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We arrive at the safehouse on the outskirts of town.

I storm past the guards and into the house, my mind locked on one thing—Pedro. I find him sitting beside Maria on a sofa in the living room.

“Juan took Isabella. I need to know where,” I snap.

“He kidnapped her?” A mask of worry spreads across Pedro’s face.

“We don’t have time to fuck around. Where would he take her?” My voice is ice-cold steel, each word a bullet aimed at Pedro’s conscience.

His eyes widen, the weight of my gaze pinning him like an insect on display. The club’s protection is a double-edged sword. The truth is the only payment we’re willing to take.

“Speak,” I command.

“If you have a map, I can show you a place.”

“Here.” I pull my phone out of my cut and open the map app. “Point it out.”

Pedro’s fingers tremble as he takes the phone and zooms in, tracing the winding roads to a patch where land drowns in water.

“In the middle of the swamp?” I scowl.

“Sí,el sitio de tortura,” he whispers. “It’s where he… deals with traitors.”

I don’t need a translator to know what he’s saying.

“Juan’s building is here, hidden away. The closest dock is here.” Pedro points to the location before handing the phone back.

I drop a pin and commit the path to memory. Twisting roads. Landmarks swallowed by the swamp. The quickest route into hell. My crew stands silent behind me, their presence a solid reassurance that no one faces the darkness alone.

“Thanks,” I grunt, though gratitude tastes bitter knowing what awaits us.

My eyes flicker over Pedro’s cowering form, seeing not just the cartel’s logistics man but a husband, a pawn in a game too dangerous for any semblance of normalcy. Maria watches from the shadows, her arms wrapped around herself as if she could hold their world together by sheer will.

“Keep him safe,” I tell Fang, my voice low. “We might need more intel.”

“Got it,” he responds, his stance resolute despite the uncertainty clouding his features.

When I get outside, Vapor’s already on his bike, the engine growling impatiently beneath him. Blue and Babet are nowhere in sight, likely inside, sheltered from the storm we’re about to ride into. I swing my leg over my bike, feeling the familiar leather beneath me, the beast rumbling to life at my command.

“Let’s roll!” My voice cuts through the quiet, a call to arms that sparks a fire in my veins.

We tear out of there, engines roaring in unison, a symphony of impending wrath. The road stretches before us, an asphalt river winding toward the swamp where danger lurks hidden beneath moss-draped trees and murky waters.

Doubt gnaws at me, a relentless pest chewing holes in my resolve. What if we’re too late? What if Juan’s already sunk his venomous fangs into Isabella, leaving nothing but pain and regret?

I shut it down, lock it away. Can’t afford doubt—not now, not when Isabella needs us. She needs me to be the cold, calculating leader I’m known to be. But as we ride on, my fear intensifies. The night wraps me in a cloak of possibilities, each one darker than the last.

The bayou looms closer, its oppressive air reaching out like tendrils, trying to choke the hope from my heart. Spanish moss drapes the trees like skeletal fingers, whispering warnings only fools ignore. But there’s no turning around, not when everymile could mean the difference between Isabella’s safety and her death.

Eventually, the road becomes nothing but dirt and overgrown bushes, a reminder of the treacherous terrain that hides more than just gators and snakes. We barrel down the desolate stretch, racing closer to where I hope we’ll find Isabella. Pedro had better be right about this or he’s going to bear the brunt of my wrath.

Fortunately for him, the dock is exactly where he said it would be. After hastily parking, I spot a boat moored to the shore. It’s large enough to hold my crew of men. Motioning toward the others, I quickly climb inside. They join me, ready to fight.

As we race toward Juan’s secret prison, my gut churns with anger. Every second is a countdown. Every breath, a step closer to war. Losing Isabella now isn’t an option. When I get my hands on her brother, he’s a dead man. I’m going to kill him. Slowly. Mercilessly. And with all the rage of a man whose heart has been ripped from his chest. She’d better be alive, or there will be hell to pay.

Chapter 21: Isabella

The room is a cavern of shadows, the only light coming from a sole flickering bulb hanging overhead. My wrists burn, the zip ties slicing into my skin like the fangs of the serpents that have coiled around my life for too long. I shift in the hard metal chair. It doesn’t give. The bite of the restraints, the unforgiving steel beneath me—it all screams one thing: trapped. I take a deep breath, tasting the musty air inside the building, and force my mind to stay clear. Panic is a luxury I can’t afford.