Page 21 of Bad Luck, Hard Love (Heaven’s Rejects MC #6)

The bathroom door bursts open, and a third man stumbles out, still zipping up his pants. He freezes at the scene—his friends bleeding on the floor, me standing over them like the angel of fucking death, the girl curled up on the bed, silent and shaking.

His hand twitches toward something tucked behind his back. Mistake.

I launch myself across the room, slamming into him before he can draw. We crash into the bathroom doorframe, his head cracking against the wood with a sickening thud. The weapon—a compact pistol—clatters to the tile as he crumples.

I scoop it up before he can even blink and jam it under his chin.

“Three of you,” I snarl, hauling him up by the collar. “Perfect fucking odds.”

He throws a wild punch, catching me on the jaw hard enough to snap my head sideways. Pain blooms across my face, but I’ve taken worse from men twice his size.

I slam my fist into his gut, doubling him over, then drive my knee into his face. He hits the bathroom floor with a grunt and slides down the wall, leaving a crimson smear on the tile.

I step over him, pistol now in my grip, finger hovering over the trigger.

“Now,” I say coldly, turning back to the other two, “let’s try this again.”

Blue Button-Down is dragging himself toward the door, leaving a thick smear of blood from his broken nose. Black Polo is slumped against the wall, clutching his ribs and wheezing in pain. Neither of them makes a move.

The girl on the bed hasn’t stirred.

But I’m not done. Not until I know exactly what they did—and who sent them.

“Charlotte,” I repeat, crouching down next to Blue Button-Down. “Brunette woman. One of you pricks chased her down to the loading dock yesterday. You remember now?”

I catch Blue Button-Down's looking at Black Polo—just a flicker, but it's enough. Fucking amateurs. That silent communication tells me everything I need to know.

“You,” I growl, stalking over and grabbing Blue Button-Down by the throat, slamming him against the wall with the barrel of the gun pressed to his temple. “You’re gonna talk to me. Now.”

His eyes bulge, his face going red as my grip tightens. I ease up just enough to let him breathe—but the gun stays right where it is. Cold. Unforgiving. Waiting.

“I don't—I swear—” he chokes out.

“Wrong answer.” I slam him against the wall again, harder this time. His head bounces off the drywall, leaving a dent. “Let's try again. Charlotte. Why are you after her?”

Sweat beads on his forehead. “We're just following orders, man. I don't know any Charlotte.”

“Bullshit.” I press my forearm against his windpipe, “Who's giving the orders?”

“Jason, shut the fuck up,” Black Polo hisses from the floor.

I smile without humor. “Jason, huh? Well, Jason, your buddy there just threw you under the bus.” I lean in closer, “What's your connection to the Heaven's Rejects?”

“How do you?—”

“Answer the fucking question.”

“We don't...we just get the girls.”

The words hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest. “What girls?”

“For transport,” he answers, then immediately clamps his mouth shut like he's said too much.

I grab him by the collar and lift him clean off the floor. His feet kick at air, boots scraping helplessly against the wall.

“Transport where?” I snarl. “ Who is buying them? ”

Black Polo stumbles to his feet, one arm cradling his ribs. “You made a mistake, asshole. You have no idea who you’re fucking with.”

“Enlighten me.” I drop Jason and turn on his friend, stepping toward him with the gun still raised. “Because right now, all I see are three pieces of shit who are about to fucking die.”

Black Polo sneers, spitting blood on the carpet. “You kill us, and they’ll send ten more.”

“Then I’ll bury ten more.”

He lunges—fast, reckless, desperate.

I fire.

The shot punches into his thigh. He drops like dead weight, howling in pain, clutching the wound as blood pools beneath him.

Before I can move again, the door explodes inward.

V crashes into the room like a wrecking ball, gun in hand. He barely pauses before swinging it toward the remaining targets, finger hovering on the trigger.

“Back the fuck up!” he roars.

Jason screams and scrambles toward the window, but I cut him off, slamming him to the ground and driving my knee into his spine.

V steps over Black Polo, and drives his boot into his already-broken ribs. The man shrieks, then goes still.

“Jesus,” V mutters, glancing at the scene—blood, broken furniture, the girl still unmoving on the bed. “You always start the party without me?”

I snort, breathless. “Just saving you a seat.”

Jason squirms beneath me, whining now. “Please… please don’t kill me…”

“Start talking. Now. Who's buying the girls?”

Jason hesitates.

I cock the hammer on the pistol with a loud click —a sound that makes Jason flinch like he’s been shot already.

