Wilder’s Promise (Outlaw Order MC #2)

Chapter 1 - Wilder

"She's due at the station at four. Don't let anything happen to her, Wilder." Reaper's voice is cold steel, but there's something beneath it I rarely hear. Fear. "I need my daughter safe."

I nod, zipping up my leather cut over my black t-shirt as I head for the door of the Outlaw Order clubhouse. "I've got her. Emma will be fine. I promise you."

His hand clamps down on my shoulder, stopping me. When I turn, those ice-gray eyes that have made hardened criminals piss themselves are boring into mine.

"You understand what I'm asking? With Charles's men hunting for payback, this isn't just another club errand." The lines in his face deepen. "She's all I have left of anything good in this world besides Evelyn."

"I know what she means to you," I say, meeting his gaze without flinching. "I'll protect her with my life."

The clubhouse door swings open behind me, letting in a blast of summer heat as Ghost and Blade walk in. The timing couldn't be better. Reaper needs all hands preparing for whatever the Vultures MC throw at us next.

"Get going," he says, finally releasing my shoulder. "And Wilder. She doesn't know anything about what went down with the trafficking ring or the Vultures. She barely speaks to me as it is. Don't make it worse."

I head to the club's garage where I've parked the nondescript black Dodge Charger.

My Harley would be my preference, but Reaper insisted on the car—better protection, easier to hide our faces, and a trunk for her luggage.

I slide behind the wheel, adjusting the shoulder holster under my cut for easier access in case things go sideways.

The two-hour drive to Oakridge Station stretches ahead of me, nothing but open road and the weight of my president's trust on my shoulders. I pull out of the compound, nodding to the prospects manning the gate, and hit the highway.

The road unfurls like a black ribbon through the dense pine forests surrounding our territory. I push the Charger hard, mind racing faster than the speedometer.

Emma Kane. I've never met Reaper's daughter, only seen her in the single photo he keeps in his office: a teenage girl with fiery red hair and her father's defiant chin, looking away from the camera like she'd rather be anywhere else.

I know the basics: nineteen years old, studying criminal forensics, wants nothing to do with her father or his MC. The irony isn't lost on me. The daughter of an outlaw dreaming of becoming a fed. Must drive Reaper crazy, though he'd never admit it.

The road signs for Oakridge appear sooner than expected. I've been driving hard, making good time. I check my watch—3:15. Perfect. Enough time to scout the station before her train arrives.

Oakridge is a nothing town, the kind of place people pass through on their way to somewhere better. The train station sits on the edge, a brick building with peeling paint and windows clouded with years of diesel exhaust. I park the Charger where I can keep an eye on it and scan the surroundings.

Two exits, sparse crowd, a couple of bored security guards. No sign of trouble, but that doesn't mean it's not coming. I position myself with my back to the wall, giving me a clear view of both the platform and the main entrance.

My phone buzzes with a text from Ghost: *Any signs of Vultures MC?*

I type back: *Clear so far. Train arrives in 30.*

The minutes tick by with excruciating slowness. I catch my reflection in a grimy window. Tall, dark hair pulled back, stubble I haven't bothered to shave in days. The leather cut with our patch stands out among the civilians, drawing nervous glances. Good. People who keep their distance stay safe.

The station speakers crackle to life, announcing the arrival of the 4:00 from Westridge. I straighten, scanning the faces of disembarking passengers until I spot her.

There's no mistaking Emma Kane. The photo in Reaper's office doesn't do her justice.

She's small, barely comes up to my chest, but moves with purpose.

Her red hair falls in waves past her shoulders, and those amber eyes are scanning the crowd with suspicion.

She's wearing jeans, a green tank top under an open flannel shirt, and carries a backpack that looks ready to burst. A rolling suitcase trails behind her.

Smart to pack light, but still enough to make me glad for the car's trunk.

Those eyes find me, or rather, they find the patch on my cut, and narrow with instant dislike. I watch her spine stiffen as she approaches, chin lifting in that same defiant angle I recognize from her father.

"You must be my father's errand boy," she says, voice cool and clipped. "Where is he?"

"Rex Torres," I reply, ignoring the jab. "Everyone calls me Wilder. Your father's securing the clubhouse. I'm your ride to Pine Haven."

She looks past me toward the exit. "I assume you brought a car? Or are we hitchhiking?"

"Black Charger in the lot," I say, reaching for her rolling suitcase. "Your father thought it would be safer than a bike."

She relinquishes the suitcase but keeps a tight grip on her backpack. "At least he got one thing right."

I scan the station one more time before guiding her toward the exit, keeping my body slightly between her and the rest of the crowd. "Stay close."

"Is that really necessary?" she asks, but her voice has lost some of its edge.

"Your father didn't drag you home for fun, princess. There are people looking for anyone connected to him."

"Don't call me princess," she snaps.

"Then don't call me errand boy." I soften my tone. "Look, I know this isn't what you want. But your safety matters to your dad, which means it matters to the club. Which means it matters to me."

She stares at me for a moment, weighing her options. I can almost see the calculations behind those amber eyes: her stubborn pride versus the very real danger she's in.

