Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Grinder sent it over an hour ago when they landed. Public record. Clean. Suburban. White fence kind of place.
Doesn’t mean a damn thing.
We pull up in front of a two-story house with a manicured lawn and a basketball hoop in the driveway. A minivan sits parked beside a newer model SUV.
It looks normal.
I hate that. Smoke cuts his engine and looks at me. “You sure?” he asks.
“No.”
But I’m already off my bike. My boots hit the pavement hard. My hands are shaking—not from exhaustion. From rage.
I stride up the walkway and don’t bother knocking politely. I pound on the door with the side of my fist like I’m trying to break it down.
Footsteps inside.
A woman’s voice.
“Just a second!”
The door opens. She’s mid-thirties. Blonde. Tired eyes. Holding a toddler on her hip. There’s a little boy peeking from behind her legs.
Domestic.
Normal.
Safe.
Everything inside me snarls. “Yes?” she asks, wary.
“I need Reeves,” I say flat.
“Who—?”
Dr. Reeves steps into view behind her. And when his eyes land on me, I see it.
Recognition.
Not fear. Annoyance.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he demands.
I don’t answer. I grab him by the collar and drag him out the door before his woman can even scream. He’s not married to her, I know that much. Whoever she is, this isn’t her business. She can have him back once I get what I need.
“Miles!” Smoke barks, but he’s already moving to block the doorway, keeping the woman and kids back without touching them.
Reeves stumbles down the porch steps, cursing.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
I slam him against the side of his SUV so hard the alarm chirps once in protest.
“Where is she?”
His confusion looks real.
“Where is who?”
I drive my fist into his ribs. He grunts, folding slightly.
“Danae,” I growl. “Where the fuck is she?”
His eyes widen—not in guilt. In surprise.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
I hit him again. This time his head snaps back against the window.
Inside the house, the woman is crying now, kids clinging to her legs.
Smoke steps closer to me.
“Miles—”
“Stay out of it,” I snap.
I grip Reeves’ shirt tighter and shove him harder against the vehicle.
“She didn’t make it home,” I state through clenched teeth. “Her car was found abandoned. You been bothering her for fucking months.”
He goes pale. “I didn’t touch her,” he spits. “You think I’d be stupid enough to do that?”
“You think I won’t bury you if you did?”
His breath smells like coffee and mint. His eyes dart toward the house, toward the woman watching. “I have a family,” he hisses. “You think I’d risk that?”
“You already did,” I fire back. “The moment you thought you could have her, you lost it all motherfucker.”
I slam him into the SUV again for good measure, fury roaring in my ears. “Where were you last night?” I demand. “You left work early, where the fuck did you go?”
“Home!”
“Bullshit.”
“My girlfriend can tell you! She got a migraine and needed help with her kid.”
The woman on the porch nods frantically through tears. “He was here,” she states panicking. “He never left after he came home because I called.”
I look at her.
Really look.
She doesn’t look like she’s covering. She looks terrified.
Of me.
Not of him. That realization slows my pulse by half a beat. I shove Reeves one more time and step back slightly, chest heaving.
“When was the last time you talked to her?” I ask.
His voice shakes now—not from guilt. From anger.
“She told me to leave her alone,” he states. “And I did.”
“You don’t strike me as a man who listens.”
He glares at me, pride wounded. “I didn’t touch her,” he repeats. “I might’ve been persistent. I might’ve misread some signals. But I’m not gonna force her into anything.”
Smoke shifts closer. “You sure about that?” he asks coolly.
Reeves looks between us, calculating. “I have patients. I have a practice. I have a life. If something happened to her, it wasn’t me.”
I study him hard.
Sweat at his hairline. Bruised ego.
Fear—but not the right kind. Not the fear of being caught.
The fear of being falsely accused. And I hate that I can tell the difference.
I shove him away from the SUV.
“If I find out you’re lying,” I tell him quietly, “there won’t be a house left to stand in.”
His woman gasps.
I don’t care. He stumbles, straightens his shirt, fury burning in his eyes now.
“You’re insane,” he spits. “You think threatening me is going to help her?”
I step closer again, slow this time. “No,” I state. “Finding her will.”
I turn and walk back toward my bike. Smoke falls in beside me.
“You believe him?” he asks low.
“I believe he’s an asshole,” I reply. “But I don’t think he’s smart enough for this.”
We ride.
Not to Danae’s house yet. To Saint's Outlaws clubhouse. Wrath called while I was still in Reeves’ driveway. Said they were rallied and waiting. My club and his.
The clubhouse sits on the edge of town—brick building, blacked-out windows, bikes lined up front like sentries. The air smells like gasoline and leather and something metallic.