Chapter 5 - Maddie
I can't believe he actually showed up. Even more surprising, he's staying to help.
Watching Dice position himself where I directed, checking his earpiece, I feel that familiar rush of power. Men are so predictable, so easily manipulated when you know which buttons to push. One fake distress call and he came running like a knight on a rumbling steed.
"I'm in position," his voice crackles through my earpiece. "Still think this is insane, but I'm here."
"Roger that," I respond, unable to keep the satisfaction from my voice. "Truck should be arriving in approximately three minutes."
I check my watch, then scan the dark road again. Everything is going according to plan. The intel was solid, the timing perfect. Another successful job to add to my résumé.
Control. That's what this is all about. When you grow up with a father who uses his fists more than his words, who drinks until he becomes a monster, you learn quickly that power is everything. The difference between victim and victor is simply who has control of the situation.
I've never been powerless since I left that house at sixteen. Never again.
"Vehicle approaching," Dice's voice interrupts my thoughts. "Single headlight. Motorcycle, not our target."
"Copy that." I press deeper into the shadows beside the abandoned gas station. "Stay hidden."
The motorcycle passes without slowing. Good. Two more minutes.
I check my equipment one last time: lock picks, small flashlight, gloves. The package should be small enough to fit in my jacket pocket—a prototype smartwatch supposedly worth millions to the right buyer. My client was very specific about its retrieval.
"Headlights," Dice reports. "Big vehicle. Could be our truck."
I watch as the delivery truck rounds the bend, exactly as expected. "That's our target. Remember, I need three minutes once the driver steps out. If anyone else approaches, two clicks on the comm."
"Got it."
The truck pulls into the gas station as predicted. These long-haul drivers are creatures of habit. Same routes, same breaks, same stops. This one always takes a bathroom break here, despite the station being abandoned for years. The portable toilet around back still works, apparently.
The driver exits, stretching his back before heading around the building. My window is open.
"Going in," I murmur, already moving.
I reach the truck in seconds, quickly picking the simple lock on the cargo door. Amateur security. Inside, boxes are stacked neatly, labeled with shipping codes that mean nothing to most people. But I know exactly what I'm looking for.
Box 37-K should be—there. Third row, second stack. I slide it out and open it with my knife. Inside, nestled in protective foam, is a sleek black case. I flip it open to confirm the contents, a watch that looks more like a miniature computer.
"Ninety seconds," Dice warns in my ear.
I pocket the watch, reseal the box, and place it back in its original position. In and out, no signs of disturbance. The theft won't be discovered until delivery tomorrow, by which time I'll be long gone.
"Package secured," I whisper, moving back toward the truck doors. "Exiting now."
Just as I reach the doors, I hear voices. Not from my earpiece, from outside the truck. Multiple male voices, none of them belonging to the driver.
"Unexpected company," Dice hisses urgently. "Three men, armed. Not looking like random passersby."
My heart rate spikes. This wasn't in the plan.
"Stay hidden," I order, pulling back from the doors. "I'll find another way out."
But before I can move, the cargo doors swing open. Two men in dark clothing stand there, guns drawn and pointed directly at me.
"Madison Brooks," one of them says, his voice coldly amused. "Right on schedule."
Fuck. I've been set up.
"Slight problem with your exit strategy," the man continues, gesturing with his gun. "Hands where we can see them."
I raise my hands slowly, mind racing through options. The second man climbs into the truck, moving toward me with zip ties ready.
"Who sent you?" I ask, playing for time. "Whoever they're paying you, I can double it."
"Not about money this time," the first man says. "It's about sending a message."
The second man grabs my wrist roughly. I could take him. I've been in worse situations, but the gun pointed at my face complicates things.
"Dice," I whisper, barely moving my lips. "I need a distraction. Now."
No response.
Great. He's abandoned me. Should have expected that.
The men zip-tie my hands and drag me from the truck. Outside, a white van has appeared, its side door open. The third man waits there, speaking into a phone.
