Page 6

Austin

After a sleepless night in one of the vacant bedrooms, I spent most of the next day chasing down leads, making calls, and shaking the right trees. I’d tasked the other brothers with looking into the fire incident last night, which left me to deal with Luke’s disappearance. It hadn’t taken long to find what I was looking for. A contact from one of our friendly clubs had seen Luke at Rusty’s Bar the same night he vanished.

Rusty’s was no place for a man like Luke to be—unless he was there for trouble. It was a known hangout for the Vultures, a club that had been a thorn in the Kings’ side for years. What didn’t make sense was that Luke wasn’t a troublemaker. So why was he there? If I found the answer to that puzzle piece, I felt like I’d find Luke, so into the Vultures' nest I’d go.

Which meant this was dangerous as hell. Emmy sure as shit wasn’t coming.

I told her exactly that when I found her in the clubhouse’s common room, waiting for me like she already knew where I was headed. This damn club spread gossip like old women at a church potluck—fast and with a flair for dramatics.

“No.” My tone was firm. Absolute.

She didn’t blink. “Not your call.”

“The fuck it isn’t.” I took a step toward her, “You’re not coming, Em.”

“Luke’s my brother.”

I exhaled through my nose, forcing myself to stay calm. “Yeah? And you getting caught in the crossfire helps him how?”

Her arms tightened over her chest, defiance clear in every line of her body. “I can handle myself.”

“Jesus Christ. You’re impossible.”

Her chin lifted. “And you’re an overbearing asshole.”

I dragged a hand down my face. Stubborn as ever. I forced myself to keep my expression neutral. I knew this fight was coming the second Emmy squared her shoulders and set her obstinate ass in my path. I’d been through enough battles with her over the years to know when her stubbornness took hold, nothing or no one could keep her from what she wanted.

She’d decided the moment she heard Luke had been at Rusty’s. Still, I had to try. “Fine,” I bit out. “You can go, but you’re not coming inside, and you ride with me.”

Her hesitation was brief—a split second of uncertainty—but it was enough. I felt it like a punch to the ribs. That pause told me everything.

I waited for her to agree, for her to do the right thing. To trust me.

“Fine. I’ll wait outside, but I’m not riding on your bike,” she said finally. “I’m taking my car.”

The words landed like a fucking slap, and a strained silence stretched between us. I felt that hit. The rejection. The refusal. And fuck if it didn’t sting.

That seat on my bike wasn’t just a ride. It wasn’t just a way to get from point A to point B. It was sacred. A biker’s old lady sat there. A sign of trust. A mark of possession. A declaration of belonging. At one time, that was her place. No one but her had ever occupied that seat.

Emmy knew that. She’d known it the moment the words left my mouth, and she’d still refused.

My hands fisted, nails digging into my palms. I forced myself to swallow the bitter taste in my mouth, to shove down the feeling of betrayal that had no right to exist.

She wasn’t mine anymore. She’d just made that damn clear. So instead of arguing—because I already knew I’d lose—I let out a wry laugh and shook my head. “Drive your damn car and stay in it with the doors locked when we get there.”

Then I turned on my heel, stalked outside, and straddled my bike, ignoring the way my chest burned as I fired up the engine. The familiar roar drowned out the sound of my own thoughts, but it didn’t stop the unease building in my gut.

I barely spared a glance in my mirror as Emmy slid into her car. For the first time in my life, I had to ride away from the woman who should have been sitting behind me.

We reached Rusty’s just as the last light of day bled into the horizon, streaking the sky with bruised purples and dull reds. Shadows stretched long across the cracked pavement of the lot, stretching like clawed fingers over rusted-out pickups and a handful of bikes that thankfully didn’t belong to my crew.

I killed the engine and swung a leg over, rolling my shoulders as I took in the bar.

A shithole. Barely standing. A rotting corpse of a bar, half its neon sign flickering, the other half burned out entirely. Rusted metal chairs littered the entrance, cigarette butts scattered like they’d been stomped out in a hurry. Dirty needles and condoms had been tossed in what used to be a shrub.

I’d been here once before—years ago, during a brief truce with the Vultures that hadn’t lasted long. Rusty’s had never been our kind of place. A hole in the wall, perfect for backdoor deals, hiding out, and making people disappear.

A perfect place to get into trouble. A perfect place for someone like Luke to vanish.

I ran a hand over my jaw, scanning the lot before glancing over my shoulder. Emmy climbed out of her car, slamming the door harder than warranted. She eyed the bar, brow furrowed like she already hated what she was seeing.

“Hell of a joint,” she muttered, pulling her jacket tighter around her. “You sure about this place?”

I shot her a look. “No. But we’re here. And get back in your car and lock the doors.”

A muscle ticked in her jaw, but surprisingly she didn’t argue. I waited to hear the click of the locks engaging before I turned back to the hovel before me.

It reeked of stale beer and regret, the kind of place where every pair of bloodshot eyes measured your worth the second you walked through the door and how easy a target you made.

Dim lights barely illuminated the handful of patrons sitting around sticky tables, most of them hunched over drinks or part of quiet conversations. A jukebox in the back played some old country song, the twangy voice barely cutting through the murmur of voices.

