Page 13

Emmy

A full week had come and gone since the shooting.

Seven days of frustration with no new leads on Luke. Seven days of worry as the search for my brother dragged on longer than I could bear.

And seven days of Austin. I sighed, heavily.

My days were filled with my patients, each session an attempt to focus on their pain instead of my own. My nights, however, belonged to him—Austin’s arms holding me close, his sheets tangling around our bodies, his touch unraveling me piece by piece. I was getting in so deep and couldn’t seem to do a thing to protect my heart.

He made me feel too much, and I had no idea how to stop it. Hell, did I even want to?

It scared me how easily I surrendered to him, how naturally I let him take. And God, did he take—his hands, his mouth, his body, all of him consuming me until there was nothing left but Austin.

Like that morning.

I had woken up to the slow drag of his fingers over my bare skin, his lips at my throat, his voice a low rasp against my ear. "Mornin’, baby."

Sleep had barely left my body before he was inside me, stretching me, filling me, owning me.

It had been slow, torturously so, a stark contrast to the desperate, punishing way he had taken me the night before. This was different. This was worship. Bracing himself over me, his muscles flexed as he rocked into me, his weight pinning me down, holding me exactly where he wanted me.

And I had let him because in those moments, when he was inside me, above me, around me, I could pretend that none of the bad existed. That Luke wasn’t missing. That danger wasn’t lurking outside the compound walls. That Austin wasn’t the man I shouldn’t want.

But no matter how good he made me feel, no matter how fiercely he held me, reality was still there, waiting.

I sighed again, rubbing at my temples as I sat at the desk in the room Austin had given me. I had turned it into a makeshift office, my laptop open, a notebook beside it, and a steaming cup of coffee within reach. I needed the caffeine. Sleep had been a joke lately.

With a deep breath, I refocused. It was time for my session with Noah.

The screen flickered, and then Noah’s face appeared,… and I nearly dropped my coffee.

He looked… different.

The bruises had faded, but that wasn’t what struck me. His entire demeanor had changed. His shoulders were back, his chin lifted, and—God help me—there was a slight smile on his face. Not a smirk, not some bitter ghost of an expression, but a real, genuine smile.

The beaten-down boy I had been working with for months, the one who had once struggled to meet my eyes, looked me straight in the face.

“Hey, Doc,” Noah greeted, his voice stronger than I’d ever heard it.

I hesitated, studying him. “Noah, you seem… different today.”

His smile widened. “Guess I feel different.”

I tilted my head, keeping my voice gentle. “Tell me more about that?”

He shrugged, but it wasn’t the defensive motion I was used to. “Things are just… better now.”

My fingers tightened around my pen. “Better how?”

Noah hesitated for a second, then huffed out a quiet laugh. “Well, you know, since Austin paid my old man a visit.”

My heart stopped.

“What?” I asked, fighting to appear calm.

He leaned forward. “You didn’t know? Yeah. He, uh… handled it.” His tone was casual, but his eyes gleamed with something more. “Let’s just say my dad won’t be laying a hand on me ever again.”

My grip on my pen nearly snapped it in half.

“And,” Noah continued, as if just remembering. “I go to the garage after school. The guys are teaching me shit. Real stuff. How to fix bikes, do body work. It’s…” His voice turned softer. “It’s kinda cool.”

I swallowed hard. I had so many questions. But I already knew the answer to the most important one.

Austin.

He’d done this.

By the time I ended the session, I was majorly pissed, my hands shaking as I slammed my laptop shut.

I stormed out of the room, my fury fueling every step as I made my way down the halls of the clubhouse.

When I reached the war room, I didn’t stop to knock and threw the door open.

Austin sat at the head of the table, flanked by Tank, Jax, and a few of his other men. They all turned to look at me, some surprised, some wary, some openly hostile to a woman invading their sacred domain.

Austin’s gaze locked on to mine.

“What the hell did you do?” I demanded, stepping inside.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Emmy?—”

“You roughed up Noah’s father? You threatened him?” I took a step closer, eyes blazing. “You can’t just use violence to solve every damn problem, Austin!”

The room had gone completely silent.

I could see it in his posture, the way his shoulders tensed, the glint of something dangerous in his eyes. I had just disrespected him in front of his men.

Austin stood, his chair scraping against the floor. In two strides, he was in front of me.

“You do not bust in here and question me in front of my brothers,” he growled.

Before I could respond, he grabbed me and threw me over his shoulder.

“Austin!” I shrieked, kicking my legs, pounding my fists against his back. “Put me down, you asshole!”

His men chuckled, but no one tried to intervene. He carried me through the clubhouse like a caveman, ignoring my struggles, my curses, my outright threats to kick him in the balls.

When we reached his office, he kicked the door open, stepped inside, and slammed it shut behind us. Finally, he set me down.