"Package secured," he says. "En route in five."
As they march me toward the van, I take in all the details. Three men, semi-professional, armed with handguns. The driver is still nowhere in sight, probably part of the setup or neutralized. The van's plates are covered. This is a professional abduction.
I've been completely played.
"You won't get away with this," I say, more to keep them talking than anything else. "People will notice I'm missing."
The man on the phone laughs. "Who? Your prison pen pal? He doesn't get out until next week. And his little brother? He'll be too busy explaining to his MC why he was helping a known thief."
They know about James. About Dice. This is worse than I thought.
We reach the van, and two of them lift me, preparing to throw me inside like cargo. I tense, ready to fight despite the restraints. This might be my last chance.
That's when I hear it. The unmistakable roar of a motorcycle engine, coming fast. Very fast.
"What the—" one of the men turns, just as headlights blind us all.
The Dyna comes tearing into the gas station at breakneck speed, headed straight for us. At the last possible second, it swerves, sliding sideways in a controlled skid that sends gravel flying like shrapnel.
The men duck, their grips on me loosening just enough. I drop to the ground, rolling away from the van as Dice launches himself from the still-moving bike.
He hits the first man like a missile, both of them crashing to the pavement. The gun skitters away into the darkness. The second man turns his weapon toward Dice, but he's already moving, sweeping the man's legs in a fluid motion I wouldn't have expected from him.
The third man, the one who was on the phone, raises his gun toward me. He never gets to fire it. Dice's knife flashes in the dim light, burying itself in the man's shoulder. He screams, dropping the weapon.
"Get to the bike!" Dice shouts, already grappling with the first man who's gotten back to his feet.
I scramble toward the motorcycle, my bound hands making it awkward. Behind me, I hear the sickening crunch of fist meeting jaw, then a body hitting the ground.
I glance back to see Dice dismantling the second attacker with a series of brutal, efficient strikes. There's a coldness to his movements, a lethal precision that wasn't there yesterday. This isn't the impulsive prospect who makes jokes and cooks breakfast. This is someone else entirely.
The third man, bleeding from his shoulder, is staggering toward his fallen gun. I change direction, throwing my body into his legs. We both go down, and I drive my knee into his wound, making him howl.
"Maddie!" Dice is suddenly there, pulling me up. "We need to go. Now."
He slices through my zip ties with a second knife. Where was he hiding that? And drags me toward his bike. In the distance, I hear sirens.
"Someone called the cops," he says, swinging onto the motorcycle. "Get on!"
I don't need to be told twice. I climb on behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist as he kicks the engine to life. We tear out of the gas station just as headlights appear on the road. More vehicles are approaching fast.
Dice takes us off-road immediately, cutting through the trees on what must be a trail only he can see in the darkness. The bike bounces and slides beneath us, but he handles it with the same precision I witnessed in the fight.
"Hold tight!" he shouts over the engine's roar, and then we're airborne for a heart-stopping moment as the bike jumps what feels like a small ravine.
I press my face against his back, heart hammering in my chest. This was not how tonight was supposed to go. I was set up, betrayed. Someone knew exactly where I'd be and when. Someone wants me dead or captured.
And Dice... Dice just saved me. Recklessly, violently, effectively saved me.
After what feels like an eternity of weaving through woods and back roads, the bike slows. We've reached some kind of abandoned barn, far from the main roads.
Dice cuts the engine and helps me off. My legs feel like jelly, adrenaline still coursing through my system.
"Are you hurt?" he asks, scanning me for injuries.
"No." My voice sounds strange to my own ears. "I'm fine. You?"
"Nothing serious." He rolls his shoulder, wincing slightly. "What the fuck was that, Maddie? Who were those guys?"
"I don't know." And that's the terrifying part. "It was a setup."
"No shit." He paces a few steps away, then back. "They knew your name. They knew about James. About me."
