Chapter Thirty-Two Chloe
I move through the backyard as quickly as I dare, keeping low and staying close to the wall. Every instinct urges me to sprint, but the house has too many windows. One glimpse of movement could bring Steven crashing through the back door before I reach the gate.
My feet sink into dead grass and loose dirt. Pebbles cut into the soles of my feet, but I barely feel them beneath the pain pulsing through the rest of my body. My wrists burn where the ropes tore away layers of skin. Each breath makes my battered stomach ache.
I reach the wooden gate and carefully lift the rusted latch. It squeaks despite my efforts, and I freeze.
No door opens, and thankfully, no furious voice shouts my name.
I slip through the narrow gap and ease the gate closed behind me. Staying close to the neighboring house, I hurry along its side until I reach the front yard. An old gray sedan sits in the driveway. Music thumps from inside the house, telling me someone is home. Relief surges through me.
I race onto the porch, but before knocking, I glance through the wide front window.
Three men sit around a dining table covered with stacks of cash and guns.
A massive Black man with a shaved head counts bills into neat piles.
Tattoos cover his thick arms, and a heavy gold chain rests against his white tank top.
Beside him, a stocky Mexican with close-cropped hair secures bundles of cash with rubber bands.
The third man, younger and leaner, has long dark hair pulled into a braid and a pistol resting near his elbow.
Before I can move out of the way, the younger man glances up, and we lock eyes.
“Yo, DeShawn,” he says sharply.
The big man turns his head.
For one terrible second, we stare at each other through the glass. Then all three men surge to their feet. I spin and run.
I scream when the front door bangs open behind me.
“Hey!” the stocky man shouts. “Stop!”
I leap from the porch and sprint across the dry lawn. My feet slip in the dirt, and pain tears through my ribs, but I keep moving.
“She was looking through the damn window!” the younger man yells.
“Grab her, Rico,” DeShawn orders.
Their footsteps pound behind me. They’re close—far too close. The stocky man, probably Rico, curses as I race off the curb and directly into the street. Only then do I realize there is a battered red pickup barreling right towards me.
The driver blares their horn, but all I can do is throw up my hands and stumble backward. The tires squeal against the pavement when the driver brakes hard. The pickup stops only a foot away, its engine rumbling.
When I glance up, I find three women staring at me through the windshield.
The driver takes one look at my face and throws open her door.
“What the hell?” she demands.
The two other women climb out. The passenger is short and curvy, with a cloud of natural curls and large gold hoops. The woman sliding out of the center seat is tall and athletic, with dark hair twisted into a bun and bright red glasses framing her eyes.
“Get back in the truck, Nia,” DeShawn warns as he reaches the street. “This ain’t your business.”
The driver—I’m guessing it's Nia—plants herself between the men and me.
“It became my business when this woman almost got flattened by my truck.”
The curly-haired woman moves to Nia’s right. “Why are you three chasing her?”
“She was spying on us, Tasha,” Rico says.
The tall woman in red glasses takes my arm and gently pulls me behind them. “I’m Marisol,” she tells me quietly. “Stay close.”
A front door opens across the street.
“What’s going on out here?” a woman shouts.
Two more women hurry toward us. She’s about the same age as the others, with long black hair tied back in a bandana. The other looks a few years older.
“Denise, call the police,” Tasha says.
“Don’t nobody need to call the cops,” the younger man says. Up close, I see a scar cutting through his left eyebrow. “This is a misunderstanding.”
“Shut up, Mateo,” the older woman snaps.
Denise—the woman in jeans and a tank top—pulls out her phone.
DeShawn raises both hands, though his expression hardens. “Y’all need to calm down. She came onto my porch and looked through my window.”
“So you chased her into traffic?” Nia demands.
“She saw something that wasn’t her business,” Rico mutters.
The older woman steps forward until she’s nearly nose-to-chest with him. “Then use your damn head, Rico.”
His brows draw together. “Keisha—”
“No.” Keisha points past him at me. “Look at her.”
All three men turn.
I shrink closer to Marisol. My legs shake so badly I can barely remain upright.
“She’s barefoot,” Keisha continues. “Her wrists are bleeding. Her face is bruised, and she looks scared out of her mind.”
“She’s running from something,” Tasha says.
“Or someone,” Denise adds, her gaze shifting toward Steven’s house.
The men exchange uneasy looks.
DeShawn glances at me again, his anger fading as he finally seems to notice my condition. “Did that prick Steven do this to you?”
My mouth opens, but terror closes my throat. I lift one trembling hand to my head and nod.
“Steven Blackwood,” I manage. “He kidnapped me.”
Marisol’s grip tightens protectively around my arm.
Keisha turns on the men. “And instead of asking if she needed help, you fools chased her?”
“She was looking at the money,” Mateo protests.
Every woman starts talking at once.
“Shut the hell up about your money.”
“She’s been beaten.”
“You’re lucky Nia didn’t run your dumb asses over.”
“You three are supposed to protect this neighborhood.”
