Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
Hawk
The engine of my bike roars as we tear down the empty road toward Emma’s house, the sound echoing in the stillness of the night. Wind whips past my face, but I barely feel it. My chest is tight, a heavy knot forming as each second stretches out, making my stomach sink lower with every heartbeat.
Three missed calls. Three. And I declined every single one. The weight of that decision presses down on me like a lead blanket. If something happened to her…
My grip on the handlebars tightens, knuckles turning white. My jaw locks so hard it aches. I push the throttle harder, urging the bike to go faster, as if I can outrun the anxiety clawing at me from the inside.
Behind me, Ghost, Riot, and Diesel are right on my tail, their engines roaring through the quiet neighborhood. I can feel their urgency, but all I can think about is Emma. As her house comes into view, something feels off. The garage light is on. The house lights are on. But the front door—
My stomach drops. The front door is slightly ajar.
“Fuck,” I growl, adrenaline surging through me. I don’t even bother parking properly; I skid the bike sideways across the driveway and jump off before the engine fully dies.
The guys are already moving, each of us instinctively pulling out our guns. None of us know what we’re about to walk into, but the weight of uncertainty hangs heavily in the air.
My boots pound across the porch, every step echoing in my mind. I don’t knock. I don’t check the handle. I kick the fucking door in. It splinters with a loud crack as it slams open.
“Emma!” I roar, the sound reverberating through the house.
Silence. Too much silence.
We move fast, clearing the living room. Ghost checks the hallway while Riot heads toward the back. I step into the kitchen, and the world around me freezes.
Blood. So much fucking blood.
It’s everywhere—across the floor, splattered on the cabinets, pooling around an overturned table. My brain stutters, trying to process the horrific scene before me.
Then I see her.
Emma is lying on the kitchen floor, completely still. Blood covers her body, her hair, her clothes. For one horrifying second, I think she’s dead.
“No.”
The word tears from my throat, raw and desperate.
My gun clatters to the floor as I sprint across the kitchen, adrenaline flooding my veins. “Emma!” I shout, dropping to my knees beside her, the pain shooting up my legs barely registering.
Her skin is pale—too pale. Blood coats her hair, her clothes, her hands. The floor around her looks like a scene from a nightmare, and I can’t breathe. My hands shake as I grab her shoulders, trying to rouse her.
“Emma!”
Her head lolls slightly, but there’s no response. My heart races, and panic surges through me.
“No, no, no, no—” This can’t be happening. If I’d just answered her calls…
My vision blurs as tears threaten to spill. “Emma!” I shout again, my voice breaking under the weight of fear that threatens to consume me.
I press my fingers against her neck, searching, praying for any sign of life.
Then—there. A pulse. Weak, but there.
Air rushes out of my lungs in a ragged breath. “She’s alive,” I choke out, relief flooding my system, but I can’t let myself relax yet.
Behind me, the guys start moving faster, urgency in their actions. Ghost is already on the phone. “Yeah,” he says sharply. “We need cleaners and backup at Hawk’s place.”
A pause. “And get the fucking doctor ready at the clubhouse.”
Riot curses quietly as he glances around the kitchen, taking in the horror. “This is a fucking massacre.”
Diesel kneels near the dead man sprawled across the floor. “Guy’s dead.”
I don’t even look at him. I don’t care. All I see is Emma, her breathing growing weaker against my arm.
“Emma,” I whisper urgently, cradling her head in my hands. “Stay with me, baby.”
Her fingers twitch slightly against my shirt, a faint sign of life. Then suddenly—her body goes limp. Her eyes close.
“Emma?” Panic surges through me.
“Emma!” I shake her gently, desperation clawing at my insides.
Nothing.
“No—”
Ghost kneels beside me quickly, pressing his fingers to her neck. “She’s still got a pulse,” he says, relief mixing with urgency in his tone. “It’s weak, but it’s there.”
My heart pounds violently, a chaotic rhythm of fear and hope. Ghost glances toward the door, urgency in his voice. “The guys are bringing a truck. Few minutes out.”
Riot heads toward the stairs, determination written on his face. “I’m grabbing her a bag. She’s not staying here.”
