Mars
Arden Rossi. Arden Rossi.
The name pounds out a tattoo in my head, matched to the sound of my feet hitting the forest floor, and before long it’s so loud I can hardly think.
I push it down with more willpower than I realized I had and force my brain into something more useful. Because yes, I know that girl–know her entirely too well, actually–but that doesn’t matter as much as it should.
The facts that matter are much simpler than her identity.
Girl in the woods by herself.
Girl in the woods by herself in a cabin on the compound inhabited by another MC.
By the Iron Saints, who moved into town three months ago without invitation and have been making trouble ever since. Just last week they went out of their way to start a war with my cousin, who was acting sheriff at the time.
They attacked my nephew.
Tried to kidnap my niece.
And now they’ve got some girl in a cabin on their property, her eyes enormous and her skin paler than a fucking whitewashed wall, and my brain is screaming toward a number of conclusions.
Of course none of them matter, either. They’re just noise.
The only truth here, the only thing that matters, is that they’ve got a girl in there and we don’t know why or what they’re going to do with her. What they may have already done. I just know that we have to get her out before they hurt her any worse.
I tear through the woods, moving from tree to tree in some vague attempt to make myself less obvious–in the darkness of a midnight with very little moon–and finally come to a stop at a tree on the edge of the woods.
I lean against it and stare around the trunk, trying to get my bearings.
It’s dark as a witch’s cauldron out here and the lack of moon makes it difficult to see the ground in front of me, but I can see the cabin well enough.
She’s got all the lights on, like she went through the place and hit the switches, trying to figure out what was in there with her.
I wonder if she feels safer with the lights on. If she’s checked underneath the bed. God, I wonder if she feels any safety at all.
A body suddenly barrels into me from behind and I spin, my instinct screaming that some of the Saints have figured out we’re here, and that we mean to steal the girl they’re holding prisoner.
But it’s just Orion.
He looks like he was born on the fucking land, his hair full of pine needles and his eyes wild, and I wonder again what he was doing up here and why he left the garage in such a hurry.
There had been a text, and his eyes had gone wide, then suspicious...
and then determined, in a way only Orion can accomplish.
The man doesn’t like to commit to anything, but once he does, the change is like a flash of lightning, altering the landscape from dark and forbidden to bright and intense in half a second. And once he’s decided on something, God help you if you try to talk him out of it.
I’m stubborn as an old tree myself, and I can’t hold a candle to Orion.
“Watch where you’re going!” I hiss. “I could have shot you!”
He narrows his eyes at me and immediately calls my bluff. “You didn’t bring a gun. You never bring a gun.”
He’s right. But I do have a bat and a very serviceable set of brass knuckles on hand.
Hey, I didn’t realize I was walking into a fight.
“Be careful,” I mutter, avoiding his question.
“Yep,” he snaps. “Now how the hell is Arden Rossi?”
I nearly don’t tell him. Nearly keep the secret to myself, just because I don’t want his hands all over it. Then I realize how stupid that is. Orion’s one of my best friends, and I would trust him with my life.
He’s also the best fighter I’ve ever met. And I’m going to need him if we’re going to get Arden out of here.
“My sister’s stepdaughter.”
His shock is so intense I can hear it crashing through the darkness.
“You have a sister?”
“Yes,” I snap. “And now isn’t exactly the time to discuss her. In case you forgot.”
I spin around to stare at the cottage again, looking for any guards and trying to decide how we’re going to do this without making too much noise, but Orion is evidently not finished with the conversation.
“You’ve known me for ten years, Mars, and you never thought to mention your sister?”
He hisses the half-accusation-half question into my hear, his breath hot, and I flex my fists, ready to turn around and punch him.
“I had other things on my mind!”
“Things other than a sister? For ten years?”
Okay, it’s a valid question, especially since Orion knows my little brother, who’s part of the club and is often at the garage, though he owns a ranch outside of town and has never been as committed to the MC as I’d like. Still, he’s around enough for Orion to be friendly with him.
Which makes it probably even wilder that neither of us has ever mentioned Helen.
That doesn’t mean this is the time to answer it.
“Who the fuck is the girl?” he asks suddenly, changing subjects as quick as a jackrabbit.
It takes me a moment to catch up, and then another to decide how much I actually want to tell him, and then I remember that I need him for my plans to work.
Which means I need him to buy in.
So I give him enough to make that happen.
“My sister’s married to some gangster in the city. He’s got a daughter, must be about twenty-one, twenty-two now. Helen’s known the girl since she was about ten. Last time I checked, they were a happy family. I guess something happened.”
Orion pauses for too long, and I turn to look at him, trying to see through the dark to where his face is.
I haven’t told him everything, of course.
Arden isn’t just my sister’s stepdaughter.
She’s a girl I know from family gatherings and weekends in the city when I was there to get supplies or make contacts.
I go to the city often for parts and research, and when I do, it’s easiest to stay with my sister.
Despite the fact that her husband walks on the wrong side of the law, and has never made me feel welcome.
His daughter, though...
Arden has always been warm and bright, a laugh caught on her lips and a smile in her eyes. But she doesn’t make herself the center of any conversation. She hangs back, peeks around doors. Keeps her mouth shut.
Hides if she thinks you’ve seen her.
I’ve always wondered what made her so frightened of everyone–why she tried so hard to dampen her sunshine–but it wasn’t my place to ask. And when it comes down to it, I was never in the city long enough to actually ask her.
But it does make me wonder even harder why she’s out here in the middle of nowhere, in a cottage that belongs to a club that doesn’t seem like they follow any moral code.
My instincts are screaming at me that this isn’t right, and that we need to get her the fuck out of here.
