Chapter 4 — Roan
I lie in bed staring at the ceiling and I know sleep isn't happening tonight.
It's past eleven and all I can think about is the way Carina felt pressed against me, the soft sound she made when I pulled her closer, the taste of her mouth and how she gripped my shoulders like she needed the anchor.
I get up. Pour water I don't drink. Stand at the kitchen sink looking out at nothing.
I've been managing risk for years. Keeping Zoe safe meant keeping my world small, keeping vulnerabilities manageable, not giving Marrow or anyone else leverage points to exploit.
Perry beaten because of his brother. Ray hospitalized because of Diesel. The pattern is clear.
Anyone I care about becomes a target.
But lying here wanting Carina badly enough that my chest aches with it, I'm starting to see the flaw in my math. Zoe's already at risk just from being mine.
The threat is constant whether I'm alone or not. Distance doesn't eliminate danger, just means I'm carrying it by myself.
I go back to bed. Check my phone. Eleven-fifteen.
Close my eyes and see dark green eyes and the specific curve of her hip under my hand.
My phone rings at eleven forty-seven.
I'm reaching for it before the second ring, already moving because calls this late mean one thing.
Tate's name on the screen.
"Yeah?"
"Roan." His voice has an edge that makes everything in me go cold. "You need to check Zoe's room. Now."
I'm out of bed, down the hallway. Her door is closed. I knock. No answer. Open it.
The bed is empty and the sheets are pulled back.
"She’s not here." My voice comes out controlled even though my hands want to shake. "What happened?"
"Her window?"
I cross to it. Wide open. Screen removed and leaning against the house outside. "Open... Screen's off."
"They took her from the house." Tate's voice is grim. "Get to the clubhouse. Now."
He hangs up. I'm dressed in under a minute, calling Zoe's phone while I move. Voicemail. Try again. Same.
Get in the truck and drive, hitting redial every thirty seconds because maybe she'll pick up, maybe this is nothing, maybe she just lost track of time.
She doesn't pick up.
I pull into the clubhouse at twelve-oh-five. Clint's bike is there, Tate's truck, Cain's Harley. Inside they're gathered at the table, Chuck on his phone and Cain on his laptop.
"When'd you last hear from her?" Clint asks.
"Left the house nine-forty. Meeting a friend for coffee, home by ten-thirty." I pull out my phone, check it like maybe I missed something. "Goes straight to voicemail."
"Who was the friend?"
"Didn't say." But I know. The way she's been lately, careful about her plans. "Probably Dean."
Something crosses Clint's face but he doesn't comment. "Chuck's working his network. Cain's pulling Marrow patterns. We'll find her."
I nod because speaking requires control I don't have. Every fear I've carried for twenty years is sitting in my chest sharp and immediate.
Chuck hangs up, dials again. "Got three possibles, narrowing it down."
Cain's fingers move fast across the keyboard. "Two Marrow members spotted on Route 9 at nine-thirty. Sully and a prospect, Garrett. Heading east."
"Toward town." Tate's voice is flat.
"Yeah."
I'm standing there trying to think tactical when all I want is to get in the truck and drive until I find her. Clint catches my eye, steady and grounding. Twenty years we've been doing this.
"Intel first," he says quietly. "Then we move fast."
By twelve forty-five Chuck has it down to two locations. Cain narrows it by tracking Sully's phone until it went dark around ten. The pattern points to a safehouse two counties over, a property Marrow's been using six months.
At one-fifteen Chuck gets confirmation from his source inside Marrow.
Two members grabbed Zoe outside the coffee shop on Main around nine forty-five. She's at the safehouse. Crane's orders. Leverage.
The rage that settles into my bones is cold and useful. I channel it into focus.
"Six of us," Clint says. "Roan, Tate, Cain, Chuck, Axel, Ford. Tate and Axel take the truck for transport. Rest on bikes. We leave in ten."
I'm geared up in five. Check my weapon, extra mag, knife. The others are ready fast.
At one-thirty I step outside to check the bikes and pull out my phone. Stare at Carina's number for ten seconds before I hit call.
She answers on the second ring, voice thick with sleep. "Hello?"
"It's Roan." My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to. "Zoe's missing."
I hear her sit up, the rustle of sheets. "What happened?"
"Marrow took her. We know where. We're going to get her."
"What can I do?"
The question hits me harder than it should. What can she do. Like she's already part of this, already in it with me.
"Stay safe. I'll call when she's home."
Silence for a beat. Then: "Bring her back."
"I will."
I hang up and Tate is standing in the doorway watching me, doesn't say anything about the call. We mount up and ride out at one forty-five, Tate's truck following behind the bikes.
The ride takes fifty-five minutes on empty roads and I spend it thinking about Zoe scared and tied up somewhere, about the fact that this is exactly what I've been trying to prevent for twenty years. About how preventing it was never actually possible.
