Chapter 4
KANE
T he moon hung heavy overhead, spilling pale light across the cracked asphalt and dented metal bleachers. It was just past midnight, but the heat hadn’t broken. The scent of scorched rubber and hot exhaust hung in the air, clinging to the humidity that wrapped itself around me like a second skin.
Even the other lifelong Floridians looked uncomfortable as they shifted in their seats and fanned their red faces. But still, there was high energy buzzing through the crowd.
Engines screamed across the track, low and vicious, the kind of sound that vibrated in your chest and straight down to your toes. My boots crunched over the gravel as I stepped into the pit lane, the roar of modified motorcycles cutting through the rest of the noise like thunder.
This wasn’t some sanctioned event with prize banners and safety barriers. No, this track—tucked into an abandoned airstrip miles off the grid—was the kind of place that bred legends and buried the rest.
Illegal. Unforgiving. And mine.
My road captain had a new ride. She was purring like a beast, her black frame sleek as sin under the pit lights.
Axle was crouched beside it, fine-tuning the clutch with a small hex wrench, his jaw tight with focus.
Grease stained the ends of his fingers, and his cut hung open over a sweat-dampened shirt, but it was obvious he was in love with his new lady.
“That bike better fuck you like she loves you,” I muttered with a grin as I stopped beside him.
Axle didn’t look up. “She’s the only thing I’ve ridden lately that didn’t disappoint.”
I scoffed. “Like you’ve been riding anything else.” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen Axle with a woman besides his sister. Definitely before he’d been in a coma after a bad wreck during a race. Not that I had any room to judge.
Axle chuckled. “I have the perfect woman, right here.”
“She’s twitchy in the back end,” I noted, studying the curve of the tires. “Shifts her weight mid-sprint.”
“She likes to be teased,” he said with a smirk. “If you know how to touch her.”
“I’d rather not get into your kinks.”
Axle snorted, tightening the final bolt before standing. “Something on your mind, Prez?”
My gaze tracked the next rider speeding past, one of the two semi-pros I sponsored through a back-door team.
Not club members, but good enough to keep the heat on our competitors.
“I want eyes on the prize tonight. Smoke ’em clean, but don’t make it look easy.
I want ’em just cocky enough to bet bigger next time. ”
Axle rolled his shoulders and jerked his chin up. “You got it.”
The speakers crackled, announcing the final heat. He swung his leg over the bike and fired it up, the engine snarling with anticipation.
Before I could take a step back, Jax slid up beside me like a shadow in motion.
“Prez,” he said quietly.
I didn’t look at him. Whatever it was could wait. “This about the proxy team? I already know. We’ll debrief after the race.”
“It’s not the race,” Jax said, voice low but deliberate. “We need to talk.”
Frowning, I followed when he walked to a quieter, more isolated spot. “It’s a woman.”
I turned my head, slow and sharp. “What woman?”
“One who’s been asking around Crossbend. About you.”
My jaw flexed. “You pulled me out of a heat because some bored tourist got curious?”
Jax shot me a frown as he adjusted his ball cap with our team logo on it. “She’s not just asking about you. She mentioned Devon Quincy, too.”
That gave me pause, but I still failed to see the urgency.
“Tried the coffee shop and the bakery before Drift caught wind and made contact,” Jax continued, gaze sharp behind his glasses.
“Contact,” I echoed with a smirk. “You mean he scared the shit out of her.”
“That was the intent.”
I squinted at him through the dim lighting in the pit lane. “So? You think people in this town are gonna crack just because some out-of-towner plays Nancy Drew? The ones who don’t keep their mouths shut out of loyalty will do it out of fear. Crossbend doesn’t talk.”
Jax lifted a brow. “I didn’t bring it to you because it’s a problem, Prez. I brought it to you because it’s an opportunity.”
That got my attention. I turned fully. “What kind of opportunity?”
Jax handed me his phone. A picture of a woman filled the screen—blond waves pulled back in a ponytail, blue eyes wide, and her jaw hardened in stubborn determination as she stood outside the bakery.
But there was a softness about her that made me wonder if she was as confident as she wanted people to believe.
“Says her name is Savannah Quincy,” Jax said.
My pulse thudded once, hard. “Quincy?
“Yup. She’s Devon’s sister.”
Damn straight, it was a fucking golden opportunity.
I stared at the photo again, closer this time. She was younger than I expected. Early twenties. Short. Curvy. Pretty in a way that felt too clean for this world. Too honest.
She had no idea what the hell she was walking into. Me.
“Bait,” I growled.
Jax adjusted his hat, turning it backward as he considered what I’d said.
“To draw out the rat,” he concluded.
“We take her,” I declared, already reaching for my cell.
Jax nodded once, his mind already several steps ahead. “She lives in Wedgewood. Small apartment above a flower shop. Quiet street. Minimal security. Should be able to snatch her without notice.”
“No,” I muttered, dialing my brother. “We don’t make this subtle.”
The line clicked.
“Yeah?”
“I need you and a few of the boys to meet me at the garage. Half an hour.”
Edge didn’t ask questions. “Done.”
I hung up and shoved my cell back into my pocket, my mind already shifting gears.
They wanted to use a rat to get inside my world? Fine. I’d use bait to drag the bastard out.
Eight hours later, the van rolled to a stop in front of a narrow building tucked behind a row of old businesses.
Wedgewood was a small, quiet town. The kind of place where everyone knew each other’s business. So we’d chosen to grab her in the morning when she left, knowing a lot of people would be up for work.
I stepped out of the van and casually leaned against the passenger door.
Several people entered and exited the florist shop, all throwing us curious covert looks.
When their eyes landed on me, if they didn’t recognize my face, then it was my cut that had them dropping their gazes as they hurried to their cars.
