Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 54572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Empty.
Timestamp showed hours ago. No alerts overnight. My stomach dropped.
“Shit,” I muttered, scrubbing a hand over my face. Think. Don’t panic. Panic wastes time.
I flipped to the parking lot.
Nothing.
Scrolled back. I was missing something. There—motion flagged around two in the morning. My heart slammed against my ribs.
I replayed it.
The angle was wrong. The camera caught only the edge of the frame, but I could see movement. A shadow. A door opening that shouldn’t have been opening.
Then her.
Barefoot. Coat thrown on hastily. Someone behind her—blurred, masked.
The image shook.
I froze the frame, jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
“Fuck.”
The phone trembled in my hand—not fear, not grief.
Rage.
Cold. Focused. Controlled.
Someone had taken her. I didn’t waste time calling the police. Not yet. I needed answers first. I needed names. Faces. Patterns. And I needed them fast.
I hit Gonzo first.
He picked up on the second ring. “What’s wrong?”
“They took her,” I said flatly.
A pause. Then his voice hardened. “Where?”
“DC. From her apartment.”
“Who?”
“That’s what we’re gonna find out.”
“Say the word.”
“Clubhouse. Now.”
I hung up and called Tower. Then Jester. Then Peanut. Then Dippy.
No explanations. Just urgency.
“Clubhouse. Now.”
They didn’t ask questions. They didn’t need them. By the time I pulled into the lot, the sun was just starting to rise, washing everything in pale light that felt wrong for what was happening inside me. My bike skidded to a stop, gravel spraying as I dismounted.
They were already there.
Gonzo stood by the door, arms crossed, expression carved from stone. Tower leaned against a post, jaw tight, eyes sharp. Jester paced. Peanut smoked without tasting it. Dippy had his laptop open, fingers already moving.
I walked in and shut the door behind me.
“She’s been taken,” I said. “Two, maybe three a.m. Masked male. Gun.”
The room went deadly quiet.
“Fed?” Tower asked.
“Federal connection I think, but not certain,” I corrected. “Which means whoever did this isn’t stupid even if it came from her affiliation with me or her job.”
Dippy spun his laptop around. “I pulled the feed the second you called. That camera angle sucks, but it’s not nothing.”
I leaned in, hands braced on the table. “Enhance what you can. I want every frame cleaned. Every shadow sharpened.”
“Already on it,” he said.
“Route,” Gonzo said. “They didn’t just snatch her for fun. There’s a reason.”
“She works high-level investigations,” I shared. “Someone at her job made a comment about the Saints. About me.”
That got their attention. “Who?” Jester asked.
“She didn’t give a name,” I said. “Which tells me it’s someone she didn’t want me handling.”
Tower’s mouth flattened. “That’s a problem.”
“Yeah,” I said. “It is.”
Peanut exhaled smoke. “If this is a message, it’s a loud one.”
“It’s not just a message,” I snapped. “It’s leverage.”
Dippy looked up. “I’m pulling traffic cams around her building now. City feeds, private feeds, anything unsecured. If a car rolled out of there at that hour, I’ll find it.”
“You do,” I said. “Gonzo, I want a list of anyone we’ve crossed in the last year with reach in DC.”
“Already thinking it,” he replied. “Cartels. Contractors. Feds with dirty hands.”
“Tower,” I continued, “call in every favor you’ve got. I want eyes on back roads, safe houses, storage properties. Anywhere someone might think they could stash a person in that area.”
Tower nodded once and stepped away, phone to his ear.
My chest felt tight, like something was clawing its way out.
Char’s voice echoed in my head. Nita didn’t answer.
I forced myself to breathe. “She’s smart,” I said aloud, more to myself than them. “She’ll stay alive. She’ll be watching. Leaving a trail.”
Dippy snapped his fingers. “Got something.”
We all leaned in.
“A dark sedan,” he said. “No plates on the back. That narrows nothing, but—” He typed fast. “Wait. Front cam caught a partial reflection. I can work with this.”
“How long?” I demanded.
“Minutes,” he said. “Not hours.”
I straightened, hands curling into fists. “Good.”
Because I didn’t have hours.
I had one job.
Get her back.
And whoever thought taking her was a smart move?
They were about to learn exactly how wrong they were.
The ride to DC barely existed in my memory.
It was just asphalt and rage muted by the roar of the engine under me, the bike eating miles like it knew time was the enemy. My hands ached from how hard I gripped the bars. My jaw stayed locked, teeth clenched so tight my head throbbed. I didn’t remember the wind. Didn’t remember stopping for gas. Didn’t remember crossing state lines.
I remembered one thing.
Nita needed me.
Tower rode at my back, close enough I could feel him even when I didn’t look. The rest of the club stayed behind in North Carolina, running phones, digging records, pulling every crooked thread they could find. Dippy’s voice still rang in my head from the call that finally broke the night open. The Upper Marlboro charter of the Saints Outlaws MC met us at the Maryland state line and escorted us into town. With a short pause at their clubhouse I touched base with Dippy getting the information I needed.