Chapter Ten
Ivy stood near the curb of her apartment building that morning, canvas bag slung over one shoulder, her fingers curled tight around the strap like it might anchor her in place. She was waiting for her ride.
On any other day, she would’ve rolled her eyes at the arrangement.
A Devil’s Crown patched member picking her up for work like she couldn’t be trusted to get there on her own might seem excessive, borderline insulting, even. Ivy prided herself on independence but yesterday had lodged something sharp and persistent beneath her ribs.
The feeling hadn’t gone away when she locked her apartment door. It hadn’t eased when she’d slept, or when she woke before her alarm with her heart already racing. That sensation of being watched clung to her, a thin film over everything. It was subtle, but impossible to ignore.
So she waited. She shifted her weight and scanned the street again, eyes tracking every passing car, every shadow between parked vehicles. The neighborhood was quiet, early commuters long gone, late sleepers still tucked away. Too quiet, maybe.
Her phone buzzed in her hand. No new messages. Roach should be here any minute.
The low rumble reached her before the bike came into view. A Harley’s engine, unmistakable. The tension in Ivy’s shoulders eased a fraction as the sound grew louder, echoing between buildings. She adjusted her bag and took a step closer to the curb, ready to flag him down.
The bike rounded the corner. It was black, the chrome flashing in the sun. The Devil’s Crown patch rode proudly on the back of the rider’s leather vest.
As it slowed, something snagged in her chest. The rider wasn’t Roach.
The bike rolled to a stop a few feet away, engine idling low and mean. Ivy didn’t move. She watched as the man swung his leg off with practiced ease and pulled off his helmet.
He was tall. Broad shouldered. His hair was dark, cropped short, his face angular in a way that felt deliberately sharp. When his eyes landed on her, a slow smile spread across his mouth.
It was too wide and pleased.
“Morning,” he said, voice smooth, casual, like they were old friends.
Every instinct Ivy had flared at once.
“Morning,” she replied cautiously, her tone polite but guarded. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”
The man chuckled, like she’d said something amusing. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”
The biker didn’t give her his name, instead he took a step closer. Ivy resisted the urge to step back, forcing herself to stay still, to project calm even as her pulse kicked up a notch.
“I’m waiting for Roach,” she added, glancing past him down the street. “He should be here any—”
“Havoc sent me,” the man interrupted easily. “Told me to pick you up.”
The words hit wrong.
Havoc? Confusion tangled with alarm. Havoc hadn’t spoken to her since yesterday morning. He hadn’t texted or called. Hell, the bastard didn’t said anything at all.
“He did?” Ivy asked slowly. “That’s ... strange.”
The biker’s smile didn’t falter. “He’s busy. You know how it is.”
No, she didn’t. Ivy dropped her gaze to the patch on his vest. Devil’s Crown MC, just like Roach’s. Her eyes traced the stitching along the bottom rocker, reading the name embroidered there.
Roach. Her breath caught. This wasn’t Roach. The name sat wrong on this man’s back, like a borrowed skin. What happened to the real Roach and was that a spot of blood on his shirt sleeve? Her heart began to pound.
“I’ll wait,” Ivy said, stepping back this time, no longer caring if she seemed rude. “Roach didn’t say anything about a change of plans.”
The biker’s eyes hardened just a fraction. “He’s tied up. I’m your ride.”
“I didn’t agree to that,” she said, more firmly now. “I’ll take my own car.”
She turned, already reaching into her bag for her keys. Fingers closed around her sleeve, stopping her short.
“Hey,” she snapped, twisting to face him. “Don’t touch me.”
“Relax,” he said, grip tightening just enough to make his point. “No one’s trying to hurt you.”
Her instincts screamed. Ivy jerked her arm free and shoved him hard in the chest.
“Get away from me!” Ivy yelled.