I sent a silent thank you up to the universe that for once Emmy did as she was told. I would have hated the way these men would look at her like she was something to be had, something to be taken. Used.

It sent dark possessiveness churning in my chest.

Mine.

The thought slammed into me so hard I nearly stopped walking. But Emmy wasn’t mine. She couldn’t have made it more obvious than refusing to ride on my bike. It seemed I needed to keep reminding myself of that.

I forced myself to focus. I didn’t belong here, and every bastard in the room knew it. I didn’t give a fuck.

I could tell the moment I was recognized by the change in the air. Charged. Primed.

A bartender with a gut hanging over his belt stared at us warily. “We ain’t got nothin’ for you, Prez.”

I leaned against the grimy bar. “I think you do.”

He shook his head as he reached beneath the bar and came back with a baseball bat in his hand. He dropped it on the bar top. “I don’t want trouble.”

I could feel the smirk on my face growing. As if a bat was going to stop me. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”

The man swallowed audibly.

I gave him my back as I surveyed the room. My gaze locked on something across the room. Or someone.

I fought to keep the impassive look on my face. Sitting in the corner, a sly grin playing at his lips, was Cooper Vale.

Or as the Vultures called him—Grinder.

An old enemy. A former Kings of Chaos brother who had turned his back on the club years ago, aligning himself with the very people who wanted us gone. The last time I saw Cooper, I was throwing him through a window. And judging by the smug amusement on his face, he fucking remembered it.

“Well, well,” Grinder drawled. “Didn’t expect to see the mighty Prez of the Kings of Chaos slumming it in my part of town.”

My body coiled tight, and I didn’t stop moving. I walked straight to the table, planting both hands on the scarred wood as I leaned down. “Where’s Grit?”

Grinder feigned surprise. “Grit? Huh. Can’t say I’ve seen him.”

My patience was razor-thin. “Try again.”

He let out a slow whistle. “Still the same, aren’t you? No foreplay, no small talk.”

He shook his head, sipping his drink. “I heard some whispers, though. Something about Grit poking his nose where it didn’t belong. Something about a certain Ghost.” He set his glass down, leaning forward. His gaze flicked to me, then over to the door… and lingered.

I followed his line of sight, and I stiffened. Damn fool woman. I saw red as Emmy peeked inside the door, found me, and slinked across the room to join me.

Cooper didn’t miss a thing. “Lookie here. Emmy, isn’t it? Grit’s sister, right?”

I stepped in front of her, cutting off Cooper’s view entirely. “Keep your fucking eyes where they belong, asshole.”

“Touchy.”

I didn’t respond. I just waited. Waited for the exact moment Cooper made a mistake. For a long second, no one moved.

Then… a crash. A shout.

The door to the back hallway flew open, and suddenly everything erupted. Two men burst into the room, guns drawn. I grabbed Emmy and shoved her behind me. “Get down!”

She didn’t argue. She dropped low just as a shot rang out.

The bullet whizzed past her head, and my heart fucking stopped. I didn’t think. I lunged. My fist connected with bone, a sickening crack filling the air as I grabbed the closest man and slammed his head against the bar.

Someone yelled. Another shot fired. Glass shattered.

Emmy gasped.

I turned just in time to see one of the bastards reach for her. A surge of rage blinded me.

Before the guy could pull her away, I was there, grabbing him by the back of the head and slamming him into a table so hard the wood split in two.

The man groaned, crumpling to the floor. The fight was over in seconds. My chest heaved, my knuckles bloodied, my adrenaline spiking so intensely I could barely fucking breathe.

As I straightened, a Vulture got his hands on Emmy. The bastard sneered, dragging her toward a back hallway. Our eyes connected, hers begging me to save her and mine promising she would be safe. I moved to follow, but Grinder stepped in my way.

“Easy now,” Grinder said, his grin widening. “Rat is just going to have a little chat with her. In fact, there’s a few guys here who’d love to chat with a cunt like that.”

My restraint snapped. In one move, I had Grinder against the nearest wall, forearm crushing his windpipe.

“You just signed your fucking death warrant,” I snarled.

He just kept grinning. “Then you better hurry, Prez. Cap isn’t one for long conversation.”

I released him roughly, his evil laugh following me as I shoved past and stormed toward the back hallway.

I reached the door at the end and kicked it in.

Emmy was on the bed, hands up, eyes locked on the man hovering over her. His knee pressed into the mattress, one hand gripping her wrist, the other reaching for her shirt.

I didn’t think. I acted.

I grabbed the bastard by the back of his head and slammed it into the wall once, twice, until the drywall cracked. The guy groaned, but I didn’t give him a second to recover. I yanked him back and threw him into the dresser, wood splintering on impact. He didn’t get up after that.

Breathing hard, I turned to Emmy. Her hands were shaking. She sat frozen for a second, then inhaled raggedly and hurled herself at me.

I caught her on instinct, arms locking tightly around her. For a heartbeat, neither of us spoke.

Then her fingers curled into my cut, voice muffled against my chest. “I’m sorry. I should have stayed in the car, but a group of men drove up, they had guns, and they went behind the building. I thought they were setting you up. I wanted to warn you.”

