Chapter 40
I find it by accident. That’s what makes it feel important. Not staged. Not planned. Not something that was meant to happen.
Just there.
Cobra’s room is quiet in that heavy, grounded way it always is. Even during the day, even when the rest of the clubhouse hums with voices and movement, this space stays different. Still. Controlled. Like it holds him even when he’s not in it.
He left not long ago. Didn’t say much, just pressed a kiss to my temple, told me he’d be back, and walked out with that same contained intensity that never really leaves him anymore.
Something’s been building the past day. I can feel it in the way his jaw sets, the way his eyes track everything twice as long as they used to.
He didn’t explain it. He doesn’t always.
And I’ve learned not to push when he doesn’t.
I move through his room slowly, not searching, just existing in it.
That’s the difference now. I don’t feel like I’m in someone else’s space anymore.
I don’t feel like I’m crossing a line every time I touch something or sit somewhere or breathe too loud.
I belong here. That thought doesn’t scare me the way it probably should.
It settles.
His dresser drawer is half open when I pass it, a shirt caught on the edge like he pulled something out and didn’t bother fixing it.
I reach out without thinking, pushing the drawer closed the rest of the way.
It sticks. I frown slightly and tug it open again, smoothing the fabric inside so it doesn’t catch.
That’s when I see it. A small, dark booklet tucked near the back.
I pause.
Not because I think I shouldn’t touch it. Because something about it feels personal. More than everything else in this room already does.
I pick it up. It’s worn at the edges, the kind of wear that comes from use, not neglect. The cover is simple. No markings beyond what it is.
Passport.
My thumb runs over the front before I open it. I don’t know why I do. Curiosity, maybe. Or something quieter. Something that feels like I’m learning pieces of him in ways he doesn’t always offer out loud. I flip it open.
His picture stares back at me. Same as he is now. Hard lines. Controlled expression. Eyes that don’t give anything away unless you know how to look.
I trace the edge of the page without really thinking about it. Name. Details. Dates. And then, my breath catches slightly.
Birthdate.
I blink once, then again, like maybe I read it wrong the first time. I didn’t. Today. It’s today. The realization settles slowly. Not dramatic. Not overwhelming.
Cobra’s birthday.
He didn’t say anything.
Of course he didn’t.
That tracks with everything I’ve learned about him so far. He’s not the kind of man who marks days like that. Not the kind who expects attention or celebration or anything that pulls focus to himself in a way he can’t control. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter.
I close the passport gently and set it back where I found it, sliding the drawer shut the rest of the way. Then I stand there for a second. Thinking.
He wouldn’t want something big.
Wouldn’t want attention. Wouldn’t want the room full of people making a thing out of it. But that doesn’t mean I can’t do something. Something small. Something just his. The decision forms before I fully think it through.
I’m going out.
Just for a little while. Just enough to grab something.
I step out into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind me.
The clubhouse is quieter than it was this morning. Some of the men are gone. Others are scattered, handling whatever they always seem to be handling. The women are in the main room, voices lower, conversation easy.
Eli is near the door, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, talking to Connor about something that sounds like it might be a bet neither of them is going to win.
“Eli,” I call.
He looks up immediately. There’s still a flicker of something in his eyes when he looks at me.
Not fear. Not exactly. Awareness. Like he remembers that night, the alley, the way things went wrong, and the way Cobra reacted when he saw me on the ground.
That hasn’t faded. It probably won’t. “What’s up? ” he asks, pushing off the wall.
“I need a favor.”
He pauses. Not long. Just enough to register the words. “What kind of favor?”
“I need to go to the store.”
His expression tightens slightly. “Alone?” he asks.
“No,” I say quickly. “With you.”
That doesn’t ease it. If anything, it makes it worse. “Cobra’s not here,” he says.
“I know.”
He studies me. “You want me to take you somewhere,” he says slowly, “without him knowing about it.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you meant.”
I exhale softly, stepping closer. “It’s not a big thing. I just need to grab something. I’ll be quick.”
“For what?”
I hesitate. Then decide honesty is easier. “It’s his birthday.”
Eli blinks. “What?”
