Page 9 of Her Possessive Biker (Savage Kings MC #2)

Holt

T he second we roll back into the lot of The Black Crown, I know something’s wrong. It’s too quiet. The energy has changed. The pulse is wrong.

Red's nowhere in sight. Neither is Cassie.

A cold sweat breaks down my spine.

Deadeye frowns beside me. Diesel’s already scanning the parking lot.

“Something’s off,” I mutter.

“Yeah,” Deadeye says. “Real off.”

I head inside. My boots hit the floor like gunshots, cutting through the thump of the music. A few heads turn. One of the prospects takes a step toward me, then stops himself, eyes wide.

Then Red appears behind the bar. Her face tells me everything before she even opens her mouth.

“She’s gone.”

The world stops spinning.

“What do you mean, she’s gone?” My voice is low. Too low.

Red lifts her chin like she’s ready for the storm. “She slipped out while I was counting cash in the back. She went to the store.”

“The store?” My heart’s a fist now, hammering inside my chest. “Alone?”

“We were out of flour,” Red says tightly. “I told her to wait. I didn’t think she’d actually—”

My vision goes red.

“She’s not a club girl,” Red goes on. “She’s used to doing things on her own.”

I don’t hear the rest. I’m already moving.

“Who saw her last?” I bark, heading straight for the door.

One of the younger guys, Crank, pipes up from near the poker table. “She left maybe twenty minutes ago. Walking toward Main.”

I shove past him. Deadeye and Diesel are already on my heels.

“She’s not answering her phone,” Red calls after me.

My jaw tightens.

That’s because something’s already happened.

And I swear to God, if she’s hurt—

I don’t finish the thought. I can’t. The rage bubbling in my gut would burn the world down.

Deadeye mounts up beside me. “You thinking of someone?”

My hands clench the throttle. “I know exactly who took her. And when I find them, I’ll rip their fucking spine out.”

We split up. Diesel heads for the store. Deadeye rides toward the east end, where the woods curve back toward the old logging road. I take the middle, cutting up the alleyways, back streets, anywhere a rat like Snake might drag her.

The radio crackles.

Diesel’s voice: “No sign of her at the store. Clerk said she was here earlier.”

I pull over hard, wheels skidding on the pavement.

I slam the side of my helmet. “She’s not answering. Nothing. No signal.”

A pause. Then Deadeye’s voice comes through, low and cold.

“Got something.”

My blood turns to ice.

“What?”

“I just found her bag. Tossed near the bus stop behind Fremont and 2nd.”

I’m already turning the bike before he finishes. Ten blocks out, I spot the red beam of Deadeye’s headlight. He’s crouched by the bench, something in his hands.

I kill the engine and leap off.

He holds up the backpack.

Cassie’s.

Open. Half the zipper ripped. Her wallet’s still inside. So’s her phone.

But her keys are gone.

And so is she.

I barely remember pulling my gloves off. All I know is I’m breathing like a freight train, one hand on my gun, the other clenching tight enough to pop bone.

“It’s them.”

Deadeye looks up at me, grim. “How do you know?”

I gesture toward the nearby alley. “Saw fresh tire marks. Black van. Same kind from the trail. Patch-Eye used to drive one just like it when he ran for Dogwood MC.”

My pulse slams.

“This was for the debt,” I say through my teeth.

Deadeye nods. “They want to sell her to the highest bidder.”

“They took her because of me. I should’ve protected her.”

“No,” he says, eyes hard. “They took her because they’re dead men walking and they don’t know it yet.”

I stare down at her backpack again.

This was supposed to be a safe place.

I swore I’d protect her.

And I failed.

“Call Diesel,” I bark. “Get him back here.”

“Already did.”

I look around, brain firing fast now. “They wouldn’t go far with her. Not in broad daylight. They’ll hole up until nightfall.”

Deadeye jerks his chin toward the west ridge. “There’s that old hunting cabin off Sycamore Hollow.”

“Too obvious.”

“The old freight depot?”

“Burned down last year.”

Diesel rolls up then. “A contact got eyes on a black van heading west on Claymore Road.”

“How long ago?”

“Ten minutes, maybe twelve.”

I spin toward the bikes. “Let’s ride.”

They follow me without a word.

We find the van parked outside a rusted-out shack a few miles out. The place looks like it hasn’t seen light in a decade. But there’s a fresh lock on the door and boot prints in the dirt.

Cassie’s boot prints.

Deadeye pulls his knife. Diesel checks the mag on his sidearm.

I don’t say anything. I’m already moving.

I slam the door in with one boot. The shack groans under the force. Inside, it’s dark. Damp. Smells like piss and mold and stale cigarettes.

And then I hear her.

A soft sound. Not a scream. Not a word.

A whimper.

It’s enough.

I move through the hallway like death given flesh. My gun’s raised. My body’s stone. The moment I hit the back room, I see them.

Snake.

Patch-Eye.

Another bastard I don’t recognize.

And Cassie.

Tied to a chair, duct tape at her wrists, mouth gagged.

I see red.

I don’t hesitate.

The first one, Patch-Eye, reaches for his belt. He doesn’t make it.

My bullet takes out his kneecap. He crumples with a scream.

The second, Snake, lunges.

I catch him mid-stride, fist colliding with his face. Bone cracks. He spits blood.

Deadeye subdues the third.

I drop to my knees beside Cassie. My hands tremble as I rip the tape from her mouth. She gasps in air, eyes wide.

“Reaper—” she sobs. “They grabbed me—”

“I’ve got you,” I say, voice raw. “You’re safe now.”

I cut the restraints. My hands are rough but careful. She falls into me the second she’s free.

And I hold her.

Tight.

Too tight.

Because I thought I’d lost her.

And I don’t ever want to feel that again.

I press my mouth to her hair and breathe her in like oxygen. “I should’ve never let you out of my sight.”

“You didn’t know—”

“I knew,” I say, voice thick. “I knew they’d try something. I just didn’t think they’d be stupid enough to try again so soon.”

She shivers.

I shrug off my cut and wrap it around her shoulders. Her fingers clutch at it like a lifeline.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“No,” I growl. “You don’t say that. This isn’t your fault. This is on them. And I’ll make damn sure they know it.”

Deadeye hauls Snake to his feet. “You want to question him?”

I shake my head.

“Not tonight.”

“Cops?”

“No,” I say flat. “Not yet.”

We leave the shack behind, burning it to ash as we go.

Let that be the first warning.

They laid hands on what’s mine.

And I’ll tear this town apart if they try it again.

Cassie doesn’t speak on the ride back. She clings to me the whole way, arms wrapped tight, face buried in my back.

She doesn’t have to say a word.

I already know.

She’s mine.

And from now on, I don’t care what it costs—

I’m not letting her out of my sight again.