We arrive at two-forty, leave the bikes hidden a quarter mile out, and approach on foot. The house is small and set back, one vehicle outside, lights in two rooms.
Tate coordinates with hand signals. I'm going in first and no one argues.
We breach at two fifty-five.
The door gives on the second hit and I'm through fast, weapon up. Living room clear. Kitchen clear. Hallway, two doors.
First door, bathroom, empty.
Second door.
Zoe is tied to a chair in the center of the room, duct tape over her mouth, eyes wide with fear that shifts to relief when she sees me. Sully is by the window with his phone. Garrett by the door reaching for a weapon.
Sully raises a gun.
Tate fires from behind me, center mass. Sully goes down. Garrett tries to run and Cain stops him from the back doorway, drops him hard.
I go straight to Zoe, pull the tape off gentle as I can, cut the zip ties with my knife.
"Dad—"
"I've got you." I pull her up and she's shaking, holding onto me so tight I can barely breathe. "You're okay. I've got you."
I pick her up and she weighs nothing, same as when she was six weeks old and I didn't know what I was doing but knew I had to do it anyway. Carry her toward the door.
Behind me I hear movement. The specific sound of a hammer being pulled back.
I pull Zoe behind me and turn to see Sully on the floor bleeding, gun raised and aimed at us.
He fires.
The impact hits my left shoulder from the front and spins me sideways but I don't drop her, don't stop moving, keep my body between her and the threat. Get through the door and across the yard to where Axel is waiting.
"Get her in."
Axel takes her and gets her in the backseat. I hear Tate's weapon fire twice behind me, then quiet.
Blood is running down my arm warm and steady but the adrenaline is keeping the pain distant. I get in next to Zoe and she's crying now, grabbing my right arm.
"You're bleeding—"
"I'm fine." I pull her against my good side. "You're safe. That's all that matters."
Tate appears three minutes later. "Both down. We're clear."
He gets in and looks at my shoulder, shifts into the mode I've seen him use a hundred times. "Let me see."
I shift so he can examine it while the others load up. He checks both entry and exit.
"Through and through, left shoulder. Entry front, exit back. Missed the bone. Bleeding's controlled." He pulls the field kit. "I'm packing it and wrapping it, but you need proper cleaning when we get back."
"Fine."
He works fast, packing both wounds and wrapping it tight. Hurts but I've had worse.
"I'm calling someone to look at it properly when we get back," he says.
"Fine."
He pulls out his phone, dials. "Carina? It's Tate. Zoe's safe, we've got her. Roan took a round to the shoulder, he's refusing hospital. Can you come to his place and make sure it's treated right?"
Pause while he listens.
"Yeah, through and through. Bleeding's controlled. We'll be there in forty." Another pause. "Thanks."
He hangs up. "She's coming."
Zoe is still pressed against my side, her grip on my arm tight enough to bruise. I don't tell her to ease up. She needs the anchor.
"I'm sorry," she says, voice small and broken. "Dad, I'm so sorry, I didn't think—"
"Stop." I make my voice gentle. "This isn't on you."
"But if I hadn't gone—"
"Zoe. Look at me."
She does, eyes wet.
"You didn't do this. They did. You went to meet a friend for coffee. That's not a crime. That's not something you need to apologize for. This is on Crane and the men who grabbed you. Not you. Never you."
She nods but I can see she doesn't believe it yet.
Cain drives and the ride back takes forty-two minutes. When we pull into my driveway at three-forty, there's a car parked at the curb that I recognize even in the dark.
Carina's.
She gets out as soon as she sees the truck, medical bag already in her hand, and heads for the porch.
Tate helps me out while Cain gets Zoe.
"Take her inside," I tell Cain. "Put her in her room. She needs to sleep."
Zoe starts to protest but I cut her off. "You're going to bed. Door locked. You don't come out until I come get you. Understood?"
She looks at me for a long moment, then nods. Cain helps her inside and I hear the front door close, then the lock click.
Tate gets me inside and onto the couch while Carina follows us in and sets her bag down.
I nod. Lean my head back against the couch and close my eyes.
Think about Zoe's face when she saw me in that room. The relief and the fear mixed together. Think about pulling her behind me when Sully raised that gun, the immediate instinct that didn't require thought.
Twenty years I've been her father and I'd take a hundred bullets before I'd let anyone hurt her.
But lying here bleeding with Carina setting up her supplies on my coffee table, something else is settling into place. Something I haven't let myself fully acknowledge until now.
Zoe was taken because of who I am, not because I kissed someone on my driveway two hours ago. The danger doesn't come from what I want. It comes from what I am. And what I am hasn't changed in twenty years.
Which means keeping distance from Carina doesn't actually protect anyone.
It just means I'm alone.
I open my eyes and watch her pull supplies from her bag with hands that are completely steady, and I think: This. This is what I want.
Not despite the danger.
Just this.