed into something hollow and cruel.
"Do you ever wonder what would have happened if Mom hadn't died?" I ask quietly.
Sam’s gaze goes distant. "All the time. She was the only one who could ever really rein Dad in. The only one Benji truly respected." He pauses. "But I think maybe Dad was always going to be who he was. Mom just... delayed the inevitable."
"And Benji was always going to follow in his footsteps," I murmur.
"Probably." Sam's expression softens. "But you weren't. And neither was I. That counts for something, right?"
I reach over, taking his hand. "It counts for everything."
My phone rings, cutting through the moment.
I snatch it up, heart hammering when I see Astra's name on the screen.
"Astra?" I answer, already rising to my feet.
"Kelsey, thank God," her voice sounds strained, bordering on panicked. "I need you at the café. Right now."
"What's wrong?"
"No time to explain. It's an emergency. The cats—" Static cuts through the call. "Just come quickly. Please."
The line goes dead.
I stare at the phone, dread pooling in my stomach.
"What is it?" Sam asks, pushing himself up.
"Something's wrong at the café," I say, already moving toward the door. "Astra needs help."
Sam follows. "I'm coming with you."
"Your ribs?—"
"Are fine," he cuts me off. "I'm not letting you go alone. Not with Benji out there somewhere."
I want to argue but know he's right.
Besides, there's no time. She sounded stressed, which means she needs help.
Luckily, Zorro comes striding in at just the right time.
He frowns when I explain the situation but immediately assigns two prospects to escort us to the café—Lashes and Rooster.
"I should tell Amara," he says, already reaching for his phone.
"There's no time," I insist. "Astra sounded desperate. Tell Amara we'll be careful, but we need to go now."
Zorro nods and waves us off to go do what we need to.
The ride to the café is tense, one prospect—Rooster—driving while the other—Lashes—keeps a careful eye on our surroundings.
Sam sits beside me in the backseat, his face concentrating on everything around us as he scans every passing car, every street corner.
Something feels off from the moment we pull up to the café.
The lights are on, but there's no movement visible through the windows.
No cats lounging in their usual spots.
No Astra moving between tables.
They haven’t wanted me at CatsandJava because of everything going on with Benji—said it was too much of a risk… but sitting around at the clubhouse is killing me.
Rooster draws his weapon as he slides out of the car. "Wait here."
"Like hell," I mutter, already opening my door.
Sam catches my arm. "Kelsey, if something's wrong?—"
"Then Astra needs me," I finish, pulling free of his grip. "These are my friends, Sam. I'm not hiding in the car like some weak little bitch."
Lashes curses under her breath but heads in with me as we approach the café, keeping her body between me and the street. "Stay behind me, both of you."
The door is unlocked, which strikes me as strange immediately.
Astra always keeps it locked after hours, only opening for regulars she knows by name.
The little bell jingles as we enter, the sound jarring in the eerie silence.
I call out her name, my voice sounding too loud in the empty space. "Astra?"
There’s no answer.
The café looks normal at first glance—chairs tucked neatly under tables, counter wiped clean, coffee machines gleaming.
But the silence is wrong.
No purring cats, no soft jazz playing from the speakers, none of the warmth that usually fills the space.
Sam murmurs. "Where are the cats?"
I move toward the back room, fear tightening my chest. "Astra? Luna?"
Rooster takes the lead, pushing the door open with his gun ready.
"Clear," he calls after a moment. "No one's here."
I follow him into the back room, confusion rolling through me.
Everything looks normal—supplies stacked neatly on shelves, cleaning supplies in their proper places, Astra's rain jacket still hanging on its hook.
"This doesn't make sense," I say, turning in a circle. "She called me. Said it was an emergency."
A floorboard creaks behind us.
We all whirl around to see Astra standing in the doorway, her face pale.
"Astra!" Relief floods through me. "What happened? Where are the?—"
The words die in my throat as she steps aside, revealing a man behind her—a man with a gun pressed to her back.
"I’m so sorry, Kelsey," she whispers, tears streaming down her face. "They have Python."
More men appear behind her, weapons drawn.
I count five, but there could be more hiding out of sight.
The leader steps forward, his face vaguely familiar from surveillance photos Sam showed the club.
I remember this guy now. He’s one of Andrés' lieutenants.