Good. Because there’s no way in hell she’s staying here after this.
With trembling hands, I shift Emma carefully into my arms. Her body feels too limp, too fragile, and the sight of all that blood—on her, on the floor, on me—makes my stomach churn.
“Jesus Christ…” Diesel mutters quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
I press Emma against my chest, cradling her head against my shoulder. “Stay with me, Trouble,” I whisper into her hair, feeling the warmth of her blood soak through my shirt.
Outside, engines roar into the driveway. The backup is here. Ghost steps outside and waves them in, urgency in his movements. A truck pulls into the driveway while several bikes skid to a stop behind it.
The cleaners step inside, and the moment they see the kitchen, they freeze.
The blood. The dead man. Emma in my arms.
“Holy fuck,” one of them mutters, but I don’t even spare them a glance. My entire focus is on her, the gentle rise and fall of her chest against mine.
“Diesel,” I bark, urgency driving my words.
He steps forward immediately, his expression serious. “Yeah.”
“Drive.”
He nods once, and I stand carefully, holding Emma against me as gently as I can. Her blood soaks into my shirt, but I don’t care. Nothing matters except getting her to the clubhouse alive.
I walk past the stunned men in the kitchen, past the broken table, past the blood. I push through the cold night air toward the truck, the chill doing little to calm the storm inside me.
“Move,” I snap at Diesel, who jumps into the driver’s seat immediately.
I climb into the back with Emma still in my arms, holding her close as the door slams shut.
“Stay with me, baby,” I whisper, cupping the side of her face gently. “Please don’t leave me.”
Her eyelids flutter, and I can see her trying to focus. “Hawk?” she whispers, her voice barely above a breath.
“Yeah, baby, I’m right here,” I reply, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill. “You’re gonna be okay. Just hang on for me.”
She takes a shaky breath, her eyes searching mine. “I… I’m scared.”
“I know, I know. Just keep looking at me, alright? You’re not alone.” My voice trembles, but I need her to hear me. “Stay with me, Trouble. Just a little longer.”
As Diesel pulls out into the night, I don’t let go. I hold her tightly, my heart racing with the fear of losing her. “You’re going to be okay, Emma. I promise. Just keep breathing for me. Please don’t leave me, baby.”
With every passing second, I focus on her, my world narrowing down to the two of us, fighting against the darkness closing in.
The truck skids into the clubhouse lot with a screech that sends gravel flying. The tires scream against the rough surface, and before it’s even fully stopped, I’m already moving, adrenaline surging through my veins.
The back door swings open, and cold air rushes inside the cab, but I barely notice it. Emma’s body is limp in my arms, her blood soaking through my shirt, warm and sticky against my chest.
“Move!” I bark, my voice sharp and demanding, slicing through the thick tension that hangs in the air.
The yard goes silent. Just moments ago, the place had been alive with noise—dozens of bikes rumbling, brothers from sister chapters laughing, music blasting from inside the bar.
But now, every single man standing outside has gone completely still, their eyes wide as they take in the scene before them.
They’re staring at me. At Emma. At the blood.
I jump down from the truck, cradling her as carefully as I can.
“Get the fucking med room ready!” Ghost shouts behind me, urgency lacing his voice.
The words snap everyone back into motion. Boots pound across the gravel, doors slam open, and someone yells for the medics. But I don’t stop moving.
Emma’s head rests against my shoulder, and I can feel the chill of her skin beneath the streaks of blood. Her lips are parted slightly, but her breathing is so faint that it feels like I’m holding a whisper.
“Stay with me, Trouble,” I whisper roughly, my throat tight with fear.
Her body doesn’t respond, doesn’t move.
“Come on, baby,” I murmur, brushing a blood-soaked strand of hair away from her face. “You fought too damn hard to quit now.”
As we reach the clubhouse doors, they swing wide open, brothers clearing a path instantly. Inside, the air is thick with whiskey, smoke, and engine grease, but tonight it’s layered with palpable tension.
Two men in cuts step forward immediately—Doc and Reaper, medics from one of the sister chapters. They stop short when they see her.
“Jesus Christ,” Doc mutters, disbelief etched on his face.