“Are you finished asking questions?” I snap when Orion still hasn’t answered me. “Because I’d like to get her out of there.”
He’s close enough now that I can see his dark eyes watching the cabin like he’s waiting for some sort of sign, and when he turns his gaze toward me his brow is creased. “Her dad’s a gangster.”
His voice is flat and emotionless, like he’s responding to a statement he doesn’t care about.
Like it doesn’t matter to him.
So why the fuck is that the sentence he grabbed onto?
“Yes, and he’s evidently not here to get her out of the situation, so I guess that leaves it up to us to play hero. Are you in or what?”
I know I don’t have to ask. I know for a fact that if I need Orion, he’ll back me up. I don’t know everything I’d like to know about his background or what happened to him, but his past molded him into an incredibly loyal person.
If you’re lucky enough to be amongst his chosen family.
A grin slides across his face. “A fight with the Iron Saints? I’m surprised you even have to ask.”
He reaches down and pulls a gun out of his shoulder holster, then shows it to me with an even bigger smile. “I did bring a gun. I figured there might be a fight.”
“Asshole,” I breathe.
Of course he brought a gun, because he did know there was going to be a fight. And later one, when we’re out of this mess, I’ll make him tell me why he thought that–and who that message was from.
Right now, we’ve got a girl to rescue.
We pause for a moment, our shoulders pressed together as we stare at the cottage in front of us and take the measure of the situation. The place is lit up like a fucking Christmas tree, and though I understand why Arden did it, it’s going to make this fucking difficult.
“Light are gonna make it hard to hide,” Orion mutters.
“Yep.”
There’s only one guard, though, from what I can see, and he’s sitting on the porch like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
He dials a number and puts his phone to his ear, listening intently, and I look over his body quickly.
He doesn’t look like much. Jeans and a t-shirt.
Ratty old leather jacket. Boots that look like they’ve seen better days, and the lines of a holster across his chest.
He isn’t wearing the Iron Saints branding, and that makes me wonder, but I put it to the side for later. Right now, I want him on his back, unconscious. I’ll worry about his clothes once we have Arden safe.
“One guy,” Orion says. “Doesn’t look like he’s worth much.”
I almost laugh. Typical Orion. Take a whole picture and whittle it down to only the most important information. One guy. Not worth much. And the part he isn’t saying out loud: He’s going to be easy to take down.
But I have rules.
“We take him out but don’t kill him. I don’t want a fight with the Saints over this. Put your gun away.”
He huffs quietly. “Put my gun away. Mars. Be serious.”
He flips the gun quickly so the nose is pointing back at him and the butt is out in front of his hand, a perfect weapon. When he notices me watching and shrugs.
“I didn’t bring a bat.”
He takes off without saying anything else and I race after him, but his head start and smaller frame gets him to the cottage more quickly, and by the time I get there he’s already nailed the kidnapper on the head and knocked him out.
He’s standing over him looking at the man like he might shoot him anyhow, just for the hell of it, and I reach out and shove him away.
Just for the hell of it.
“No,” I hiss. “We’re going to have enough trouble with the Saints over this. I don’t want one of their men dead.”
“He’s not even one of theirs,” Orion says. “Look at him. Just a standard thug.” He shoves the man with his foot, then turns his head, surprise.
Like he’s seen something he wasn’t expecting.
Then lights come on in the main house and someone shouts, and we both start moving. I run for the patio of the cottage while Orion ducks down and grabs the man, dragging him toward the forest. I don’t have to ask what he’s doing.
If the Saints have figured out something’s wrong, the last thing we need is for them to look out and see their friend laying on the ground.
I leave him to it and race for the door of the cottage. We’ve got a free path to getting Arden out of here but only if we do it quickly. The moment the Saints know we’re here, there’s going to be trouble. I get to the door and turn the knob, but it’s locked, and that seems...
Strange.
There’s no lock on the outside, which means it’s been locked from the inside. Which means Arden locked it.
Okay, I think. Okay. That makes sense. If the kidnapper left and she wanted to make sure he didn’t come back, of course she locked the door. That just means I have to find another way into the house.
I turn and leap off the porch, racing for the first window, but when I arrive, it’s locked, and I don’t take any time wonder. I sprint for the second one–locked–and then the one around the corner. I’m just turning when I realize that my footsteps aren’t the only ones I hear.
There’s another set pounding along like someone is sprinting in time with me, and those footsteps are inside the house.
Arden is racing me from window to window, making sure they’re locked before I arrive.
I almost scream with frustration, but I stop myself just in time and remember that what she’s doing makes sense.
I don’t know the whole story but she’s in the middle of the forest with some strange man, on the compound of an MC that has already been making trouble, and it doesn’t take a genius to think she’s in trouble. Probably kidnapped. Maybe trafficked.
Of course she’s trying to keep me out of the house.
She doesn’t know it’s me.
“Arden,” I say quietly.
No answer, and I keep running.
“Arden!” I say a little louder.
I hear the footsteps stutter, as if she’s been caught off-guard, and know this is my chance.
I put on another burst of speed and go skidding toward the window, praying I’m at least two steps in front of her.
When I get there I stop and peer through the glass, looking to the left where she should be.
And then there she is, tousled brown hair and big hazel eyes, her face too pale and her cheeks too sunken, like it’s been months since she had anything good to eat. She looks like she’s been washed and putting away wet, crumpled and damaged and frightened.
She’s the same girl I know, but her beauty’s gone from sunny and bright to something fragile and breakable.
The moment she sees me, she freezes, and then tips her head like the bird she so resembles, her bones too close to skin that’s gone translucent.
“Marshall?” she mouths.
She remembers me. Thank God.
“Open the window,” I say quickly. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”