Chapter 3
REV
My instincts reacted before my mind registered exactly what was in front of me.
A pale figure stumbled out of the tree line and onto the road, illuminated for a blinding instant by my headlight.
I reacted instantly, wrenching the handlebars hard and laying the bike sideways to avoid running the person down.
My heart hammered as the asphalt scraped beneath metal and leather, the skid echoing through the quiet night air.
I barely had the bike down before rolling up onto my feet, my muscles coiled and ready.
The first coherent image that slammed into my awareness was of the woman—petite and disheveled, with tangled strawberry-blond hair falling loose around her shoulders. Her delicate face was stark white beneath the moonlight, her hazel eyes wide and frantic, reflecting glints of fear and desperation.
Before I could speak or move, she launched herself into me, her hands gripping the leather of my Redline Kings MC cut in a desperate, terrified hold.
Everything went still, the world shrinking to the frantic sound of her breathing and the shocking softness pressed against me. Instinctively, my hands locked around her waist, steadying her as I absorbed every detail, instantly cataloging what my eyes and hands could find.
“Please,” she gasped, her voice raw and trembling. “Don’t let him take me back.”
My body locked down, the impact of her plea detonating something primal deep in my chest.
Wide, expressive hazel eyes stared up at me in sheer terror, and protectiveness flared inside me. I felt a powerful certainty seize me as I held her firmly against me. It overrode thought and logic, everything except the certainty that hit me like a gut punch: she was mine.
Well, shit.
“Easy,” I murmured roughly, my arm sliding around her slender frame.
Feeling her shake against me, I cupped the back of her head protectively.
Gently, being careful not to add to her fear, but unable to resist the need to reassure myself that she was protected in the shelter of my arms. “You’re safe now. ”
My analytical instincts kicked in next, scanning her injuries and the state of her clothing in a single sweep.
Her palms and feet were scraped raw, bleeding slightly from running barefoot through brush and debris.
She wore something out of time—soft ivory linen and delicate hand-stitched embroidery, now torn and dirty.
Clearly not something a woman her age would choose or wear voluntarily in this decade.
The historical style of her dress struck me as bizarre and significant. More importantly, the abrasions on her wrists were fresh and appeared to be from rope bindings.
Though she was pale and exhausted, she didn’t shy away from my hold. Her trust at this moment, however desperate, felt shockingly intimate.
She swayed against me, her small frame trembling.
Her breathing was rapid and shallow as the adrenaline began to ebb.
The realization hit me again, harder this time, wrapping around every instinct in my body.
She belonged to me. Not just because I’d found her or because she needed protection—but because every cell in my body screamed at me that she was mine.
The ferocity of that certainty shook me more than I was willing to admit.
She looked up, desperation etched in every line of her face. Her eyes were luminous and striking, even dilated and glassy from fear and fatigue. Yet even as exhaustion dragged her down, the trust in her gaze pierced straight through my chest. It was instant and undeniable.
“Please,” she whispered again, her voice almost too quiet to hear above the pounding of my own heart. “Don’t let him take me back.”
Those words sliced through me like razor wire. Fury ignited instantly, but I didn’t let it show, keeping my expression steady even as my insides coiled into knots of violence. She was scared and vulnerable. Whoever had done this to her was a dead man walking.
“I’ve got you, angel.” My promise held an intensity I couldn’t disguise. Then I reassured her again gently, “You’re safe.”
She swayed, and I caught her, scooping her into my arms, holding her tightly against me, comforting her with touch and instinctive protection.
Her head settled against my shoulder, her eyes drifting closed.
The intimacy of holding this woman I didn’t even know felt strangely right and terrifyingly necessary in a way that made everything in me shift to align around her.
I looked down at her pale, delicate features, the flush of fear fading from her skin and leaving behind exhaustion and vulnerability.
Rage steadily built beneath the surface at whoever had dared hurt her, mar her wrists, and force her into such a twisted and possibly ritualized state.
I knew nothing yet, except that someone had harmed her—and that someone would pay.
Holding her securely with one arm, I quickly pulled out my phone with the other and called Cage, one of my club brothers who was a doctor.
His voice was sharp and alert when he answered, the hum of a happy crowd behind him. “What’s up, Rev?”