The man swore under his breath, surprise flashing across his face before irritation replaced it. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”
She didn’t wait for him to finish. Ivy turned and ran. She made it three steps before his hand fisted in the strap of her bag, yanking her backward. She stumbled, barely keeping her footing, adrenaline flooding her veins.
“Let go!” she yelled, swinging her elbow back, connecting solidly with his ribs.
He grunted, grip loosening for half a second. Ivy took it, twisting free and sprinting toward the apartment entrance, keys clenched between her fingers.
She didn’t make it. He caught her from behind, arms wrapping around her torso, hauling her back against his chest. Ivy screamed this time, the sound tearing out of her, sharp and desperate. She kicked, thrashed, nails scraping at his arms as she fought with everything she had.
“Shut up,” he hissed near her ear. “You’re going to draw attention.”
“Good!” she shouted back, twisting her head and biting down on his shoulder.
He cursed loudly, staggering a step. For a heartbeat, she thought she might break free.
Then his arm tightened around her middle, crushing the breath from her lungs. The world narrowed to the burn in her chest, the roar of blood in her ears.
“I said stop,” he growled.
She didn’t. Ivy kicked again, heel connecting with his shin. He swore, losing his balance just enough for her to wrench sideways. Ivy clawed at his vest, fingers brushing the patch, the name that wasn’t his.
A hand clamped over her mouth, muffling her next scream. He dragged her toward the bike, boots scraping against the pavement. Ivy dug her heels in, fighting every inch, her body trembling with effort and terror.
People would hear. Someone had to hear. The street remained cruelly quiet.
“Please,” she gasped against his palm, panic bleeding into her voice despite her resolve. “Please, let me go.”
For a split second, something flickered in his eyes. Then it was gone.
“Can’t,” he said shortly. “Orders from Hyena.”
He shoved her toward the bike, forcing her down onto the seat. Ivy bucked and twisted, managing to land a sharp blow to his jaw. His head snapped to the side, a thin line of blood appearing at the corner of his mouth.
His response was swift.
He grabbed her wrists, pinning them painfully against her sides.
“Enough,” he said.
She glared up at him, chest heaving, tears stinging her eyes but fury burning brighter. “You won’t get away with this.”
He smiled again.
“We’ll see,” he said.
With one hand, he secured her to him, arm locked tight around her waist. With the other, he swung his leg over the bike and fired the engine. The roar drowned out her next shout, vibration rattling through her bones.
As the Harley lurched forward, Ivy twisted in his grip, fighting to keep her balance, heart slamming violently against her ribs. The buildings blurred past, the familiar streets of her neighborhood slipping away far too fast.
Fear clawed at her throat, cold and merciless. Havoc’s name echoed in her mind, sharp and aching. Who was this man and who sent him? She didn’t know anything, only that she was being taken.
****
Havoc had the bike stripped down to its bones, hands blackened with grease, mind anything but on the machine in front of him.
The Harley sat steady on its stand. He adjusted the carburetor with practiced precision, the rhythm of the work grounding him. Wrench, tighten, check and repeat. Normally, this was where his head went quiet, where the road lived even when he wasn’t on it.
Not today. Today, every thought circled back to Ivy.
He’d made up his mind sometime around dawn, when the sky was still bruised purple and sleep had refused to come back.
He was going to apologize. Really apologize, not the half-assed gruff version he’d perfected over the years.
He’d pushed her away because he was scared, because letting her in felt like tempting fate, and that wasn’t fair to her.
He practiced the words in his head like a man rehearsing a confession.
I was wrong. I shouldn’t have pulled away. You didn’t deserve that.
None of it sounded good enough.
The night before, he’d ridden out past the edge of town, and parked beside a headstone he knew too well.
Libby’s name was carved there, neat and final, the dates beneath it a cruel joke.
He’d stood there longer than he meant to, helmet tucked under his arm, staring down at the ground like it might open up and answer him.
“I didn’t mean to,” he’d muttered into the dark. “I didn’t mean to forget you.”
