Chapter Twenty-One
Chase
The pack of bikes raced down the dark county road like a black river of chrome and leather. Chase stayed glued to Bear’s rear tire, visor down, heart hammering in time with the engine beneath him. Every mile felt like another minute Kath was in danger. Every second without her was too long.
Suddenly, brake lights flared across the entire formation.
Chase was the only one who didn’t hear the command over the comms.
He reacted on pure instinct, leaning hard and feathering the brakes. The borrowed bike tried to fishtail beneath him, but he controlled the skid with muscle memory he didn’t even know he had, bringing the bike to a sharp, controlled stop just off Bear’s left side.
By the time his kickstand was down, Bear was already off his own bike and storming towards him, face like thunder.
Chase flipped up his visor before Bear could rip into him.
“She’s mine, Bear,” he said, voice raw and steady. “You hear me? She’s mine to protect. Mine to rescue.”
Bear stopped inches away, chest heaving. For a long second, the two men stared at each other—president’s son and the man who’d become like an uncle. Then Bear gave one sharp nod.
He turned and waved someone forwards. Myron rolled up beside them on his smaller bike, tablet already in hand.
“Quick version,” Myron said without preamble.
“We triangulated the last strong ping from a burner phone that was in the area of Kath’s house right around the time she disappeared.
Cross-referenced with traffic cams and a couple of our eyes on the ground.
We’ve got a location—old trailer house about twelve miles from here.
Two, maybe three hostiles. We think she’s in the back bedroom. ”
Chase’s hands clenched on the grips. “Then why the fuck are we stopped?”
Myron didn’t flinch. “Because we do this smart, not fast. Mason’s orders.”
Bear stepped closer, heavy hand landing on Chase’s shoulder. His voice was low, serious. “I get the feeling, brother. You’ll ride in with us. But I need to know—if I let you roll heavy, do you have the trigger discipline not to kill anyone, friend or foe?”
Chase met his eyes without hesitation. “I’m Mason’s son. I know my way around a gun.”
Bear’s expression didn’t change. “That doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence.” He reached behind his back and pulled out a compact nine-millimeter, offering it grip-first. “This is my backup. You hurt her because you’re reckless, and I’ll put you on the ground myself.”
Chase took the gun, immediately checked the safety, verified the chambered round, and tucked it securely into the back of his waistband.
“Can we go in now?” he asked, voice tight with barely leashed urgency.
Bear studied him for one more beat, then nodded.
“Yeah, brother. We’re rolling.” He pointed towards a cluster of riders.
“You, Slate, and two more will take the back door. It opens right into the area near the back bedroom. Your only job is to get her out. You hear anything from the front, you ignore it. Get Kath on the back of your bike and ride like hell. Got it?”
Chase pulled in a deep breath and nodded. “Got it.”
The formation tightened. Engines roared back to life. Chase dropped his visor, heart thundering, every nerve in his body screaming to move.
They were going in.
And no matter what waited inside that trailer, he was bringing Kath home tonight.
***
Kath
Kath worked frantically at the zip ties around her wrists, twisting and pulling until her skin was raw.
The plastic dug in deeper with every movement, but she didn’t stop.
She couldn’t. Her feet were free—she’d had to lose her boots to get the zip ties off—but that was something.
She’d been pacing the small room as quietly as possible, rising onto her toes to peer out the grimy windows, trying to figure out where she was and if there was any way out.
The low voices from the other room kept drifting in—angry mutters about old grudges, Diamante, and Mason. None of it made sense. All of it terrified her.
Then she heard it.
The sudden, thunderous roar of multiple motorcycle engines growing louder, closer. Her stomach dropped. Panic flooded her chest like ice water.
More of them.
She backed away from the door, heart hammering, pressing herself against the far wall. If they were bringing in more men, she was done. She wouldn’t be able to fight them all.
The door to her room slammed open.
Chase stood there.
Helmet off, hair wild, eyes wide and blazing with something fierce and desperate. The sight of his face nearly took her knees out from under her. For a second, she couldn’t breathe, her relief so sharp it hurt.
He was here.
For her.
She turned quickly, giving him her back, and wiggled her fingers so he could see the zip ties. A second later, she felt the cold edge of a knife against her skin. One clean snick, and the plastic fell away. Her wrists burned, but she barely noticed.
Chase grabbed her hand and tugged. She went with him without hesitation, bare feet silent on the floor as they moved down the narrow hallway. He pushed open a side door she hadn’t even known existed, and cool night air rushed over her.
Outside, six bikes waited in a tight formation, engines rumbling. Chase steered her towards one, grabbed a helmet from the handlebars, and slipped it gently over her head. His fingers were careful as he tightened the strap under her chin.
She hadn’t ridden second seat in years,not since one of her mom’s exs gave her a first taste of being in the wind, but it came back instantly.
