Chapter 19 Holley
Nineteen
Holley
The first thing I notice when I wake again is the taste of metal in my mouth.
The second is Tiffany’s breathing—ragged, fast, but alive—somewhere close by.
The third is pain.
A sharp ache down my jaw where Eric hit me, a deep throb in my shoulder from being dragged, and the hot sting of the zip ties cutting into my wrists.
But none of it matters.
Because when I open my eyes, when the world stops spinning and the shadows sharpen, I see her.
Tiffany.
Still tied to the steel support beam. Still bruised. Still furious.
Still here.
She lifts her head instantly. “Holley. Hey. Babe, look at me. You with me?”
I swallow a broken groan. “Yeah,” I whisper. “I’m okay.”
“Bullshit,” she mutters. “But we’ll work on that later.”
I try to sit up. Pain spikes through my ribs, but I push through it. We don’t have time for fragile.
We don’t have time for anything.
Voices echo outside the warehouse room—low, masculine, laughing like they’re already counting whatever money they’re planning to make off us.
I go cold.
Tiffany watches me, eyes steel. “We’re not waiting for them to sell us,” she says. “We’re getting the hell out of here.”
“How?” I whisper, gesturing to my restraints. “They tied us like—”
“Like amateurs,” she cuts in. “Which works in our favor.”
She shifts her weight, lifting her leg awkwardly to show me her boot. The tip of a small metal multitool peeks out of the side seam.
“You keep that?” I breathe in sheer amazement.
“You think growing up with my dad, he didn’t teach me a thing or two?” she whispers. “This is my emergency baby blade.”
“You have an emergency blade?”
“Several. But right now we’re grateful for the small one.” She twists her ankle again, trying to maneuver it out far enough to grab.
Footsteps thud closer.
Tiffany freezes. Then drops her leg.
The door to the warehouse room opens.
Ericc strides in, adjusting his cuffs like he’s arriving at a brunch reservation instead of a human trafficking exchange. His men follow behind—one carrying duct tape, another holding a portable radio.
“Afternoon, ladies,” Eric sings.
I flinch.
Tiffany snarls under her breath.
Eric ignores her. He crouches in front of me, tipping my chin up with two fingers. “You’re looking better. I was worried the sedative hit you too hard.”
“Worried?” I spit. “You do this and worried is all you have to say?”
He sighs like I’m the one being unreasonable.
“You always were emotional, Holley. It’s exhausting.”
Tiffany jerks her restraints. “Get away from her, you sick bastard.”
He turns toward her slowly. “And you—little Hellion. You’re going to fetch a nice price. I’ve got buyers who love fire.”
She spits at him again.
He dodges it this time.
He smiles.
The kind of smile that makes my stomach twist.
“We leave in twenty minutes,” he says. “Be ready.”
He gestures to one of the men. “Tape their mouths.”
The man steps toward Tiffany first.
“Don’t,” she says sharply. “Don’t touch me.”
He reaches anyway.
And Tiffany’s knee snaps up where she managed to sneak and break the ties on her ankles—slamming him square in the groin.
He drops with a guttural cry.
Eric swears. “Enough.”
He steps toward her himself.
Something in me snaps.
“Touch her and I swear—”
“What?” he interrupts with a laugh. “You’ll kill me? Holley, stop pretending you’ve ever had that kind of spine.”
He grabs my jaw again.
And I feel it then—
Something deep.
Something old.
Something I thought he had broken.
A spark of self that refuses to die.
“She’s tougher than you,” I hiss. “So am I.”
His eyes darken. Anger, pure and cold.
“You got nothing here, Holley. No leverage. If I didn’t want the money so bad, I’d make you feel my wrath. Make yourselves presentable,” he dismisses me , stepping back toward the door. “Our transport arrives shortly.”
He leaves without looking at us again.
The door slams.
We wait.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Fifteen.
Footsteps fade.
Then silence.
Tiffany exhales shakily. “I hope I shattered that asshole’s balls.”
I nearly laugh. It comes out a rough breath. “I think you did.”
“Good,” she mutters. “Now let’s get out of here.”
She shifts her foot again, and this time the blade drops into her hand with a soft metallic clink.
She grins. “Bingo.”
I watch her maneuver the tiny blade toward the zip tie binding her wrists. It’s agonizingly slow—her wrist angle is awful, the blade tiny, her fingers shaking.
I listen to every drip of water, every echoing footstep outside.
Every second is a countdown.
“Hurry,” I whisper.
“Working on it.”
The plastic begins to saw. She bites her lip, pushing through the pain.
Then—
A snap.
Her wrists break free.
She lets out a shaky breath. “Okay. Now you.”
She scoots toward me on her knees, cutting quickly, efficiently.
My wrists spring apart.
I could cry from relief. I don’t.
I lean forward so she can reach my ankle restraints.
“Listen,” she whispers. “Once we’re free, we need distance first. Don’t run for the door—they’ll expect that. We need a shadowed route.”
“Back wall,” I say immediately. “I saw a maintenance ladder there.”
“Good,” she nods. “We climb.”
Just as we both are getting to our feet we hear it. The distant roar of something shakes the walls.
I freeze.
Tiffany freezes.
The roar grows louder.