Reaper gestures sharply down the hallway. “Medical room. Now.”
I follow without hesitation, each step feeling too slow, too long. Emma’s blood drips onto the floor behind us, a macabre trail of desperation.
When we reach the med room, Reaper steps in front of me, blocking my path.
“Hawk,” he says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.
I don’t stop. “I’ve got her.”
“Hawk.” His voice sharpens, authority cutting through my panic. “We need to take her.”
My grip instinctively tightens, the protective instinct surging within me.
“No.”
The word leaves my mouth low and dangerous. He doesn’t flinch.
“If you want her to live,” he says calmly, “you let us work.”
My chest feels like it’s collapsing inward. For a moment, I just stare down at Emma. Her face is bruised, her throat already darkening with ugly fingerprints. Blood covers her shirt, and her ribs rise weakly with each shallow breath.
My jaw clenches. Slowly… reluctantly… I lower her onto the table.
The second my arms release her, Doc and Reaper move in fast. One starts cutting through her shirt while the other checks her airway and pulse.
“Pulse weak,” Doc mutters, urgency creeping into his voice. “Possible rib fractures.”
“Severe bruising around the throat,” Reaper adds, his focus unwavering.
Their voices blur together in my ears, panic surging through me. My hands are shaking.
“Out,” Doc says without looking at me.
I don’t move.
“Hawk.”
Ghost appears beside me, his presence grounding. “Come on,” he murmurs, his voice low but firm.
My eyes stay locked on Emma. They place an oxygen mask over her face, and blood stains the white plastic instantly. My chest tightens painfully.
“Hawk,” Ghost says again, more insistently this time.
I let him pull me back. One step. Two. The door swings shut behind us, and suddenly I’m standing in the hallway outside the medical room, doing nothing. Waiting.
Which somehow feels worse than the moment I thought she was dead on that kitchen floor.
My hands drag through my hair, still covered in her blood.
“Fuck,” I breathe, the word escaping like a whisper of despair.
Riot leans against the wall nearby, arms crossed, his expression grim. Diesel paces the hallway like a caged animal, barely able to contain his energy. Ghost stands beside me quietly, tension radiating from him.
For a long time, no one speaks. Then Diesel finally breaks the silence.
“That guy at the house,” he says, his voice low. “Dead for sure.”
I nod once, the image of Emma’s knife buried in his throat flashing through my mind.
“She did that,” Ghost says quietly, his tone surprisingly respectful.
My head lifts in surprise. “What?”
Ghost crosses his arms, his expression serious. “Knife wound in the throat. Deep.”
My chest tightens, a strange feeling twisting in my gut—pride, fear, respect—all tangled together.
“She fought,” I say roughly, admiration creeping into my voice.
Ghost nods. “Yeah.”
I close my eyes briefly, trying to process everything. Emma isn’t fragile. Never was. Even bleeding on her own kitchen floor… she still fought.
A door opens down the hallway, and one of the brothers jogs toward us. “The cleaners finished at the house,” he says. “Body’s handled.”
Ghost nods once. “Good.”
Another pause hangs in the air, thick with tension. Then Riot speaks up again. “We found his cut.”
My head lifts, curiosity piqued. “What club?”
Riot’s jaw tightens. “Black Reapers.”
My stomach drops. That name again.
Ghost exhales slowly, the weight of realization settling in. “Then this wasn’t random.”
No. It wasn’t. My fists clench, anger coursing through me.
Because someone sent that man. Someone wanted Emma dead. And if they think they’re getting away with that—
The medical room door opens, and all of us turn instantly. Reaper steps out, his expression weary and grim.
My heart pounds violently in my chest. “How is she?” I demand, desperation clawing at my throat.
Reaper looks tired, the toll of the night evident in his eyes. “She’s got cracked ribs, a concussion, and severe bruising around her throat,” he says, his tone flat.
My stomach twists at his words.
He continues, “She took a hell of a beating.”
My pulse roars in my ears. “Is she alive?” I ask hoarsely, needing to hear the answer.
Reaper nods slowly. “She’s alive.”
Air rushes out of my lungs, relief flooding through me. But then he adds quietly, “She’s not awake yet.”