She swung on behind him, feet finding the passenger pegs, arms wrapping tight around his waist. She pressed her cheek against his strong back and held on as the trembling started—deep, uncontrollable shakes now that safety was finally within reach.
Gunfire cracked from inside the trailer house behind them.
Chase didn’t wait. He twisted the throttle hard, kicked the bike into gear, and shot forwards. She felt the power surge beneath them as he took point in the small pack of six bikes. The wind whipped past, and she clung to him like he was the only solid thing left in the world.
Thirty minutes later, they pulled into a large, well-lit parking lot in front of a building she’d only ever heard stories about—the Rebel Wayfarers MC mother chapter clubhouse.
A man stood waiting on the front steps.
He looked about thirty years older than Chase, but the resemblance was unmistakable. They shared the same broad shoulders, same stormy gray eyes, and the same commanding presence. That had to be Mason.
Chase dropped the kickstand as he shut the bike down. He was off the bike in one smooth motion, turning to her. He unbuckled the helmet and lifted it off gently, then cradled her face in both of his hands. His thumbs brushed over her cheeks like he was checking that she was real.
Then he leaned in and kissed her—one of the gentlest, most tender kisses she’d ever received. Full of relief, fear, and something deeper that made her eyes sting.
“Come on,” he whispered against her lips, voice rough. “Come meet my dad.”
He helped her off the bike, keeping one arm securely around her waist as they walked towards the steps where Mason waited, watching them with an unreadable expression.
Kath’s heart was still racing, her body still trembling from everything that had happened, but with Chase’s arm around her and his solid warmth beside her, she took the next step.
***
Bear
Bear stood in the tree line just beyond the trailer, the night air thick with the smell of gunpowder and pine.
His ears still rang from the controlled bursts they’d laid down to pin the hostiles inside.
The rest of the brothers had already cleared the front and sides—efficient, professional, no unnecessary noise.
This wasn’t about spectacle. It was about sending a message.
He rolled his shoulders once, feeling the familiar weight of the vest under his cut, and stepped forwards. Slate fell in beside him without a word, rifle slung low. The back door hung crooked on its hinges where Chase had kicked it open on the way in. Good kid.
Inside, the place reeked of stale beer and fear-sweat.
The shorter man was down on his knees in the cramped living room, hands zip-tied behind his back, a blooming bruise already darkening one cheek.
The tall one leaned against the wall, breathing hard, blood trickling from a split lip.
His eyes flicked up when Bear filled the doorway, and something ugly twisted across his face.
“You boys picked the wrong family to fuck with,” Bear said, voice low and even. He didn’t raise it. Didn’t need to. The weight of it carried just fine.
Scarface spat blood onto the cheap carpet. “Mason’s gonna—”
Bear crossed the distance in two strides and backhanded him hard enough to snap his head sideways. “You don’t say his name. You don’t say the boy’s name. You sure as hell don’t say hers.”
The man sagged but didn’t go down. Tough. Or stupid. Bear had seen both.
Slate moved in, checking the shorter one for weapons, then straightened. “Myron’s already scrubbing their phones. No backups sent. No one else knows they had her.”
Bear nodded once. He crouched in front of Scarface, close enough to see the fear finally bleeding into the man’s eyes.
“You thought grabbing a girl on one of our bikes would hurt us?” Bear’s voice dropped even lower. “That girl matters to Chase. Which means she matters to every man wearing this patch. You came after family. That’s a mistake you only get to make once.”
He let the silence stretch, let the man feel the full weight of what was coming.
“We’re not killing you tonight,” Bear continued.
“Not here. That’d be too easy, and we don’t need the heat.
But you’re done in this state. Done running with whoever’s left of the old Diamante scraps.
Doesn’t matter what kind of beef you think you’ve got.
We will always knock your shit backwards and sideways if you try coming at us again.
Ever. You’ll carry this message back to whatever holes you crawled out of: The Rebel Wayfarers protect what’s ours.
Touch one of us again—any of us—and we won’t stop at zip ties and warnings. ”
Slate hauled Scarface up. The shorter man followed without protest, all fight gone.
Bear watched them get loaded into the van waiting out back. Hurley and Ruger would handle transport—drop them at the state line with enough bruises to remember the lesson and enough fear to spread the word. No loose ends. No martyrs.
As the van’s taillights disappeared down the dirt road, Bear pulled out his phone and fired off a quick text to Mason.
*Done. Girl’s safe. Message delivered.*
He exhaled slowly, the adrenaline finally ebbing. Chase had ridden like a bat out of hell to get Kath, and Bear couldn’t even be mad about it. The kid had heart. Loyalty. The kind that made a man more than just his father’s shadow.
Bear swung a leg over his bike and thumbed the starter. The deep rumble rolled through the quiet night like thunder settling after a storm.
Family was safe.
That was all that mattered.