Not thunder.
Engines.
Motorcycles.
A lot of them.
Tiffany’s eyes widen. “Oh, shit.”
I swallow. “Is that—?”
“Yeah,” she whispers, a wild, feral grin spreading across her face. “That’s them.”
My heart lurches painfully.
Tony.
He found us.
Before I dare let hope settle, the warehouse trembles with the force of multiple engines pulling up outside—a whole fleet.
Shouts erupt.
Footsteps pound.
Doors slam.
Chaos blooms through the building.
Tiffany works faster leading us to the back wall and window where we saw the shadow of a ladder. “They’re here. Pop’s here. We need to move now before Eric uses us as shields.”
Fear grips me again. “What if they get inside first?”
“Then we get behind cover,” she says. “We don’t make ourselves targets.”
Another engine revs.
Then another.
A deep, unmistakable voice bellows outside:
“You fucked with the Hellions mother fucker. You picked the wrong one.”
Tony.
My chest breaks open.
“You good?” she breathes.
“No,” I whisper honestly. “But I’m ready.”
“Then let’s go.”
We race toward the back of the warehouse—limping, stumbling, bruised, but running.
Gunshots crack outside.
Men shout.
Metal crashes.
The entire world fractures into sound and fear.
We reach the ladder.
Tiffany gestures upward. “Go!”
I climb, heart hammering against my ribs, every rung slick with rust and sweat. Tiffany follows close. The ceiling hatch is barely locked—we shove it open and crawl out onto a narrow steel beam just under the roof.
From up here, through rusted vents, I can see shadows rushing outside.
I try to make them all out from the brief introductions I can remember. Country Boy. Raff. Grinder. Miles.
And Stud.
Tony moves like a storm, dark eyes murderous, jaw clenched so tight a vein in his neck bulges. His hands grip a gun. His voice roars names, orders, threats that shake the ground.
I choke on a sob.
Tiffany grips my arm. “He’ll get to us. We just need to go down the far side and hunker down.”
A gunshot explodes behind us.
We freeze.
Eric stands at the top of the ladder we just climbed, breathing hard, shirt stained with sweat and dust. The mad, furious smile on his face chills my bones.
“Running again, Holley?” he snarls. “You never learn.”
He steps onto the beam.
Tiffany steps in front of me.
“No,” she growls. “You don’t touch her again.”
Eric raises the gun.
My heart stops.
Time fractures and a deafening sound erupts below.
A bullet slams into the beam inches from Eric’s foot, sending sparks flying.
We all whip our heads toward the source.
Tony.
Gun raised.
Eyes locked.
Chest heaving.
Rage and terror written in every line of him.
“Step away from them,” he snarls, voice like gravel being dragged over steel.
Eric laughs. “Or what?”
Tony fires again.
This time the bullet grazes Eric’s thigh.
Eric screams, clutching his leg.
Tiffany lunges, slamming her shoulder into him before he can regain balance.
He stumbles.
Slips.
Falls— His scream echoes until the sickening thud finally silences it.
My stomach lurches.
Tiffany grips the beam with shaking hands, staring down.
Then she turns to me.
“Move,” she breathes. “Before someone else shows up.”
Tony reaches the ladder at the bottom, shouting up, “Holley! Tiff! Come down—now!”
I move without thinking—down the ladder, into Tony’s waiting arms.
He grabs me the second my feet touch the ground—pulling me into him so hard my bruises scream. His hands are everywhere—my shoulders, my arms, my face—checking, counting, confirming I’m alive.
“Holley,” he rasps, voice breaking. “Are you hurt? Did he touch you? Did they—?”
“I’m okay,” I choke. “I’m okay, Tony. I’m here.”
He presses his forehead to mine, breath shaking. “I thought I lost you.”
His arms tighten like he’s terrified I’ll disappear.
Tiffany climbs down next.
Smoke’s there before she even hits the ground, grabbing her face, checking for blood, cursing under his breath.
She rolls her eyes. “Smoke, I’m fine, stop—”
He pulls her into a crushing hug.
She melts into it, just for a second before pushing him away.
I look up at Tony.
His jaw is clenched tight, his eyes burning into mine like he can’t decide whether to hold me tighter or never let me near danger again.
“You saved us,” I whisper.
“No,” he says, voice low and rough. “You saved yourselves. I just got here in time for the exit.”
Then his expression shifts—darkens—at something behind me.
I turn.
Eric lies crumpled on the warehouse floor. Still. Unmoving.
But Tony doesn’t look at him like a threat.
He looks at me.
At my bruises.
At Tiffany’s cuts.
At the zip tie marks on our wrists.
Something ancient and violent ignites in him.
“You’re safe now,” he murmurs, thumb brushing my cheek. “But I’m not done yet.”
I swallow. “Tony—”
He pulls me closer, eyes never leaving me, voice shaking with intensity I’ve never heard from him.
“No one,” he growls, “ever touches what’s mine.”
The words steal the breath from my lungs.
Smoke stiffens. Tiffany goes wide-eyed.
Tony doesn’t correct himself.
Doesn’t soften.
Doesn’t take it back.
He just holds me tighter as the Hellions close in around us, forming a wall of leather and steel, and says:
“We’re going home.”