“Last chance,” I growl. “Who are you procuring these girls for?”

“We don't know,” Jason babbles, blood bubbling from one corner of his mouth. “I swear to God, we just find the girls, make the call?—”

“What call?”

“We call a number,” Jason stammers. “That's it. We don't ask questions. We call, tell them we have merchandise, and they send someone to pick up.”

“Who picks up?” My pulse quickens. “Give me details.”

“A biker,” he blurts out. “Always a biker. Wears colors like yours. Black and blue patch.”

A chill runs through me. Those colors are ours. This is what Ace has been up to. His dirty money comes from abducting and selling women.

Those colors are ours.

Ace.

His side hustle. His dirty money.

He’s been abducting and selling women under the Heaven’s Rejects name.

I shove Jason against the wall hard enough to rattle the frame. “Where’s the fourth guy?”

Jason blinks, dazed. “Wh-what?”

“The night you tried to abduct Charlotte,” I snarl. “There were four of you. Where the fuck is he? ”

“Fourth? You mean the new guy?”

“Don’t play dumb,” I snap. “The one who chased her into the loading dock. The one I almost put a bullet in.”

“We don’t know him,” Jason blurts.

“He wasn’t one of us,” Black Polo coughs from the floor, blood staining his teeth. “Some outside contractor.”

My grip tightens. “Bullshit.”

“It’s true,” he wheezes. “We usually work as a three-man team. The fourth guy—he was brought in special for that job.”

Something cold settles in my gut. “Special how?”

“He came with specific instructions. Just for her. We were told to provide backup, but she was his mark.”

Before I can press further, a groan echoes from the bathroom.

Bathroom Guy. I almost forgot him.

I turn just as he stumbles into the room—bloodied, off-balance, and clearly not smart enough to stay down. His hands are empty, but his eyes are wild, and he takes one shaky step forward like he’s thinking about doing something stupid.

Bang.

The gunshot cracks through the air.

Bathroom Guy drops instantly, hitting the floor face-first in a heap.

I look over.

V lowers his pistol like he just swatted a fly. “What? He startled me.”

I arch a brow. “He didn’t even have a weapon.”

“He groaned like he was about to try something. I’m not taking chances.”

I stare down at the corpse. “Well. One down.”

V nods toward Black Polo, still curled up and wheezing. “One nearly down.”

Then his eyes land on Jason.

“And one left to talk.”

Jason’s face goes pale.

Good. Now we’re getting somewhere.

“New guy mentioned a name,” Jason mutters, voice shaking. “Terrance. Said the woman was his wife who took off.”

The name hits me like a freight train.

“ Ex -wife,” I snap, the correction automatic, venom lacing every syllable. My blood goes cold. Terrance. That bastard.

Charlotte’s abuser. The man who beat her into silence, cut her off from everyone, and forced her into a life so tightly controlled it took her years to claw her way out. And now he wants her back—wants to drag her back in chains like she’s still his to break.

Not. A. Fucking. Chance.

I tighten my grip on Jason’s shirt, jerking him closer until he’s eye to eye with me.

“Where is he?” I snarl. “You’re fucking dead either way. But I can make it quick…” I drag the gun barrel slowly across his cheek. “Or I can make it slow enough you beg for it.”

Jason’s shaking now, the blood from his nose mixing with sweat. “The fourth guy… the one who chased her? He’s staying at the Desert Palms Motel. Or that’s where we picked him up. I don’t know if he’s still?—”

“Name,” I bark.

“Vince. Or Victor. Something with a V. Vincent,” he spits, flinching. “Vincent Holloway.”

Black Polo tries to push himself upright, groaning as he clutches his ribs—but he gets halfway up before slumping back against the wall. His head lolls sideways and smacks the drywall with a dull thunk . Out cold.

That’s two down.

Bathroom Guy’s corpse is still cooling by the doorway.

That leaves Jason—alone, bleeding, and terrified.

“Vincent was sent just for her, ” he continues, desperate to stay alive. “Said she was important. That she needed to be brought in alive, but… it didn’t matter what kind of shape she was in when she got there.”

A beat of silence.

My vision pulses with red.

This wasn’t random. It was never random.

Terrance hired a contractor to abduct Charlotte. The same man who used to control her with fists and threats now wants to control her through cages and chains.

V stands beside me, arms crossed, blood spattered across his shirt. “We taking a ride?”

I don’t look at him. I stare down at Jason like I’m carving the next move into his face.