"I know." I lean against the barn wall, trying to process. "My client... someone must have..."
"Your client?" Dice's voice rises. "You mean whoever hired you for this 'simple' job that nearly got us both killed?"
"I was careful," I insist, though the evidence suggests otherwise. "I vetted everything. The information was solid."
"Obviously not." He runs a hand through his hair, agitated. "Those weren't random thugs, Maddie. They were professionals. If I hadn't been there..."
"But you were." I meet his eyes in the darkness. "Why? Why did you help me? You could have just left, called your club, saved yourself."
He stares at me for a long moment. "Because you needed me."
Four simple words. Because you needed me. Not because he wanted something from me, not because he could use me, not because I manipulated him. Because I needed him.
"Thank you." The words feel inadequate, foreign on my tongue.
He nods once, then turns away to check his phone. "No signal out here. We need to move soon. They'll be looking for us."
"The club will be looking for you too," I point out. "What are you going to tell them?"
"Everything." His voice is firm, resolute. "We're going to the clubhouse."
I straighten up. "The clubhouse? Are you insane? I just tried to steal—"
"It's not up for discussion, Maddie." He cuts me off, something shifting in his demeanor. The playful, impulsive Dice is gone, replaced by someone more commanding. "The clubhouse is the safest place in Pine Haven. Those guys knew who I was, who James is. This is bigger than some watch."
"Your President is going to kill me," I argue, panic rising. The thought of walking into a den of bikers and confessing to theft isn't exactly appealing.
"Reaper's intense, but he's fair. We tell him everything, he'll help us figure this out." He holds out his hand. "The watch."
I reach into my pocket, pulling out the sleek case. "You realize I'm going to lose my client, my payment, and probably my reputation over this."
"Better than losing your life." He doesn't lower his hand. "Your call, but that thing's not coming to the clubhouse without Reaper knowing about it."
I hesitate. The watch represents a significant payday, but he's right. It's more liability than asset now. And whoever set me up clearly has resources and information I don't.
"Fine." I hand it over. "But I want answers. Someone set me up, and I need to know who."
"We'll get them." He tucks the watch into his jacket. "The club has connections, resources. If anyone can find out who these people are, it's them."
"And what if they decide I'm not worth the trouble?" It's a real concern. I'm nobody to these men.
"You're James's family," Dice says simply. "That makes you mine. And the Outlaw Order protects its own."
There's that word again. Family. He always says it like it means something unbreakable, like it's not just blood or circumstance but choice.
"Your brother..." A thought occurs to me. "James's release is in five days. These people know about him. What if they target him?"
Dice's expression hardens. "All the more reason to get the club involved. They won't get near him. I'll make sure of it."
The fierce protectiveness in his voice reminds me of why James always spoke so highly of his little brother, despite the constant worry. Beneath the recklessness and charm, there's a loyalty that runs bone-deep.
"Okay," I concede, surprising myself. "The clubhouse it is."
He looks surprised too, clearly having expected more resistance. "Just like that?"
"Don't get used to it." I push off from the wall. "But those men knew too much, and I don't like being the hunted one. If your club can help figure out who's behind this, I'm willing to face the music."
As we mount the bike again, I'm aware of how quickly everything has changed. Twenty-four hours ago, I was manipulating Dice Thompson, seeing him as a useful pawn in my game. Now, I'm trusting him with my life, and worse, trusting his judgment.
Control. I've always needed it, craved it, used it as armor against a world that showed me its cruelest face when I was just a child. But tonight, when those men grabbed me, when my laid plans shattered around me, it wasn't control that saved me.
It was Dice. Reckless, impulsive Dice, who leapt without looking and somehow landed exactly where he needed to be.
As we tear through the night, his body solid and warm against mine, I realize I'm in dangerous territory. Not just because unknown enemies are hunting us, but because for the first time in years, I'm not the one in control.
And the most terrifying part? I'm not sure I want to be.