3. Jade #3
“Protection?” The other voice sounds incredulous. “We kidnapped her!”
“Better us than them.”
“The heat from the Feds alone?—”
“We’ll handle it.”
More voices, overlapping now, too many to make out individual words. Something about territory. About the gun deal being a setup. About witness protection, club politics, and things I don’t fully understand.
But I understand enough.
I’m caught in the middle of a war between motorcycle clubs. Between Tyler’s people and whoever these men belong to. The Feds are involved. The gun deal I witnessed was some kind of setup. And I’m the loose end everyone wants to tie up.
This isn’t just a kidnapping. This is so much bigger than I thought.
I’m not getting out of this by just running into the woods. Even if I escape these men, the Ruthless Saints will be looking for me. Tyler will be looking for me. The Feds might want to question me.
Everywhere I turn, there’s danger.
And Mason is caught in the middle of it.
No. Mason is safe with Linda. Tyler doesn’t know where Linda lives. I made sure of that. Made sure to keep my sister’s address separate from my life with Tyler, kept her at arm’s length so he couldn’t use her against me.
But if he’s desperate enough, if he’s angry enough, he’ll find a way.
Footsteps on the stairs again. Different pattern this time. Heavier. Slower. Deliberate.
I scramble away from the vent, back toward the bed. Grab the water bottle Shadow left and unscrew the cap like I’ve been drinking it the whole time.
The door opens.
The silver-haired man fills the doorway.
He’s even bigger than I remember from last night. Six three easily, shoulders broad enough to block most of the light from the hallway. Silver-gray hair still damp, like he recently showered. Steel-blue eyes that assess me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.
I refuse to back down. Refuse to look away.
“You settling in?” he asks. His voice is gravel and smoke.
“Is that a joke?”
“Not particularly.”
We stare at each other. A battle of wills. I won’t be the first one to look away. Won’t give him the satisfaction.
Finally, he sighs. Runs a hand over his jaw. He looks tired. Older than I thought last night. Early fifties, with lines around his eyes and mouth that speak of hard years and harder choices.
“I know you’re scared,” he says.
“You kidnapped me.”
“I kept you alive.”
“Same thing from where I’m standing.”
His jaw tightens. “You want to be pissed at me? Fine. Be pissed. But don’t pretend you’d be better off if I’d left you there. The Feds would’ve taken you in for questioning. The other club would’ve hunted you down. You’d be in federal custody or dead right now.”
“At least in federal custody, I’d have rights.”
“You’d have a target on your back. The moment word got out you were talking to the Feds, you’d be marked. Club justice doesn’t care about witness protection.”
He’s probably right. But I’m not about to admit that.
“So what now?” I ask. “You just keep me locked up here indefinitely?”
“Until we figure out a plan.”
“Everyone keeps saying that. How about you just let me go and we all forget this ever happened?”
“Can’t do that.”
“Won’t do that, you mean.”
“Both.”
I stand up, done with sitting, done with feeling small and vulnerable. Even standing, I barely come up to his shoulders, but at least I’m on my feet. “Then what do you want from me?”
“Right now? I want you to stay calm, stay put, and trust that we’re trying to keep you alive.”
“Trust you.” I laugh. It’s not a happy sound. “You zip-tied me, dragged me to the middle of nowhere, and won’t let me make a phone call. Why the hell would I trust you?”
He studies me for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, one corner of his mouth lifts. Not quite a smile. More like acknowledgment. “You’ve got spine. That’s good. You’re going to need it.”
“Need it for what?”
“For whatever comes next.”
That’s not ominous at all.
He turns to leave, then pauses. “Bathroom window doesn’t lead anywhere good. Thirty-foot drop onto rocks. But if you want to try it anyway, feel free. Just know the scary one is outside. He doesn’t like sudden movements.”
My face heats.
“Get some rest,” he says. “We’ll talk more when the sun’s up.”
Then he’s gone, door closing behind him with a soft click that somehow sounds like a lock engaging even though I don’t hear one.
I wait until his footsteps fade completely. Then I move back to the bathroom, step up onto the toilet, and test the window crank again.
It gives. Just a little more than before.
I look out at the forest beyond, at the gray dawn light filtering through the trees. Somewhere out there is civilization. Somewhere out there is Linda’s house and Mason sleeping in the guest room.
I’ll get back to him. Whatever it takes.
These men think they’re keeping me safe? They think I’m just going to sit here and wait while they “figure things out?” They have no idea who they’re dealing with.
I’ve spent four years surviving Tyler. Four years learning to read dangerous men, to find exits, to plan escapes. Four years becoming someone who doesn’t break easy.
I can survive this too.