"Nice and easy now," he says in accented English. "Nobody needs to get hurt."
Rooster and Lashes raise their weapons, but they're outnumbered.
We’re trapped, and there’s hardly any room for cover.
"Put them down," the man orders. "Or the redhead gets a new hole in her spine."
"Don't," Astra says, her voice steadier than it has any right to be. "Just go, get out of here."
The leader tightens his grip on her, making her wince. "Put the guns down. Now."
Sam steps forward slightly, his hands raised. "Let's all stay calm here. What do you want?"
"The woman." The man jerks his chin toward me. "Just her. The rest of you can walk away."
"Not gonna happen," Rooster growls.
It all happens so fast after that.
Sam lunges at the nearest gunman, knocking his weapon aside.
Rooster and Lashes open fire, driving Astra's captor back.
I dive for cover behind a stack of metal shelving.
Gunshots echo in the small space, and my heart is beating so fast I think it might break through my chest.
Through the chaos, Sam wrestles with one of the men, his face contorted in pain as he takes hits to his already injured ribs.
Lashes falls, blood blooming across her shoulder.
Rooster keeps firing, taking down one attacker before another's bullet catches him in the chest.
"Sam!" I scream as my brother takes a blow to the head, crumpling to the ground.
I scramble toward him, but strong hands grab me from behind, dragging me back.
I fight wildly, kicking, clawing, biting—anything to break free.
Something hard connects with my temple, sending stars exploding across my vision.
The last thing I see before darkness claims me is Sam's still form on the café floor, blood pooling beneath him.
***
I wake to the taste of metal in my mouth and the vibration of a moving vehicle.
My head throbs, and when I try to move, I discover my hands are bound behind my back.
I try to move my legs and feel the same thing—restraints.
Forcing my eyes open, I assess my surroundings.
I'm in what appears to be a cargo van, lying on my side on the metal floor.
Two men sit on benches along the sides, weapons resting across their laps.
Through the windshield, I can see it's dark outside, though whether it's the same night or days later, I have no idea.
Fear claws at my throat as memories come rushing back—the café, the ambush, Astra with a gun to her spine, Rooster getting shot in the chest, Sam lying motionless, bleeding...
Oh God, Sam.
Is he alive? Is Astra? Rooster? Lashes?
I must make a sound because one of the men notices I'm awake.
"She's up," he says to his companion. "Call the boss."
"Where am I?" I demand, struggling to sit up even though I’m restrained. "Where are you taking me?"
"Shut up," the first man says, not even looking at me. "You'll talk when he wants you to talk."
"Are they dead?" My voice cracks. "The people at the café?—"
This time, he turns toward me, expression unreadable in the dim light. "Not your concern anymore, chica ."
The van slows, then stops.
The back doors open, revealing an industrial area I don't recognize.
Warehouses line the street, most dark and seemingly abandoned.
The exception is the one directly ahead, lights glowing from small windows high up on its walls.
"Move," one man orders, grabbing my arm and hauling me out of the van.
My legs are numb from being bound, and I stumble as my feet hit the ground.
He doesn't give me time to recover, dragging me toward the lit warehouse while the second man follows, gun trained on my back.
Inside, the space is cavernous and mostly empty.
Metal shelving units line the walls, some holding crates and boxes.
The center of the warehouse has been cleared, with a single metal chair positioned under a hanging light.
And standing next to that chair, his face illuminated by the harsh overhead light, is my worst nightmare—Benji.
He looks both exactly the same and completely different from when I last saw him.
Still tall and broad-shouldered, with the same sharp features we both inherited from our father.
But there's a hardness in his face that wasn't there before, a coldness in his eyes that makes him seem like a stranger wearing my evil brother's skin.
"Hello, Cady," he says, using my birth name deliberately. "Welcome home."
"This isn't home," I spit, struggling against the man still gripping my arm. "And that's not my name anymore."
Benji's lips curve in a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "You can change your name, your hair, your location... but you can't change who you are. Blood is blood."
I snarl at him. "That's rich, coming from someone who tried to kill his own brother."
Benji sighs, as if I'm being particularly tiresome. "Sam will live. Probably. The other guy and the bitch too, more than likely. My men weren't there for them." He steps closer, studying my face. "They were there for you. Just you."