I shoved him, my anger blinding. “You son of a?—”

Austin grabbed my wrists, holding me still. “You don’t get to question me like that in front of my men, Emmy. If you were a man doing that, you wouldn’t have walked out of there.” His voice wasn’t raised, but there was no missing the warning in it.

I glowered up at him. “And you don’t get to decide how I react when you pull this kind of shit! Do you even realize what you did?”

Austin’s expression didn’t change. “Yeah. I made sure a kid wouldn’t get beaten within an inch of his life again.”

“You used violence!”

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “And what the hell do you think keeps you safe, sweetheart? You think the men who shot at you were going to be handled with therapy sessions? With kind words? Sometimes, violence is the only thing that works. And whether you want to admit it or not, you’re glad Noah is safe. His father is trash, and I took care of it when you, or the school, or any of your fancy agencies couldn’t.”

He was right… and I hated it. Hated that I felt relief. He’d given Noah the one thing I’d never been able to. A chance.

Hated that, deep down, I knew Austin to be the kind of man who would burn the world down for the people he cared about.

I hated that I wanted him.

Austin saw it all. His grip on my wrists loosened, his fingers trailing up my arms, his touch shifting from possessive to something else entirely, and I shivered.

The air between us crackled, charged with unspoken words and a tension neither of us could deny. My breath came fast, my chest rising and falling against Austin’s. His grip on my waist was firm, holding me in place as if daring me to pull away. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

His eyes burned into mine, dark and knowing. Too knowing.

"You hate it," he murmured, voice rough with restraint. His lips hovered just inches from mine, teasing, tempting. "But you love it too."

My fingers curled into fists at my sides, my nails pressing into my palms as I tried to summon a denial. I should tell him no. Should push him away.

But before I could even think, his mouth crashed into mine.

This was fire and fury, heat and rage, a battle as much as it was a kiss.

Austin’s fingers combed into my hair, tugging just enough to make me gasp, to tilt my head back and give him complete access to my mouth. He didn’t waste it. His tongue swept against mine, demanding, setting my world ablaze.

I should fight him. Should shove him back and remind him why this was a bad idea. But I didn’t. I needed him just as badly.

A groan rumbled in his chest as he pressed me against the desk, his body flush against mine. His hands roamed, sliding down my back, molding me to him in a way that made me frantic with need.

He owned this moment. Owned me. And I let him.

Austin tore his mouth from mine, his lips brushing along my jaw, down the curve of my throat. “You’re mine, Emmy,” he rasped, his breath hot against my skin. “Admit it.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to hold on to the last shred of resistance I had left. But it was useless. I was already lost in him.

His teeth scraped lightly over my pulse point, making me whimper. "Say it," he ordered, his hands gripping my hips, thumbs slipping beneath the hem of my shirt, teasing bare skin.

My heart pounded. My breath stuttered. And when his lips found mine again, just as punishing, just as possessive—I shattered.

“Yours,” I whispered, the word tumbling from my lips before I could stop it.

Austin stilled, pulling back just enough to meet my gaze. His blue eyes burned into mine, satisfaction apparent in his expression.

“Damn right you are.”

Then he lifted me onto the desk, stepping between my thighs, and made sure I knew it.

His hands gripped my hips as he pulled me forward, forcing my legs to wrap around him. His body was heat, strength, control—and I felt myself melt against him, my body already softening, already yielding.

“Austin—”

He silenced me with a kiss. His mouth claimed mine, demanding, tasting, stealing my breath like he had every right to it. I clung to him, my fingers digging into his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing more.

Austin’s hands wandered, sliding up my sides, his thumbs brushing the curve of my waist before slipping beneath my shirt. Calloused fingers against my skin, the contrast sent shivers racing through me.

“You’re mine, Emmy,” he murmured against my lips. “You feel me? You know it?”

I nodded, breathless, arching into him as he dragged my shirt over my head and tossed it aside.

He stared at me. “Damn, baby.” His voice was a growl as he traced his fingers along the strap of my bra before yanking it down, exposing me to him. “You wreck me.”

Then his mouth was on my skin—hot, insistent—trailing down my throat, across my collarbone.

I held my breath, tilting my head back as he sucked a mark onto my skin, branding me in a way I knew would linger.

But I wanted it.

My fingers fumbled at the hem of his shirt, pushing the fabric up and off his broad shoulders, needing to feel him. The heat of his skin, the hard ridges of muscle beneath my hands. He was all power, all control, but here, in this moment, I had some of it too.

I let my nails drag down his chest, teasing, provoking. His breath hitched, his grip tightening on my thighs. My eyes trailed the dark ink etched into his skin—his tattoos never failed to steal my breath.

A full sleeve wrapped his muscular arms, intricate patterns of skulls, roses, and winding script that told a story only he could read. But it was the bold lettering inked across his chest— La Vida Loca —that always pulled me in, a permanent reminder of the life he lived. My fingers paused there, tracing the curve of each letter, the rough texture of the ink against his warm skin making my palms tingle.