The wind had whispered through the trees, and for a moment, irrational and raw, he’d sworn he felt her disappointment. Not anger. Worse. That quiet, knowing look she used to give him when he was being an idiot.
He’d left with his chest tight and his resolve set. Havoc was done hiding.
He tightened the last bolt and wiped his hands on a rag, already picturing Ivy’s face when he told her. He didn’t expect forgiveness, not right away, but he had to try. He owed her honesty at the very least.
Footsteps broke into the garage, hurried and uneven. Havoc frowned, glancing up. Roach stumbled into view, supported by another brother. Blood streaked his temple, dried dark against his skin. One eye was already swelling shut, purple and ugly. His cut was gone.
Havoc’s heart dropped straight into his gut.
“What the fuck happened?” he demanded, already moving toward them.
Roach tried to wave him off, but the motion was sloppy. “I’m fine.”
Bullshit.
Havoc caught him by the arm, steadying him.
“You don’t look fine. Where’s Ivy?” Havoc demanded.
Roach winced at the sharpness in his tone, confusion flickering across his battered face. “She... I was on my way to get her.”
The words hit like a punch. Havoc’s jaw clenched, anger flaring hot and fast, but one look at Roach’s condition checked it. Demanding answers from a brother who looked like he’d been fed through a meat grinder wasn’t the way.
“Inside,” Havoc said, voice controlled with effort. “Easy.”
They got Roach settled on a chair in the clubhouse, another brother already calling for the in-house doc. Havoc crouched in front of him, eyes scanning the damage. Roach had a split lip, bruised ribs and one wrist swelled badly. Someone had thoroughly worked him over.
The doctor arrived quickly, ushering everyone back as he got to work. Havoc paced instead, boots thudding against the floor, every step tightening the coil of dread in his chest.
When Roach was finally patched up enough to talk, Havoc stopped pacing and planted himself in front of him.
“Start from the beginning,” he said. “Slow.”
Roach swallowed, voice rough. “I was heading to Ivy’s place like usual. Took the back road. Didn’t hear him until it was too late,” he mumbled.
“Who?” Havoc pressed.
“One guy. On a Harley. Came out of nowhere. He clipped my back tire, sent me down hard.” Roach’s jaw tightened. “Before I could get my bearings, he was on me.”
Havoc curled his fists at his sides.
“He knew what he was doing,” Roach continued. “Knew how to hit. The bastard took my vest after. When I came to, it was gone.”
Havoc forced himself to breathe. “Did you see his face?” he asked.
Roach nodded slowly. “Yeah. Didn’t recognize him at first. But the patch... I know that patch.”
“What patch?” Havoc asked, though his gut was already answering.
Roach’s gaze met his. “Laughing jackal.”
The Steel Jackals MC.
Havoc closed his eyes for a second, a curse tearing through his head.
Hyena. The VP of that upstart crew had been sniffing around Devil’s Crown territory for months, pushing boundaries, testing limits.
Havoc had crossed paths with him before.
Once, years back, when Hyena had tried to poach a Crown-run chop shop.
Words had turned to fists, fists to knives.
Havoc still had the scar along his ribs from where Hyena had gotten lucky.
They’d never settled it, and now Ivy was in the middle of it.
“Fuck,” Havoc breathed. “I didn’t tell Ivy about him. Didn’t want to scare her. But I saw the way he looked at her in that art shop the other day. Like she was leverage he could use against me.”
That image snapped into place with horrifying clarity. The grin, Hyena waving at him. The way he’d walked away before Havoc could break his teeth in.
Havoc straightened, the decision crystallizing sharp and cold.
“Get some rest,” he told Roach. “You did what you could.”
Roach grabbed his wrist weakly. “Don’t go alone.”
“I won’t,” Havoc promised, though every instinct in him screamed to tear out after her immediately.
He forced himself to slow down and think. Charging in blind would get Ivy hurt or killed. He turned, already barking orders. “I want a crew, and bring Gizmo here.”