"Fine," she finally says. "But I want to stop for food. The train dining car was disgusting."

I check our surroundings again. The station remains quiet, my instincts steady. "We can make that happen. Any preferences?"

The question seems to catch her off guard, like she expected an argument. "Uh... anywhere that has decent coffee and isn't fast food?"

"There's a diner about thirty minutes down the road. Good coffee, great pie." I lead her to the Charger, stowing her suitcase in the trunk before opening the passenger door.

She slides in without a word, clutching her backpack to her chest like a shield. I circle around, scanning for threats despite the quiet surroundings, before getting behind the wheel.

"Seatbelt," I say, starting the engine. She gives me a look but complies.

The Charger pulls smoothly out of the station parking lot. I take the main road this time, seeing no reason to stick to back routes when there's no immediate threat.

"So," she says after several minutes of silence, "you're one of my father's... what do you call yourselves? Brothers?"

"That's right."

"How long have you been part of his little criminal enterprise?"

I glance at her. "Is that what he calls it?"

"No. That's what the FBI calls it," she says pointedly. "I'm studying criminal forensics, remember?"

"Yeah, your dad mentioned that." I focus back on the road. "I've been with the club about a year. Only member who's actually from Pine Haven."

"And what did you do before that? Let me guess… Armed robbery? Drug running?"

I can't help the slight smile that tugs at my mouth. "Construction, actually. Still do when we need cash flow. I'm good with my hands."

She snorts. "Right. And I'm sure the club is just a social gathering for motorcycle enthusiasts."

"We do enjoy our motorcycles," I say, keeping my tone light. "But no, that's not all we are."

She turns to look out the window, arms crossed. "I can't believe he's dragging me into his mess again. I have finals in two weeks. A research paper due. Friends who are going to wonder where the hell I disappeared to."

"He wouldn't have called you back if it wasn't serious."

"With my father, everything is life or death. That's his whole world. Constant crisis, constant danger." She shakes her head. "Normal people don't live like that."

"Normal people don't save women from a sex trafficking either," I say before I can stop myself.

Her head whips around. "What did you just say?"

Shit. Reaper explicitly told me not to mention the trafficking ring. "Nothing. Forget it."

"No." Her voice is hard now, demanding. "What women? What trafficking?"

I grip the steering wheel tighter, mentally kicking myself. "That's something you should discuss with your father."

"I'm discussing it with you right now." The stubbornness in her tone is pure Reaper. "What did my father do?"

I weigh my options, deciding a partial truth is better than letting her imagination run wild. "Look, all I can tell you is that your father discovered some very bad people doing very bad things in our territory. He stepped in. Those people have friends who aren't happy about it."

"And that's why he dragged me to Pine Haven? Because he pissed off some criminals who are worse than he is?"

"He did the right thing," I say firmly. "And yeah, that's why you're here. Because these people will use anyone they can to get to him."

She falls silent, processing this new information. I can practically hear the gears turning in her head.

"The diner's just up ahead," I say, nodding toward a faded roadside building with a neon OPEN sign flickering in the window.

I pull into the parking lot, choosing a spot that gives me a clear view of both the entrance and the highway, like Blade taught me.

"Let me guess," Emma says, watching me scan the surroundings, "you always sit facing the door too?"

"You know it." I kill the engine. "Keeps you alive longer."

Inside, the diner is nearly empty. Just a trucker at the counter and an elderly couple in a booth by the window. The waitress, a middle-aged woman with bottle-blonde hair and experienced eyes, looks up as we enter.

"Sit anywhere, honey," she calls, then does a double-take when she notices my cut with the Outlaw Order patch. Her smile tightens, but to her credit, she doesn't ask us to leave.

I choose a booth at the back, positioning myself to face the door. Emma slides in across from me, setting her backpack on the seat beside her.

"You weren't kidding about always facing the door," she mutters.

"Some habits keep you breathing." I hand her a laminated menu from behind the napkin dispenser. "Order whatever you want. Club's paying."

"How generous." She studies the menu. "Using all that legitimate construction income, I'm sure."

The waitress approaches, coffee pot in hand. "Coffee for you two?"

"Please," Emma says, her tone softening for the waitress.

"What can I get you, darling?" the waitress asks after filling our mugs.

"Chicken club sandwich and fries," Emma says. "And a slice of whatever pie you recommend."

"Apple's fresh today. Made it myself this morning." The waitress turns to me. "And for you, hon?"

"Burger. Medium. Extra fries." I hand back the menu. "And save me a slice of that apple pie too."

When the waitress leaves, Emma wraps her hands around the coffee mug, staring into it like it might contain answers. "So, what happens when we get to Pine Haven?"

"Your father will explain everything."

"I'm asking you." She looks up, those amber eyes challenging. "What am I walking into?"

I take a sip of my coffee, buying time to consider my answer. "The clubhouse is secure. You'll have your own room. The guys are all on high alert, watching for any sign of trouble."

"And how long am I expected to hide out in my father's... what, biker fortress?"

"Until it's safe."

"And when will that be?"

I meet her gaze. "When the threat is eliminated."