“Know you’re at Tyre’s wedding, but I need you to meet me at the clinic.” My voice was tight. “A woman just stumbled out onto the road in front of my bike. Didn’t hit her, but she’s clearly hurt.”
“Shit. How bad?”
“Bad enough.” My gaze dropped again to the fragile woman curled trustingly into my chest, and my gut tightened. “But breathing.”
“I’ll be there.” He asked no questions, didn’t even hesitate. Just certainty and brotherhood, the way we handled everything.
Before ending the call, something hit me.
“Bring Hadley with you.” I took a deep breath as my gaze dropped to the vivid red rope marks that circled her wrists, raw and inflamed from recent struggle. “There are signs she’s been restrained. Probably better if there’s another woman there until we know more about what happened to her.”
“Fuck,” he cursed, his voice low and furious. He spoke to someone nearby, saying something I couldn’t make out over the music and laughing in the background. Then he came clearly over the line again, “We’ll meet you out front.”
I hung up and shoved my phone in the inner pocket of my cut, then carried my angel toward my Harley.
Her breathing steadied, warmth seeping through me in a rush that caught me off guard.
I’d never reacted to anyone like this. So fast and certain.
There was no logic behind the relentless instinct to protect, cherish, and claim her. Permanently.
A quick examination of my Harley confirmed it’d survived being laid down with only some scratches and dents. Letting go of her, I quickly got the hog upright again.
She was too weak to hold on, so settling her on the bike behind me wasn’t an option.
Instead, I carefully climbed onto the motorcycle and adjusted her so she sat facing me, her body tucked securely against my chest. Her head fell softly to my shoulder as exhaustion won out, and I wrapped an arm tightly around her, my hand spread protectively against her back.
The bike rumbled to life beneath us, the deep growl cutting through the night. My entire focus narrowed to the woman wrapped in my arms, her breathing steadying as she drifted into unconsciousness against my chest.
I tightened my grip, protective instincts I’d never experienced before coursing through my veins. Whoever hurt her was on borrowed fucking time. But for now, all that mattered was getting her somewhere safe. The rest would come soon enough.
The clinic lights cut through the darkness ahead of me as I rolled through the compound gates, the Harley’s engine vibrating beneath us in a deep, steady growl.
The woman in my arms stirred weakly against my chest at the change in speed, a soft sound catching in her throat before she burrowed closer on instinct.
My grip tightened around her, my palm spread wide against the delicate curve of her back beneath the torn linen dress.
Fucking hell.
Every time she moved against me, some brutal instinct surged harder through my bloodstream.
I could feel the warmth of her through the thin fabric, the soft weight of her breasts pressed against my chest with every bump in the road, and the trembling breaths she kept dragging in like her body still hadn’t fully realized she was safe yet.
Mine.
The word kept pounding through my skull with terrifying certainty.
My bike rumbled into the lot outside the clinic, and I spotted Cage standing beneath the harsh floodlights with Hadley beside him.
Despite having just come from a wedding reception, Cage wore jeans, his cut, and a black Henley with the sleeves shoved up his forearms. His old lady, Hadley, had thrown a hoodie over a blue, ankle-length dress, covering the swell of her belly.
Her dark hair was pulled into a loose knot like they’d left in a hurry.
The second we came to a stop, my woman’s fingers curled tighter into the leather of my cut.
“Easy, angel,” I murmured low against her tangled hair as I killed the engine. “I’ve got you.”
Her eyes fluttered open, hazy and exhausted beneath thick lashes. Fear flashed instantly when she realized unfamiliar people stood nearby, her body tightening against mine.
That protective fury inside me ratcheted even higher.
“You’re okay,” I reassured her quietly as I climbed off the bike while keeping her secure against my chest. “That’s our doctor and his old lady. Nobody’s gonna hurt you here.”
Hadley stepped closer first, her expression softening immediately when my angel shrank nearer to me. Her voice was gentle as she introduced herself, “Hey, I’m Hadley.”
She swallowed hard but didn’t answer, her fingers remaining twisted tightly in my vest like letting go of me wasn’t even an option her body would consider.
“That’s okay,” Hadley continued softly. “You don’t have to talk yet.”