Then there was the silver barbell piercing his right nipple, something that had always driven me a little wild. I brushed my thumb over it, just to watch the way his body tensed beneath my touch and, God, I loved the way he responded—raw, powerful, completely mine.

He pushed me back onto the desk, covering me with his body, his weight pressing me down. His hands everywhere—tracing, kneading, owning.

I felt him against me, hard and hot, and a desperate sound escaped my lips. “Austin, please.”

His gaze snapped to mine. His jaw was tight, his breath ragged.

“You want me, baby?”

My fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer. “I need you.”

That was all it took.

He stripped the rest of my clothes away with reckless urgency. Then he was there, pushing into me, filling me inch by inch.

Austin stilled, his forehead pressing against mine. His breathing was heavy, labored. “You feel that? That’s me inside you. That’s us, Emmy. There’s no getting away from this.”

He was right. There was no running from this. No pretending it wasn’t real. When he moved, and all thought disappeared.

Austin took me with deep, deliberate strokes—slow at first, drawing it out, making me feel every inch of him. Then faster, harder, pushing me higher and higher until I was gasping, clawing at his shoulders, my body trembling beneath him.

“Say it,” he demanded, his lips brushing against my ear. “Tell me who you belong to.”

My body clenched around him, pleasure building fast, overwhelming.

“You.” I forced the words out, panting. “Only you, Austin.”

He groaned, his thrusts turning frantic, his grip almost bruising as he drove us both over the edge.

And when we came together, my name was the only thing on his lips.

The scent of soap and Austin lingered on my skin, a reminder of how he had tended to me in the shower—his touch both gentle and thorough, washing away the evidence of our time together but leaving his mark on me in ways I couldn't erase. The contrast between the way he had possessed me earlier and the care he had shown after left my mind spinning.

Now, wrapped in one of his shirts and a pair of shorts, I stood in his kitchenette, staring down at the vegetables I’d run down to the club kitchen to get and was now mindlessly chopping. The truth was I had no idea if he would be back in time to eat what I cooked. That was the reality of being with Austin.

He had obligations. Responsibilities. And if I wanted to stay with him—if I was even capable of giving myself fully—then I would have to accept that.

Could I?

Before I could dwell on the question, a knock sounded at the door.

I wiped my hands on a towel and moved toward it, opening it to reveal Riot.

I remembered him from before, one of Luke’s closest friends once upon a time, until they had a falling out. I never knew what happened between them, only that their friendship had never been the same.

“Riot,” I said cautiously.

He gave me a small smirk, leaning against the doorframe. “Austin’s asking for you. He’s out back on the deck.”

That wasn’t surprising. Austin must have found something else out about Luke.

I nodded and turned back toward the kitchen, slipping my shoes on. “Alright. Let’s go.”

He moved to the side as I stepped past him into the hallway.

“We’ve got to go this way,” he said, tilting his head toward a door that I knew didn’t go to the deck.

I frowned. “You mean out to the alley?”

“Yeah. He asked me to pick up something back there. You don’t mind, do you?” His lip jumped nervously, and something about the way he looked at me made my stomach tighten.

“Sure. Fine.” It made no sense. There was nothing back there but trashcans and old tires from the garage.

Before I could second-guess, I stepped through the door, following Riot.

It was completely dark, no way to get my bearings. Something rough and sticky was slapped over my mouth before I could scream. Hands—large, strong hands—gripped my wrists, pinning them behind my back, and more tape was wrapped around them.

I thrashed, kicked, but Riot was too big, too strong.

Panic exploded in my chest as a bag was shoved over my head, cutting off my sight completely. The fabric smelled musty, stale, and I gasped against the tape, my breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

No, no, no.

I fought, twisting my body, pulling at the arms restraining me.

“Feisty little thing,” Riot muttered. There was no amusement in his tone, only cold efficiency.

This wasn’t a mistake. This wasn’t some sick prank.

I screamed against the tape, the sound muffled. Suddenly, I was lifted, slung over a shoulder like I weighed nothing.

A door creaked open. Then… falling. I landed hard against something solid, the air knocked from my lungs.

A vehicle door slammed. A van probably. An engine rumbled to life.

My mind raced, desperation creeping in. Think, Emmy. Think.

Where were they taking me? Who was behind this? Was it Riot, or was he just a pawn?

But in the deepest part of my gut, I already knew the answer.

The Ghost.

The name slithered through my mind, leaving behind a trail of ice.

Riot was working with The Ghost? Which would make Riot a mole within the club. I remembered enough to know betrayal was a death sentence.

I needed to stay calm. Needed to think because whatever was waiting for me at the end of this ride, I had to be ready.

