CHAPTER 17
Selene
The warehouse looms out of the storm like something from a nightmare I've had a hundred times in the two years since I left Richard — dark, industrial, snow swirling thick around loading cranes that groan faintly in the wind, the whole timber dock complex feeling abandoned except for the single warehouse near the water where dim light spills from gaps around a loading door.
Damon keeps me close as we approach, his hand never leaving mine, the rest of the club moving in careful, coordinated silence around us, shapes barely visible through the blizzard.
Somewhere behind us, I know, snipers have taken position with lines of sight into the warehouse windows, and somewhere ahead, hidden in the storm, county law enforcement waits for the signal to move.
I insisted on coming this far. Damon fought me on the final approach, wanted me to wait at the perimeter while the club secured the scene, and I refused, because Clara's inside that warehouse because of choices that were mine to make and mine to answer for, and I'm done letting other people carry weight that belongs to me.
The loading door groans open before we reach it, and a man I don't recognize steps out into the snow — Red Jaw's patch clear on his jacket even through the storm, expression cold and calculating as he takes in the sight of Damon beside me and, further back, the shapes of at least a dozen more Iron Vipers holding position.
"Just her," the man says, voice hard. "Told your president the rules. She comes in alone or we hurt the old woman right now."
"She's not going in alone." Damon's voice carries lethal calm. "You want to test that, go ahead and try. But you should know exactly how many rifles are currently trained on this building before you make that decision."
The man's jaw tightens, calculating odds he clearly doesn't love, and after a tense moment he steps back, gesturing us both inside with visible reluctance.
The warehouse interior is cavernous, cold, stacked high with lumber and industrial equipment, lit by a scattering of work lights that cast harsh shadows across the concrete floor.
Clara sits bound to a metal chair near the center of the space, tape across her mouth, eyes wide and furious rather than frightened, and the sight of her sends fresh fury coursing through my chest.
Behind her, a line of Red Jaw patches stand loose formation, at least eight men that I can count, weapons visible but not yet raised, the particular tense stillness of men waiting for a signal.
And behind them, stepping forward with the same polished, arrogant confidence he wore in the courthouse corridor, is Richard.
"Selene." He says my name like he's greeting a guest at a dinner party, entirely unbothered by the storm raging outside or the small army of bikers currently surrounding this building. "I have to say, I'm impressed. Didn't think you had this much fight left in you."
"Let Clara go." My voice comes out steadier than I feel, fury burning hot enough to override the fear that should probably be dominating this moment. "This is between you and me, Richard. She has nothing to do with it."
"She has everything to do with it." Richard's smile doesn't waver. "She's the reason you have a job in that pathetic little town, a support system, a reason to believe you could actually build a life without me. Removing that support system felt like an appropriate opening move."
"You mean kidnapping felt like an appropriate opening move," Damon says, voice carrying a lethal edge that has several of the Red Jaw patches shifting uncomfortably.
"You're already looking at federal charges for that alone, Vance.
Might want to think carefully about how much deeper you want to dig this hole. "
Richard's eyes flick to Damon with open contempt. "The mechanic speaks. I have to say, Selene, I expected better taste from you. A man who spent his life as hired muscle for a criminal syndicate — really, is this the future you want for our daughter? Growing up surrounded by men like this?"
"Our daughter is growing up safer with these men than she ever was in your house," I say, fury sharpening every word.
"You want to talk about taste, Richard? Let's talk about a man who monitored his own wife's every movement, isolated her from every friend she had, and then when she finally escaped, hired a criminal organization to kidnap an innocent woman just to lure her back. "
"I did what was necessary." His mask finally begins to crack, something colder and more desperate surfacing underneath the polish.
"You have no idea what you cost me, Selene.
Do you understand what happens to my trust fund access if Mia isn't in my custody by her sixth birthday?
Do you understand what I've spent the last two years sacrificing trying to fix a problem you created by running? "
The words land strange, something in them not quite fitting the narrative Richard's always presented — control, obsession, the classic profile of a man who can't stand losing what he considers his. This sounds different. This sounds like money.
"What are you talking about," I say slowly, "trust fund access?"
Something flickers across Richard's face, quick and controlled, the look of a man who's said more than he meant to.
But before he can recover, before Damon or anyone else can push further on what's clearly a crack in the story we thought we understood, Richard's composure fully shatters, whatever thin control he's maintained through this entire confrontation finally breaking apart at once.
"It doesn't matter," he snaps, voice rising, something wild and dangerous entering his expression that I recognize with sudden, sickening clarity — the same look he wore the one time, years ago, he nearly hit me during an argument before catching himself at the last second.
"None of it matters anymore, because you're not walking out of here with either of them, Selene.
If I can't have Mia, if I can't fix this the way it needs to be fixed, then you don't get to have your happy ending with him either. "
His hand moves fast, reaching beneath his expensive jacket, and I see the gleam of metal an instant before I fully process what's happening.
"If I can't have you," Richard snarls, voice cracking with a fury I've never once seen him show in four years of marriage, "nobody will!"
The gun comes up, leveled directly at me, and the last thing I register before Damon moves is the absolute, terrible certainty in Richard's eyes that he means exactly what he's saying.