“Today,” I say. “I just found out.”
He looks like that piece of information physically hit him. “He didn’t say anything.”
“Of course he didn’t.”
Eli huffs a quiet breath, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah. That tracks.”
“I just want to get something for him,” I say. “Nothing big. Just something.”
He looks at the door. Then back at me. Then at the hallway that leads toward Logan’s office. “You know he’s going to lose his shit if he finds out I took you out without him,” he says.
“He’s not here,” I reply.
“That doesn’t make it better.”
I tilt my head slightly. “Are you saying no?”
He hesitates again. Longer this time. Then sighs. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Fine. But we go, we get what you need, and we come straight back. No wandering. No stopping.”
“I can agree to that.”
“And you stay close to me.”
“I will.”
He points at me once. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
He studies me one more second, then nods. “Alright. Let’s go before I change my mind.”
The parking lot is too quiet. I notice it immediately. Not in a way that sets off alarms. Just different. Most places have a rhythm. Cars coming and going. Doors opening. People moving in and out with purpose or distraction. There are cars. A few scattered across the lot. But not many. Not enough.
“It’s kind of empty,” I say, glancing around as Eli parks.
“Middle of the day,” he shrugs. “Not peak time.”
That makes sense. Logically. I nod, pushing the door open and stepping out. Cold air brushes across my skin, sharper than I expect. I tuck my hands into the sleeves of Cobra’s hoodie, the fabric still carrying a hint of him. Grounding.
Eli comes around the front of the car, his gaze moving automatically, scanning the lot the way Cobra does. “Quick in, quick out,” he says.
“Got it.”
We start toward the store. My eyes catch on a car idling near the far end of the lot. Engine running. No one getting out. No one moving. Something about it pulls at me. Not fear.
Just…awareness.
I glance at it for a second too long.
“What?” Eli asks.
“Nothing,” I say, shaking it off. “Just thought I saw someone I knew.”
He looks anyway. Doesn’t see anything. We keep moving. The feeling lingers for half a step. Then fades. Because this is normal. Because I’m overthinking. Because I’ve been on edge for days and everything feels like it might mean something when it probably doesn’t.
We’re almost to the doors when it happens. No warning. No buildup. Just impact.
A hand clamps over my mouth so fast I don’t even get a breath in to scream. My body jerks, instinct firing, but another arm locks around my waist, pulling me back hard enough that my feet leave the ground for half a second. Cold metal presses against my throat. Knife. Sharp. Immediate.
“Don’t move,” a voice breathes against my ear.
My body stills. Not from fear. From understanding.
Eli shouts my name. The sound is cut short by the crack of something hitting him.
I twist as much as the grip allows. He’s already fighting. He swings, lands one hit, then another, but there are too many of them. Two, no, three men move in fast, controlled, overwhelming him before he can get his footing. This isn’t a sloppy grab. This is precise. Planned.
“Move,” another voice snaps.
The arm around me tightens. I’m dragged backward. Fast. No hesitation. No fumbling. They know exactly what they’re doing.
“Get him,” someone snaps.
That changes everything. They weren’t planning to leave him.
Two of them move in at once, efficient, practiced.
One drives a knee into Eli’s back, forcing him flat while the other yanks his arms behind him.
Plastic tightens around his wrists in one brutal motion, the zip tie biting deep enough that he grunts through clenched teeth.
He still fights. Even restrained, he twists, trying to throw one of them off, but it only earns him another hit, sharp, precise, meant to stun, not kill.
“Move,” the voice at my ear says again, colder now.
My grip tightens on nothing as I’m dragged backward, the knife still pressed to my throat, the pressure a constant reminder not to do anything stupid.
Eli’s hauled up next to me, barely on his feet, blood already starting to show at the edge of his mouth. His eyes find mine. Still aware. Still fighting. “Olivia—”
A hand shoves him forward, cutting him off.
The car door is already open.
We’re pushed in almost at the same time, bodies closing in around us before we can shift or brace. Eli hits the seat hard beside me, shoulder slamming into mine as someone climbs in after us.
The door slams. Another on the opposite side. Locks click. The engine revs.
And just like that…
we’re both gone.