The women form an angry wall between the men and me. Even DeShawn, who towers over all of them, takes a step back beneath the force of their fury.
Everyone goes silent when a deep rumble shakes the neighborhood.
The sound grows louder, multiplying until it becomes the unmistakable roar of several motorcycle engines.
My heart slams against my ribs as five motorcycles turn the corner and head in our direction.
The men pivot toward them. The women glance over while holding their ground.
The five motorcycles race toward us, their engines shaking the air and rattling the windows of the surrounding houses.
I already recognize who they are, even if I can’t make out their features. Not until I see him. Spock. The relief hits me so hard my knees nearly buckle. He came for me. Somehow, despite everything Steven did to lock me away, Spock found me.
The bikes slow as they approach the crowd gathered in the street. Spock’s gaze sweeps over the men and the wall of women standing in front of me. His expression is hard and dangerous beneath his helmet, but I would recognize him anywhere.
“Spock!” His name tears out of me on a broken sob.
His head snaps in my direction.
Even from several yards away, I see the instant he recognizes me. His entire body goes rigid. His gaze travels over my bruised face, torn clothing, and bleeding wrists and feet. The lethal fury that settles over his features should terrify me.
Instead, it makes me feel safe for the first time since Steven grabbed me.
I pull away from Marisol and move between Nia and Tasha.
“Chloe?” Spock shouts.
I stumble toward him.
A large hand clamps around my arm.
My terrified mind doesn’t register that DeShawn is probably trying to stop me from walking toward five unknown bikers. All I feel are fingers closing around the same arm Steven used to drag me through the house.
I cry out and try to jerk away. “Don’t touch me!”
Everything happens at once.
Boots strike pavement, and five guns appear as if the bikers had been holding them all along.
Spock swings off his bike with his weapon raised. Behind him, Rush, Hawk, Wildcard, and Dice spread out, each of them aiming at one of the three men. The women scatter sideways, leaving a clear path between the Demon Dawgs and me.
DeShawn freezes with his hand still closed around my arm.
“Take your fucking hand off her.” Spock’s voice is quiet, but the threat in it cuts through the rumbling motorcycle engines.
DeShawn stares at the gun aimed directly at his head.
Rico and Mateo immediately lift their hands. The anger they showed moments ago disappears beneath the unwavering aim of the Demon Dawgs.
“Easy,” DeShawn says. “I wasn’t hurting her.”
“Your hand,” Spock growls. “Remove it before I remove it for you.”
DeShawn releases me so quickly that he nearly shoves me away. He raises both hands, palms out.
I don’t wait for anyone to say another word.
I run straight at Spark. He catches me with the arm not holding the gun.
The moment his arms close around me, whatever has been holding me together shatters.
A sob rips from my throat. I burrow into him, my arms wrapped around his waist as I breathe in leather, sweat, and the familiar scent that belongs only to Spock.
“I’ve got you,” he says, his voice rough against my hair. “I’ve got you, baby.”
My legs give out.
Spock tightens his hold and lifts me off my feet as if I weigh nothing. One arm supports my back while the other curls beneath my thighs. I wrap myself around him, desperate to get closer, even though every movement sends pain through my bruised body.
“I knew you’d come,” I whisper.
His chest expands beneath my cheek. “Nothing could’ve kept me away.”
I hear the fury in those words. Feel it in the tension running through his body.
He pulls back just enough to look at me. His gaze moves over the swelling in my face before dropping to the raw skin around my wrists. His jaw clenches so hard that a muscle jumps near his temple.
“Did Blackwood do this?”
I nod.
Something cold enters his eyes.
“Where is he?”
I lift a trembling hand and point toward the house I escaped from. “In there. At least, he was. I don’t know if he’s still there.”
Spock turns his head toward the rundown house. For one frightening second, I think he’s going to put me down and charge inside.
I tighten my arms around his neck. “Don’t leave me.”
His attention returns to me immediately.
“I’m not going anywhere.” His voice softens, but only for me. “You’re safe now.”
Behind us, the situation remains tense.
“I didn’t know you guys were here to rescue her,” DeShawn explains. “We knew someone hurt her; we thought maybe it was you. That’s why I grabbed her.”
“You saw five armed bikers and decided grabbing our brother’s woman was a good idea?” Dice asks.
“Man clearly doesn’t have strong survival instincts,” Wildcard mutters.
“He didn’t know,” Marisol says. “None of us did.”
Keisha steps forward, placing herself between the guns and the three men. “These fools scared her, but they didn’t hurt her. They thought she was spying on them. Once we made them use the sense God gave them, they realized she needed help.”
“She said Blackwood kidnapped her,” Nia adds.
Spock’s arm tightens around me.
Wildcard glances toward the house. “Hawk, Rush, check it.”
The two men move immediately, but Spock doesn’t let go of me. He keeps me pressed against his chest while Wildcard and Dice maintain watch over DeShawn, Rico, and Mateo.
I close my eyes and listen to the steady beat of Spock’s heart. I’m finally safe.