Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
STRYKER
The crisp mountain air fills my lungs, carrying a hint of sea salt from the Pacific coast a few miles away.
I stand in the middle of the gravel driveway, my hands on my hips as morning sunlight beats down on the hand-hewn logs of the massive two-story cabin in front of me.
The wrap-around porch is sprawling, overlooking a sweeping panoramic view of low-hanging clouds tangled in the pine trees and the dark blue water in the distance.
It’s perfect.
After seeing Soraya’s stark, barren apartment yesterday, something feral and demanding snapped loose inside me.
I’m on a mission. I’ve spent the entire morning touring properties, but the second I pulled up to this one, I knew.
I already made an offer on the spot, well over asking, and kicked off the paperwork with a stunned realtor.
Living in my apartment in the back of the clubhouse used to be enough.
For years, Rebel Kings was my entire life, my only focus.
But Soraya has changed everything. She needs a sanctuary, a place away from the noise and the club business.
A space that belongs purely to the two of us, where she can build her greenhouse and I can keep her safe.
I pull my keys from my pocket, preparing to ride back to the clubhouse to check on her and Cierra, when my phone buzzes against my thigh. The sharp, grating ringtone cuts through the quiet woods, completely shattering my moment of contentment.
Groaning, I fish the device from my jeans, fully expecting it to be a headache over a shipping manifest or some bullshit missing crate issue from the docks.
I hesitate, my thumb hovering over the screen, wanting nothing more than to ignore it and savor the high of buying our dream home.
But duty is ingrained in my bones. I swipe to answer.
"Yeah, Wolf. What is it?"
My VP doesn't mention shipping routes or missing crates. He delivers two words that bring my entire world crashing down.
"Soraya's missing."
My blood runs ice cold. "What the fuck do you mean, she's missing?"
"Cierra sent me to call you. We can't find her, Prez."
A raw, guttural curse rips from my throat.
I don't wait for him to explain. Shoving the phone into my pocket, I mount my bike, and kick the kickstand up.
I rev the engine until it roars like a wounded beast, tearing out of the driveway and back toward the clubhouse, demanding answers I don't yet have.
My heavy boots slam against the floorboards as I burst through the front doors of the clubhouse. The intense, suffocating tension in the air is immediate, and muffled chatter in the bar dies down the second I step inside. A cold sweat prickles the back of my neck as I shove past a group of members.
"Church! Now! Back room!" I roar, my voice echoing off the walls.
I don't wait for them to scramble. I stride straight into the chapel room, gripping the back of my leather chair as Wolf and Cierra rush in behind me.
"Timeline. Now," I bark, my eyes locking on Cierra.
She looks pale, her hands wringing together. "She was right there, Stryker. We were just hanging out, she was helping me wipe down the bar. She excused herself to use the main floor restroom and... she just vanished. Into thin air."
"We swept the entire clubhouse twice, Prez," Wolf adds, his jaw tight. "Nothing."
"I don't give a shit!" I bark, my protective instincts mutating into blind panic and primal rage. "Set up perimeter sweeps. Check the traffic feeds on the main drag. Lock down the entire territory. I get to decide who comes in and out until I find Soraya.”
While my brothers scramble to execute my orders, I storm into the main floor bathroom myself.
The harsh fluorescent lighting buzzes above me and the faint scent of industrial disinfectant hangs in the air, masking everything else.
However, I feel a cool draft coming from a slightly cracked window above the sink.
I step closer, my chest heaving. Tucked neatly on the windowsill, fluttering slightly in the breeze, is a folded slip of paper.
I snatch it up, recognizing her delicate, looping handwriting instantly.
I’m okay, I just need to handle something. I’m sorry. I hope to be back soon.
I read it once. Twice. Three times. The words blur together as a violent war between agonizing worry and blistering anger detonates inside my chest.
Wolf steps into the bathroom, looking over my shoulder at the small piece of paper. "She left on her own?" he asks, genuine confusion lacing his tone. "Why would she run?"
"A note doesn't change a damn thing," I growl, crushing the paper in my fist and shoving it into my pocket as I storm out to the parking lot.
The roar of multiple V-twin engines firing up in unison shakes the ground beneath my feet.
The heavy smell of burning rubber and thick exhaust fills the air as my inner circle rallies, pulling their bikes into formation.
I swing a leg over my saddle, gripping the handlebars so hard my leather gloves creak under the strain.
She thinks she can just leave? Walk straight into unknown danger completely unprotected? Not a chance in hell. I just found her. I just locked down our future, and there is zero chance I’m letting her slip through my fingers.
I kick my bike into gear. The hunt is officially on.
We fly down the coastal highway, the edges of my vision stained red with a primal, suffocating rage. She actually thought she could just slip away. She thought leaving a polite little note on a windowsill would stop me from turning this entire West Coast upside down to find her.
She severely underestimates exactly what she means to me.
My comms crackle in my ear. "Prez," Wolf’s voice cuts through the static and the rushing wind. "Hack just got a hit. Her cell phone pinged off a tower on the east side. She's moving toward the old industrial district near the shipyards."
My jaw grinds so hard my teeth ache. The shipyards. That’s nowhere near her botanical shop or her apartment. It’s dangerous territory, a rotting, forgotten part of town crawling with scavengers and bottom-feeders. What the hell is she doing out there?
"Cut across 4th Avenue!" I roar into the comms, banking my bike so hard my boot sparks against the asphalt. "Block off the access roads. Nobody gets out of that district until I have her."
The brothers fall into perfect, lethal formation behind me.
We weave through the afternoon traffic like a pack of hunting wolves, ignoring red lights and blaring horns.
Every second she’s out there alone feels like a physical knife twisting in my gut.
I won’t breathe properly until I have her soft, curvy body pressed firmly against my chest again.
We hit the industrial district in under ten minutes. The pavement turns to cracked asphalt and loose gravel, the air thick with the smell of rust and decaying brick. I scan the desolate streets, my chest tight.
Then, I see her.
She’s standing near the entrance of a dilapidated, boarded-up warehouse, her arms crossed defensively over her chest. And she isn't alone. A tall, stringy bastard in a dirty hoodie is looming over her, gesturing wildly as he speaks, encroaching on her personal space.
A blinding sheet of pure fury drops over my eyes.
I don't even wait for my bike to fully stop. I hit the brakes, kick the stand down, and my heavy boots hit the gravel before the engine completely cuts out. The deafening sound of a dozen Rebel Kings pulling in behind me echoes like thunder off the brick walls.
The guy in the hoodie freezes, his eyes going wide with absolute terror as an entire motorcycle club surrounds him. "Hey man, I was just—" he stammers, backing up with his hands raised in surrender.
"Wolf," I bark, not even bothering to look at the piece of shit.
"Got him, Prez," Wolf replies smoothly. He steps off his bike with a predatory grin, cracking his knuckles as he and two other brothers move to intercept the guy.
I ignore them, my singular focus locking onto the beautiful, reckless woman standing a few feet away.
"Stryker—" she starts, her eyes widening as I storm toward her.
I don't give her a chance to explain. I close the distance in three massive strides, wrapping my arm tightly around her waist and hauling her hard against my chest. I bury my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the sweet, grounding scent eucalyptus and vanilla that clings to her skin.
My heart finally restarts. She's safe. She's whole.
"Don't you ever," I growl against her skin, my voice crackling with dark, absolute possession, "ever walk away from me again. Your problems are my problems now. You don't handle a damn thing alone anymore. Understood?"
She shivers against me, her hands slowly coming up to grip the leather lapels of my cut. "Understood," she whispers.