Chapter 36
The message comes in when I’m halfway through a sentence and not paying enough attention to what I’m saying.
Logan’s got a map spread across his desk in the office, routes marked in pencil, times written in the margins, the kind of work that keeps the club moving quietly and clean without drawing attention where it doesn’t belong.
Cain’s leaning back in a chair, arms crossed, Joker’s posted up near the door, and I’m pointing at a secondary road we might use if traffic gets ugly on the main stretch.
Then my phone buzzes.
I glance down without thinking.
Allie: Heading to my parents for lunch.
My mouth shifts automatically.
Me: Who’s with you
I don’t even look up while I type it. I know what she’s going to say. I know what I’m going to say back. This has been the rhythm lately.
Her reply comes fast.
Allie: Prospect’s following. Don’t start.
A breath leaves me, half irritation, half relief. Not alone. Good.
Me: Not starting. Let me know when you get there.
I hit send, lock my phone, and go back to the map like nothing just shifted.
Because nothing did. Not yet.
We finish the route ten minutes later. Tight. Clean. No issues.
Logan nods once, satisfied, and I’m just about to say we’re good when the office door opens and Torch walks in with my dad right behind him.
They’re mid-conversation.
Torch’s laughing at something, shaking his head like he’s already tired of whatever Dad just said, and Dad’s got that same easy, unbothered look he always does when he knows he got under somebody’s skin for sport.
Completely fucking normal and that’s what makes everything in me go cold. Because it doesn’t line up. Not with the timing. Not with the message. Not with the fact that Allie said she was going to her parents’ house.
I look at Torch standing here in the office, and not at home.
My stomach drops so fast it feels like I missed a step. “Where’s Allie?” The words come out sharper than I intend.
Torch blinks at me. “What?”
“Where’s Allie?” I repeat, already moving, already pulling my phone back out.
Torch’s expression shifts from confused to something more alert. “At work, I guess,” he says. “Why?”
The world narrows.
“She texted me. Said she was coming over for lunch with you and Tracie.”
Torch goes still. “I haven’t talked to her today.”
Everything inside me goes dead quiet. Not panic. Not yet. That worse, colder version of it that strips everything down to one brutal, undeniable fact.
Something’s wrong.
I hit her number. It doesn’t ring, just goes straight to voicemail. No hesitation. No delay.
Off.
Or dead.
“Fuck.” The word is low, controlled, and absolutely loaded.
I hit redial. Same thing. Voicemail.
Logan’s already moving before I even say anything else. “What is it?”
“Her phone’s off.”
That’s all it takes.
The room shifts instantly.
Torch’s face drains of color.
Dad’s jaw locks.
Cain’s out of his chair.
Joker’s pushing off the wall.
“Call the prospect,” Logan says.
I’m already doing it.
Ryan picks up on the second ring. “Yeah?”
“Where are you?”
There’s a pause. Then, “Getting food. Why?”
My grip tightens on the phone. “Where’s Allison?”
Another pause. Shorter this time. Confused. “I dropped her at her parents’ place.”
My vision tunnels. “When?”
“Twenty, maybe twenty-five minutes ago. Torch’s truck was—”
“He’s here, took his bike..” The words come out flat.
There’s silence on the other end.
Then Ryan swears. “Shit.”
“Get to the house,” I snap. “Now.”
“I’m already moving.”
The call drops. I don’t remember ending it. I’m already heading for the door.
Logan’s right behind me. Torch and Dad are already moving. Cain and Joker fall in without a word.
No discussion. No debate. We all know what this is. We all know exactly what it means.
By the time we hit the lot, my chest is tight enough it’s hard to get a full breath. Not from fear. From the pressure building under it. From the understanding that every second matters now, and we’re already behind.
Engines roar to life. We don’t ride in a neat line. We don’t wait for formation. We go. We ride fast, hard, and with no hesitation.
The road blurs.
Every turn feels too slow. Every stop sign a waste of time. Every second another chance for whatever went wrong to get worse.
I call her again. Voicemail. Again. Voicemail. Again. Nothing.
By the time we hit the driveway, I’m already off the bike before it fully stops.
The house looks normal. That’s the first punch. Nothing broken. Nothing obvious. No signs from the outside.
I don’t trust it for a second. I’m already moving.
The front door is unlocked. That’s the second punch. I shove it open hard enough it bangs against the wall. “Allie!”
No answer.
The silence hits like a wall.
Wrong. So fucking wrong.
We move as one. Fast. Controlled. Clearing the house like we’ve done this before because we have, just never like this.
I hit the living room first, and everything stops.