“We’re doing more than that.”

I slide a full mag into my pistol with a sharp click , chambering a round. “You want his buddy?”

“Nah, you can have the little shit.” He raises his gun, and fires off a round directly into his heart.

His body flails for a few seconds before going still.

V nudges Black Polo’s limp body with the toe of his boot.

“He ain’t getting up from that.” His eyes shift to the other—Bathroom Guy—lying motionless in a pool of blood by the door. “That one’s definitely done.”

Then his eyes settle on Jason, who’s slumped against the wall, blood pouring from his nose, trembling, but still breathing.

“The last rat standing,” V mutters.

I stare down at Jason, chest heaving from panic, his face a ruin of bruises and blood. He’s shaking so badly it’s almost pitiful.

Almost.

My jaw ticks, the fury inside me far from burned out. Charlotte’s face flashes in my mind—her fear, her silence, her strength. The bruises no one saw. The pain she had to survive to get away from the monster now clawing to drag her back.

I loosen my grip on Jason’s shirt and take a step back.

He sags in relief, like he thinks I’ve had a change of heart.

“Thank you,” he gasps. “Oh my God… thank you?—”

Bang.

The shot rings out like punctuation. Sudden. Final.

Jason slumps sideways to the floor, a bullet between his eyes.

I lower the pistol, the barrel still hot in my hand.

Behind me, V lets out a low whistle. “You know,” he says, cocking his head with a smirk, “I remember when you were all wide-eyed and trying not to puke the first time you pulled a trigger. Look at you now.” He claps a bloodied hand over his heart.

“I’m so proud. It’s like watching my murder toddler grow up. ”

I snort. “We’re the same damn age.”

“Emotionally? I’m at least five years ahead,” he quips, then nods toward the girl still unconscious on the bed. “What do we do with her?”

I glance over. She's pale, lips slightly parted, breathing shallow but steady beneath the scratchy hotel blanket.

“Leave her here,” I say. “We’ll call in an anonymous tip once we’re clear. They’ll find her, get her help. No questions.”

V arches a brow. “Really trusting law enforcement all of a sudden?”

“I’m trusting time. We don’t have it.” I pause. “And she doesn’t need our names tied to hers. Not after what she’s been through.”

He shrugs. “Fair. We weren’t exactly clean with this one,” he says, gesturing to the blood-slick floor, broken furniture, and three very dead men. “But I can work with this.”

He’s already moving, heading towards the bathroom and returning with a few packages of disinfecting wipes. “I guess this is one thing we can thank Covid for, huh?” He starts wiping down surfaces the best he can.

I move closer to the bed and stop just short. She’s curled in on herself, barely breathing, a mess of smeared makeup and bruises. Her lashes flutter weakly. Whatever cocktail they pumped into her is still doing its job—keeping her compliant. Helpless.

I don't touch her.

She’s had enough of that.

“Hey,” I say, voice steady but low. “It’s over.”

Her lips part, dry and cracked, but no words come.

“You’re safe now. You’re not going anywhere you don’t want to.”

Her eyelids twitch, then open—just barely. Eyes dull. Glazed. Fighting whatever they gave her.

She blinks at me like she’s not sure I’m real.

Then her mouth moves.

“Annie.”

I nod once. “Okay. Annie.”

“Annie… Annie…” she whispers again, voice trailing off as her eyes close. The repetition fades into silence. A final breath escapes her, long and soft, and then she goes still again.

Behind me, V surveys the room—bodies, blood, broken furniture, and chaos.

“This is the best we’re gonna get,” he says finally. “Hopefully the cops won’t look too close.”

“They’ll focus on her,” I reply. “She’ll be the story.”

V nods. “Exactly. I’ll keep an eye on the digital case file, make sure nothing that ties back to us survives. If it does? I’ll scrub it. Corrupt the evidence, nuke the metadata. The usual.”

I cast one last look at the girl—Annie—and give a sharp nod. “Yeah. That’ll work.”

We slip out the door quietly. So far, no one’s come knocking. Most hotel guests are probably still downstairs, drunk or bleeding cash into slot machines.

The hallway stays mercifully silent as we move fast, blending into the chaos like ghosts.

Once we hit the parking garage, V pulls out one of his burners. He dials without hesitation, keeping his voice low and clipped as he makes the anonymous call. A girl in trouble. A room full of bodies. A location.

He hangs up and pockets the phone like it never existed.

Then he turns to me. “So… we taking a ride?”

I nod, no hesitation. “Holloway’s next.”