"Was it worth it?" I ask, staring him down even if I am terrified. "Hurting innocent people just to get to me?"
"Innocent?" Benji laughs, the sound hollow and wrong. "There are no innocents in this world, Cady. Just the strong and the weak. The predators and the prey." His voice hardens. "You made your choice when you betrayed your family."
"I betrayed nothing," I say firmly. "I exposed a monster who was hurting children. If that's betrayal to you, then you're just as sick as he is."
The blow comes so fast I don't see it coming—the back of Benji's hand connecting with my cheek, snapping my head to the side.
The taste of blood fills my mouth.
"You don't talk about our father like that," Benji hisses, glaring at me like he very well might kill me. "You destroyed everything he built, everything he worked for."
"He built it on the suffering of children," I say, spitting blood onto the concrete floor. "It deserved to be destroyed."
Benji's face contorts with rage, but before he can strike again, the warehouse door opens.
A man I don't recognize enters, followed by two more armed guards.
"Is the feed set up?" Benji asks, composing himself now that we have more company.
The man nods. "Ready when you are."
"Good." Benji gestures to the chair. "Sit her down. Make sure her face is visible to the camera."
The guard forces me into the chair, using zip ties to secure my already bound wrists to the metal frame.
I struggle against the restraints, but they only dig deeper into my skin.
Benji steps away, speaking quietly with the newcomer.
I strain to hear their conversation, catching only fragments.
"...club is watching the other warehouse..."
"...shipment arrives at midnight..."
"...Sally confirmed Boulder's location..."
My blood runs cold at the mention of Boulder's name.
Whatever they're planning, he's part of it.
Benji returns, a tablet in his hand.
He positions it on a small table in front of me, the screen facing away so I can't see it.
"Your boyfriend and his club think they're so clever," he says conversationally, adjusting something on the tablet. "Watching empty buildings, following false leads. Meanwhile, the real action is happening right under their noses."
"Boulder will find me," I say, more confidently than I feel. "And when he does?—"
"He'll what?" Benji cuts me off. "Save you? Kill me?" He laughs again, that empty sound that raises the hair on my arms. "He's walking into a trap, Cady. By the time he realizes it, it'll be too late. For him, for his club, for you."
"Why are you doing this?" I ask, desperately trying to keep him talking, to learn anything that might help Boulder and the club. "It's been years. I'm not a threat to you anymore."
"You think this is just about you?" Benji shakes his head. "It's about what you represent. Betrayal. Weakness. Everything our father taught us to destroy." He leans closer. "But mostly, it's about sending a message. To anyone who might think they can cross the Warlow family and live to tell about it."
"There is no Warlow family anymore," I say. "Dad's in prison. I'm gone. Sam's gone. It's just you, Benji. You and whatever's left of Craig."
Something shifts in Benji's expression—a flicker of something that makes him seem human.
"Funny you should mention Craig," he says, his voice chillingly calm. "Your other brother has been quite busy lately. Making phone calls when he thinks I'm not around. Having secret meetings with your biker boyfriend."
My heart skips a beat, but I fight to keep my expression neutral. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Benji smiles, seeing through my lie instantly. "Sure you do. Craig thought he could play both sides. Thought he could help you against me." He taps the tablet screen. "Would you like to see what happens to traitors in our family?"
Before I can respond, he turns the tablet toward me, pressing play on a video.
The footage is grainy, shot in low light, but I immediately recognize Craig, tied to a chair not unlike the one I'm sitting in now.
His face is bloody, one eye swollen shut.
He's saying something, pleading, but there's no sound.
Then a figure moves into frame—Benji, holding what looks like a hammer.
I can't look away as he raises it, as it comes down on Craig's hand, again and again.
Craig's mouth opens in a silent scream.
"No," I whisper, bile rising in my throat. "Stop it. Please."
Benji pauses the video, Craig's agonized face frozen on the screen. "He thought he could be the hero," he says coldly. "Thought he could save you. But in our family, traitors don't get happy endings."
"You killed him," I breathe, horror washing over me.
"Eventually," Benji confirms, pocketing the tablet. "But not before he told me everything. About the club's surveillance on the warehouse. About Boulder's little visit to your apartment. About Sam's escape to the clubhouse." His lip curls in disgust. "He folded so easily. Always was the weakest of us all."