Tracie’s on the couch. Bound. Gagged. Blood down the side of her face.
My brain blanks for half a second. Then everything slams back in twice as hard. “Jesus.”
Torch is past me before I can even finish the thought. “Tracie!” He’s on his knees in front of her in two strides, hands already working, taking out his knife, cutting the zip ties around her wrists, his whole body shaking in a way I have never seen before.
Dad’s right behind him, ripping the gag free.
“Hey...hey, baby, look at me.”
Her eyes flutter. Then she gasps. Sharp. Painful. Alive.
Relief hits the room so hard it almost knocks me back a step.
“Tracie,” Torch says, voice rough, breaking at the edges. “Talk to me. What happened?”
She tries. Her voice comes out shredded. “Drew.”
The name detonates in my chest. “Where’s Allie?”
Her eyes find mine. And I know before she even says it. “She came in, he was already here...” Her breath stutters. “He took her.”
The world tilts.
Not metaphorically. Everything actually shifts. The room. The air. The ground under my feet.
He took her.
No.
That’s not real. That can’t be real.
“She tried to fight him,” Tracie chokes. “He...he hit me...then he—” Her voice breaks completely.
Torch’s hand comes up to cup her face, shaking now, his whole body coiled tight with rage and something dangerously close to panic. “You’re okay,” he says, even though nothing about this is okay. “You’re okay.”
I can’t hear the rest. I’m already moving.
Scanning the kitchen, table, counters, floor.
There.
Her phone.
I grab it.
Shattered.
“Jimmy.” Logan’s voice cuts through.
I look up. He’s in the doorway, already on his phone, already moving.
“Dom,” I say.
Logan nods once.
I’m dialing before he even finishes the gesture.
Dom picks up on the first ring. “Yeah?”
“I need Drew’s car.”
Silence.
Then, sharp and focused, “What happened?”
“He took her.”
Another pause. Short. Deadly.
“Send me everything you’ve got on him,” I continue. “Plate, make, model, anything. Yesterday.”
“I’m on it.”
The line clicks dead.
I’m already on my feet again.
Logan’s pacing now, phone to his ear. “Spread it,” he’s saying. “Everyone. Now. I want eyes on every road out of town. Every highway. Every backroad. I don’t care who’s where, they drop it and they move.”
Cain’s on his phone. Joker’s texting. Shadow, Cobra, Hammer, Blaze, they’re all moving, all calling, all shifting into motion like a machine that’s been waiting for this exact moment to come online.
The club doesn’t hesitate. It never does.
Torch’s voice cuts through from the living room. “I’ll kill him.” Not loud. Not dramatic. Certain.
Dad doesn’t argue.
Neither does anyone else. Because that’s already understood.
I step back into the living room.
Tracie’s leaning into Torch now, still shaking, still trying to catch her breath. Her eyes find me again. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.
That hits harder than anything else.
“You don’t need to be sorry,” I say. My voice is low. Controlled. Barely. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
She shakes her head weakly.
He’s been watching. Waiting. Looking for the one gap in our guard. And we gave it to him.
That realization hits like a blade.
I should’ve gone with her. Should’ve pushed harder
No time for that. Fix it. Now.
I look at Torch. Really look at him. His wife is bleeding. His daughter is gone. And he’s holding it together by threads.
“I’m getting her back.” The words come out before I think about them.
Not a promise. A fact.
Torch’s eyes meet mine. There’s no hesitation there. No question. Just the same thing that’s sitting in my chest right now.
War.
“Damn right you are,” he says.
I nod once. Then I straighten, turn toward the rest of the room, and say it out loud where everyone can hear it. “Drew doesn’t walk away from this.”
Silence.
Then Logan, from the doorway, voice flat and final. “No.”
I take one step forward. Then another. And every word after that is as clear as anything I’ve ever said in my life. “She’s mine.”
The room stills.
“She’s mine,” I repeat, voice dropping lower, sharper. “And he touched the wrong fucking woman.”
Something shifts. Not just in me. In the room. In the club. Because that’s it. That’s the line.
Claimed. Defended. Final.
Logan lowers his phone. “Then let’s go get her.”
“I’m heading back to the club to help Dom” I say Blaze and Joker echoing my thoughts.
And just like that, the room explodes back into motion.
Phones ringing. Orders flying. Engines starting outside.
The danger doesn’t feel distant anymore. It’s here. Alive, moving, and we’re not waiting for it to come to us. We’re going straight at it. Because Drew made one mistake.
One fatal, unforgivable mistake.
He didn’t just take Allison.
He took her from us.
And this club doesn’t lose what’s ours.