I tried to gauge the time span when the van finally rolled to a stop, the hum of the engine cutting off. A few hours if I had to guess. Doors creaked open, then rough hands grabbed me again.

I fought, wiggling in their grip, but it was useless.

I was dragged forward. The air changed—stale, damp, like an old warehouse. A few more steps and then concrete beneath my knees as I was dropped unceremoniously to the ground.

The bag was ripped from my head, and then the tape was stripped off, causing me to scream at the sharp pain. Worse than any waxing I’d ever had.

I blinked against the dim, flickering light.

The towering, surly figure before me could only be The Ghost.

He was tall, lean but muscled, his features sharp and inhumanly cold. A man who was used to power. Used to being feared.

His lips curled into a mocking smile.

“Well, well,” he murmured, stepping forward, his hands clasped behind his back. “The infamous Emmy Carter. Luke’s little sister.”

My blood ran cold.

Stay calm. Don’t let him see your fear.

I lifted my chin, refusing to shrink beneath his stare. “Where’s my brother?” I demanded.

The Ghost laughed, a deliberately cruel sound.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, crouching down so we were eye level. His hand reached out, trailing along my jaw in a touch that made my skin crawl. “Luke isn’t coming to save you.”

His fingers tightened, gripping my chin, forcing me to hold his gaze.

“You see, your brother made a deal,” The Ghost continued, his voice deceptively smooth. “And when it came time to pay his debt, he got… difficult.”

I swallowed hard. “What did you do to him?” I whispered.

He smiled. Too wide. Too pleased. “I had him killed.”

The words hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest.

No. No, it couldn’t be true.

But the look in his eyes told me everything I needed to know.

My stomach lurched, bile rising in my throat. My brother—gone. Murdered. And I was next.

Tears burned in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

The Ghost tilted his head, studying me. “But don’t worry, darling. Luke still owes me, and now…” His hand slid lower, tracing my throat, then lower, the threat clear.

“You’re his payment.”

Then he reached for my shirt, gripped the fabric, and tore it open.

As his fingers grazed my skin, cold and impersonal, my entire body recoiled. Disgust. Terror. Rage. They all slammed into me at once, twisting into something jagged and volatile inside my chest.

His grip tightened on my chin, forcing me to look up at him, his sick grin growing as he drank in the fear in my eyes.

“She’s a fighter,” he mused, his tone almost appreciative. “That’ll drive the price up.”

Price?

He tsked, trailing a finger down the exposed skin of my chest.

“Shame you’re not a virgin,” he sighed, mocking disappointment dripping from his voice. “Could’ve fetched at least double even at your age.”

Oh, God.

Dark market. Trafficking. The realization hit like ice in my veins.

Money. That’s what I was worth to him. Just a fucking transaction.

I wanted to scream. Wanted to rip his throat out.

But I was trapped with my hands still taped behind my back. Vulnerable.

His hand moved lower, rough fingers closing over my breast, squeezing painfully.

No.

No.

Pure, blinding rage exploded inside me.

I lashed out—fast and brutal, sinking my teeth into his wrist.

The Ghost snarled, jerking back, but not before I bit down harder, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth.

His other hand came crashing across my face, the force of the slap sending me reeling, my vision swimming.

Pain exploded in my jaw. I stifled a cry, my head snapping to the side, my ears ringing from the blow.

Before I could recover, fingers tangled in my hair, yanking my head back.

The Ghost’s face was twisted in fury, his breath hot against my cheek.

“You little bitch,” he hissed.

My chest heaved, adrenaline pumping. But even through the haze of fear, I didn’t back down. I glared up at him, eyes burning, spitting blood onto the ground between us.

“Try that again,” I said through gritted teeth, “and I’ll rip your fucking throat out.”

His lips curled, his amusement slowly returning.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, brushing a thumb over my swollen lip. “I do love when they fight. Your training will be fun. I might even do it myself.”

He stood, looming over me. “But make no mistake,” he said, voice dropping to something lethal, final. “You’re mine now.”

The door behind us creaked open.

One of his men stepped in, a deep scar running down his cheek.

“Boss,” the man said. “There’s a buyer waiting for confirmation.”

The Ghost exhaled, like he was annoyed at the interruption.

Then he smiled down at me, eyes dark and hungry.

“Lucky girl,” he murmured, gripping my face hard enough to bruise. “Looks like I’ll have to wait to test the goods.”

Then he shoved me back against the cold concrete floor, turning on his heel.

Pain shot through my spine, but I refused to let the fear take hold.

Think. Find a way out. Because if I didn’t… I wasn’t getting out of here alive, and never seeing Austin again wasn’t an option. I wanted my chance at a life with him. I wanted to see the faces of our children.

Luke.

Tears filled my eyes.

“No,” I declared to the empty room. I needed to stay strong; this was not the time to fall apart.

Be smart. Be ready.

I started working on the tape around my hands.