They knew they weren’t in danger from us unless they’d crossed us, but we were scary motherfuckers nonetheless.
Not everyone outside Crossbend knew who we were, but they were the minority. Even if they weren’t involved in the world of racing.
Finally, after an hour, Savannah stepped out of the side stairwell in jeans and a white tank top that had a ruffle around the hem and a little bow just beneath her full tits.
Her white-blond hair fell in loose waves down her back, and the locks floated around her as she hefted a tote bag onto her shoulder.
She seemed lost in her thoughts as she walked down the stairs and into the lot. We’d deliberately parked beside her car, and just before she reached it, she saw me, her steps faltering as her eyes zeroed in on my cut.
Her lips parted, but she didn’t even get the scream out.
Edge and Nitro moved fast—clean and efficient. She got in one hard shove of resistance before Edge carefully collared her neck so he could insert the needle that would knock her out. Her body jerked, eyes flaring wide with shock and panic.
And then she slumped.
I caught her before she hit the ground.
Fuck.
She was warm and soft in my arms. Tiny compared to me, barely reaching my chest. Her breathing was shallow, lashes dark against her cheeks, and her plush pink lips were parted slightly.
I swallowed hard. My cock surged behind my zipper like it’d just remembered what blood flow felt like.
Fucking hell. Get a grip, Beckett!
She smelled like lavender and something sweet. Maybe vanilla. Her curves were mouthwatering, from the generous swell of her tits to the flare of her hips and those long legs that I could already imagine locked tight around my neck.
I had never reacted this violently to a woman. Hell, I hadn’t reacted at all in a long fucking time. My libido had gone dormant—like the switch had been flipped off by boredom and responsibility.
But Savannah flipped it back on. Just like that.
I gritted my teeth as I settled her into the back bench of the van, her hair sliding across the leather like a silk ribbon.
Her ocean-blue eyes had burned into me right before she passed out. I couldn’t stop wondering what they’d look like when she came—writhing underneath me, full of need and pleasure, begging for more while I buried myself deep inside her.
Fuck me .
I hissed out a breath and adjusted myself, pressing the heel of my hand to the bulge in my jeans.
“Stand down,” I muttered under my breath. “You don’t fuck bait.”
My cock didn’t care.
When we arrived at the compound, the brother on security jerked his chin up in greeting as he opened the gate and waved us through.
After parking in the lot around the corner from the clubhouse entrance, I lifted Savannah into my arms and stepped out of the van.
No one batted an eye when they saw me. Loyalty wasn’t something I asked for.
It was something I earned. And even if they were curious, my guys knew better than to ask why we’d brought back an unconscious woman.
The plan was to stash her in the spare room off the main floor. It was used sometimes for recovery or isolation. Had a bed, a private bath, and not much else.
But when I carried her inside and crossed the lounge, I didn’t turn left toward the hallways that would lead us to that room.
I turned right.
Went up the stairs.
Down the hall.
Straight to the end.
Right to my fucking room.
It wasn’t a conscious decision. My legs had already made it before my brain caught the fuck up.
This space was different from the other rooms in the clubhouse.
As president, I had more of an apartment-type setup.
An open layout with a living room area that had two overstuffed couches, a coffee table, and a sixty-inch television.
There was also a kitchenette with a small table and a separate bedroom that had an en suite bathroom.
I carried her into the bedroom and laid her gently on the mattress, brushing her hair away from her face.
Damn, she was gorgeous . Her skin was warm. Her breath still and even.
“You’re fucking dangerous,” I told her quietly.
She didn’t move.
I balled my hands into fists and trudged back into the living room. After taking a few steadying breaths, I grabbed a screwdriver from the closet and quietly reversed the door handles so I could lock her in. She’d be out for hours, but I still tried not to make too much noise.
Then I went down to the clubhouse kitchen, ignoring the curious stare from Edge, the only one who was safe from a bullet if he asked why the fuck I’d just put our prisoner in my room.
It wasn’t like he’d followed me up there.
I could have put her anywhere on the second floor.
But my damn brother had always been able to read me when no one else could.
Still, he took in my glare and wisely kept his mouth shut. For now.
After grabbing some food, I headed to my office and buried myself in work. There would be no progress made until she woke up.
I checked on her twice, just to make sure she hadn’t woken up and needed food, then holed up in my office again each time.
It was after midnight when I finally decided to get some sleep.
I regretted my impulsive decision to put her in my room because it meant I’d have to crash in one of the available rooms down the hall, so I resolved to move her in the morning.
She was still sleeping peacefully when I looked in on her, and my gaze roamed from her silvery hair spilling over my pillow to her structured cheekbones. When it drifted to her lips, I had to remind myself not to picture them around my cock.
I stood there too long, staring at her mouth. At the way her chest rose and fell, pushing her tits against her tank, like they were trying to burst free. At the soft line of her thighs where her jeans hugged her just right.
Yeah, my cock was back to full attention, straining against the denim with zero shame.
“I said stand down,” I growled under my breath, dragging a hand over my face.
After taking a deep breath, I stalked into the living room and shut and locked the bedroom door once more.
That should have been the end of it.
I should’ve walked out.
Should’ve turned, locked the door behind me, and let one of the prospects post up for security.
I took a step toward the door. Then another. Reached for the handle and opened it.
But when I went to step into the hallway, something in my chest tightened.
I looked back at the closed bedroom door. Pictured her out cold. Completely still.
And for some reason, I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving her alone in that room.
With a muttered curse, I kicked off my boots, yanked my shirt over my head, and shoved my jeans down to my boxers. Then I stalked over to the couch and dropped onto it with a grunt.
I didn’t know what the fuck was happening to me. This girl felt…dangerous to me somehow. Yet the thought of setting her free turned my stomach. But she was bait. I’d have to let her go eventually.
Right?