Chapter 32-Angie
My face is wet.
At first, I think it’s blood, but when I touch my cheek, it’s just tears.
The kitchen’s a mess—broken glass, chairs knocked over, flour spilled across the floor like snow.
Gunshots made holes in the walls.
The air reeks of smoke and motor oil and something sour that makes my stomach turn.
“Bit?” I whisper, but my voice cracks.
She’s gone.
I saw that bastard drag her out by the hair—heard her screaming my name—and I couldn’t stop him.
My arm feels like it’s on fire where he hit me.
My knees are jelly, but I push myself up off the floor anyway, gripping the counter until the world stops tilting.
The pistol’s still there, halfway under the table.
I grab it, more for comfort than anything else, and stagger toward the phone.
Diego bursts through the back door just as I’m punching Sawyer’s number.
His boots skid to a stop on the tile, eyes wide when he sees me.
“Angie! Holy hell, what happened?”
“They—they took her,” I manage, choking on the words. “Those goddamn bikers—three of them. One called himself Roach.”
He swears, loud and vicious, already reaching for his radio.
“Alex, come here quick! Angie’s hurt and Bit’s been taken!”
I take it off speaker and press the phone to my ear.
It rings once. Twice.
Then Sawyer’s voice, low and steady, answers on the other end.
“Angie?”
The sound of him almost undoes me. He’s such a good man. Caring, kind. A good boss.
When I think of how he tried to save John, our son who served alongside Sawyer and gave his life for this country, my heart squeezes.
We’ve known this man a long time, Diego and I. And I care for him like he is our own.
Now, I have to tell him news no one should ever have to hear.
I swallow hard, try to steady my breathing.
“Sawyer, it’s Angie,” I say, and my voice trembles despite everything. “You need to get back here. It’s Bit—they took her.”
Silence.
Then, sharp and deadly, “What do you mean took her? Who?”
“Bikers. Hellbound Heathens. Three of them. Roach was one. They forced their way in. She—she went with them so they wouldn’t shoot me. She saved my life. I’m so sorry!”
A curse explodes through the phone.
Metal clangs on his end, maybe the sound of him hitting something.
“No, don’t do that. I’m glad you’re okay, Angie, but did they? Is she hurt?” he demands.
“I don’t know. Diego’s here. We’re locking down the ranch. Should we call the sheriff? Sawyer?” I trail off, my throat thick.
“No, don’t call the sheriff. We’re almost back. Where did they go? Did you see?”
“They went west. Toward Route 80 West. Diego saw the dust trail.”
“Good,” he says, his voice cold steel now. “Okay, keep everyone inside. Lock every door. Don’t move until I get there.”
“Sawyer—”
“Angie,” he cuts in, quiet but lethal, “I’m bringing her home.”
The line goes dead.
Diego’s already running toward the truck outside, shouting orders to Alex over the radio.
I sink into one of the overturned chairs, clutching the phone to my chest, trying to steady my shaking hands.
Because I believe him.
Whatever it takes, Sawyer’s bringing her back.
But as I stare at the broken doorway and the empty road beyond, one thought keeps circling in my head.
Please, God, let him get there in time.