My hand came up, smoothing over the back of her head. “Yeah, you should have, and I should have known you’d never listen.”

She just held on tighter. And this time, she didn’t pull away. My first sign that she was really shook up.

I tightened my arms around her as I strode through the wrecked remains of Rusty’s, my boots crunching over shards of glass and broken wood. The stillness of her in my hold was all wrong—too silent—and it made something jagged wedge itself deep into my chest.

She should have been fighting me. Snarling at me to put her the hell down. Instead, she was quiet.

The bartender stood frozen behind the counter, wide-eyed as he took in the destruction—the overturned tables, the busted-up Vultures groaning on the floor, Grinder still slumped against the wall, rubbing his throat.

I barely spared them a glance as I stalked toward the exit. I paused only once, turning my head just enough to fix the bartender with a menacing stare.

“You made a big fucking mistake,” I said. “Rusty’s is on my shit list now. You’ll be hearing from me real soon.”

The bartender’s Adam’s apple bobbed visibly as he swallowed, but I didn’t wait for a response. I pushed through the doors into the night air, my arms instinctively tightening around Emmy as she shivered against me.

And that’s when I saw them. Diesel and Tank, leaning against the hood of Emmy’s car like they had all the time in the goddamn world.

Diesel raised a brow. “Took you long enough.”

I scowled. “Where the hell were you when I needed backup?”

Tank smirked, crossing his arms. “Thought you could handle it.”

Diesel let out a low chuckle. “Yeah, Prez, you’re always telling us how badass you are. Figured you had it covered.”

I ground my teeth. Smartasses.

“Get my bike home,” I ordered, carefully opening the car door and easing Emmy into the passenger seat.

She still didn’t say a damn word. No argument. No glare. No fuck you, Austin. I can drive myself. Nothing.

Tank and Diesel watched as I closed the door, my movements gentle in a way that had both of them exchanging curious glances.

Diesel couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “You need us to tuck her in too, or you got that covered?”

I shot him a look that could’ve killed a lesser man.

Diesel held up his hands. “Alright, alright. We’ll get your baby home safe.”

I didn’t waste another second. I climbed into Emmy’s car, started the engine, and peeled out of the lot, white-knuckling the wheel.

The ride back to the compound was silent. I stole a glance at Emmy. She was staring out the window, her fingers gripping her seatbelt like she was holding herself together by sheer will alone.

My jaw tightened, but I didn’t say a word. Just drove. I’d never forget the fear I’d felt when I saw her being dragged down that hallway. Knowing what the bastard would do to her.

This wasn’t the type of life for a woman like Emmy. I needed to find Luke so Emmy could leave and get back to her world. Away from the dangers that came with the club. Away from me.

Back at the clubhouse, I carried her straight to my room. She didn’t fight me. Didn’t argue when I kicked open the door and set her down on the edge of my bed. Her continued silence was a goddamn iron bar across my chest.

I knelt in front of her, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“Emmy. Sweetheart, are you hurt?”

She blinked at me, disoriented, like she hadn’t heard me. I reached out and caressed her cheek with my palm, and she nuzzled her face against my hand.

“I’m fine.” She tried to dismiss my concern and that hit me the wrong way.

“You almost got raped, Emmy,” I snapped. “Don’t tell me you’re fine when we both know you aren’t.”

She let out a harsh laugh. “That’s funny coming from you. You don’t get to act like you care.”

Her eyes burned with anger. “You didn’t care about me back then. You sure as hell don’t care now.”

I stilled, my own anger rising. Wrong. She was so fucking wrong. “You really believe that?”

She scoffed. “I don’t have to believe it. I lived it.”

I surged to my feet, looming over her as I ground out, “You think it was easy for me? Watching you walk away and letting you go? It brought me to my knees to lose you.”

She flinched. Just barely, but I saw it. Then she snapped back.

“No,” she seethed. “You didn’t want to lose the Kings. Your brothers were more important than I was.”

My temper frayed. “The club is my family.”

“And what was I?” she threw back.

“You were everything.” The words were out before I could stop them.

Emmy froze. Her lips parted slightly, and I felt the air between us become charged.

Her breathing picked up, the rise and fall of her chest matching mine. Suddenly, we were too close. Or maybe not close enough.

I grabbed her face and crushed my mouth to hers.

The kiss was hard, deep, all-consuming. A claim. A demand. And Emmy didn’t just take it—she gave it right back.

She fisted my shirt, pulling me closer. She met my fire with her own, her lips moving against mine in a way that wrecked me.

It was heat. It was anger. It was years of pent-up, unspoken words.

Then, just as suddenly as she’d given in, she ripped herself away.

I barely caught my breath before she looked up at me, her eyes wide, shaken. Her fingers brushed over her lips, like she couldn’t believe what just happened.

In a voice barely above a whisper, she told me, “I can’t do this.”

My chest fucking ached at the pain on her face. But I didn’t stop her as she got up and walked away.

Again.

And I let her because I wanted the best for her, and the best wasn’t me or my life with the KOC.