Tears burn in my eyes, not just for Craig's suffering, but for the humanity he found too late, the courage it must have taken to stand against Benji, knowing what would happen.
"You're fucking sick," I say, voice shaking with rage and grief. "You're just like Dad."
"I'll take that as a compliment," Benji says, straightening his jacket. "Now, we need to make a call. Your boyfriend will be worried about you." He nods to one of the guards, who steps forward with a phone. "I think it's time we invited him to join our family reunion."
As the guard dials, holding the phone to my ear, I realize with sickening clarity what's happening.
I'm not just a prisoner—I'm bait.
Boulder will come for me, walking right into whatever trap Benji’s prepared.
The phone rings once, twice, three times.
Then Boulder's voice, tense and angered, "Yeah?"
"Boulder," I say, trying to keep my voice steady, fighting the urge to scream warnings he can't act on. "Don't?—"
Benji snatches the phone away. "Hello, prospect. I believe I have something of yours."
I can't hear Boulder's response, but the smile that spreads across Benji's face tells me everything I need to know.
"She's alive. For now." Benji paces as he speaks. "Whether she stays that way is entirely up to you."
He continues the conversation, laying out demands, but I tune it out, focusing instead on my surroundings, looking for anything that might help me escape or at least leave a clue for Boulder when— if —he finds this place.
The warehouse looks like it's been used recently for storage—there are marks on the floor where crates have been dragged, dust patterns showing where things have been moved.
On the far wall, I notice what looks like a shipping manifest tacked to a bulletin board.
If I could get closer, maybe I could learn where we are or what Benji is planning.
"I'll text you the coordinates," Benji says into the phone. "Come alone. Any sign of your club brothers, and she dies slowly." He pauses, listening. "One hour. Don't be late."
He ends the call, turning back to me with that empty smile. "Your boyfriend sounds quite desperate. It's touching, really."
"Where's Python?" I demand, remembering Astra's terrified words at the café.
"What have you done with him?" Benji smiles, that empty expression that makes my skin crawl.
"Your friend's old man? He's alive. For now." He gestures to one of his men. "Show her."
The man turns a tablet toward me.
On screen is Python, bound to a chair in what looks like another room of the warehouse.
His face is bruised, dried blood crusting at his temple, but his eyes are alert, defiant.
"Simple insurance policy," Benji explains. "Andrés's men picked him up this morning. The club will be too busy trying to figure out which of their people to save first—him, you, or that prospect girl with the shoulder wound."
My stomach drops, they have Lashes too.
Boulder will be torn in different directions, trying to save everyone at once. "You won't get away with this."
Benji's laugh is cold. "I already have, little sister. I already have."
"If you hurt him or any of them—" I begin, straining against my restraints.
"You'll what?" Benji cuts me off. "You're in no position to make threats, Cady." He checks his watch. "Now, I have preparations to make. My men will keep you company."
As Benji walks away, calling orders to his people, I close my eyes, fighting to stay calm.
Boulder is coming and he'll walk into a trap because of me, because I couldn't stay away from him, couldn't keep my distance the way I should have.
All this time, I thought I was running to protect myself.
But the truth is, everyone around me needs protection from what follows me—the darkness that is my family legacy, the violence that seems to find me no matter how far I run.
I open my eyes, knowing I have to at least try and get out of this place.
If Boulder is coming for me—and I know he is—then I won't sit here helplessly waiting to be rescued.
I'll find a way out of these restraints.
I'll get a message to him somehow.
I'll fight back.
Because I've learned something important in these past weeks with Boulder and the club.
Something that changes everything—I'm not some weak woman who needs to be saved.
Okay, maybe I do… but I can at least try to save myself.
As Benji's men position themselves around the warehouse, checking weapons and murmuring into radios, I begin working at the zip ties binding my wrists, rubbing them against a rough edge on the chair's metal frame.
It's painful, the plastic digging into already raw skin, but pain is a small price for freedom.
I think of Benji's words— "You can change your name, your hair, your location... but you can't change who you are. Blood is blood."
He's right about one thing, I am a Warlow by blood.
If that means anything, it means I'm just as stubborn, just as determined, just as dangerous when cornered as he is.
The only difference is, I'm fighting for something worth protecting, and that makes me stronger than he could ever be.