Page 55

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

THE WATER SLAMMED against my back, boiling hot, but not hot enough to strip her scent from my fucking skull. Steam clogged the air, thick like smoke after a fire, but I didn’t move. Just stood there, fists planted on the tile, breathing like a bull ready to charge.

She was still gone. And I was losing my goddamn mind.

My skin still reeked of the girl I’d just fucked, cheap perfume, sweat, some sticky-sweet bullshit that clung to me like rot. I let her crawl all over me, let her pretend she was something special. Didn’t even bother remembering her name. Didn’t need to. She wasn’t her.

She wasn’t Zeynep.

I growled, low and feral, and slammed my fist against the wall. Tile cracked. Didn’t help. Nothing did. I thought maybe if I used someone else—took what I wanted, like I always fucking did, I’d forget. Shut her out. Bury her.

But the second it was over, I felt nothing. Just the same hollow pit opening wider inside me, swallowing everything whole. I rolled off the girl like she was a goddamn corpse and left her in the bed, staring up at the ceiling like she’d done something worthwhile. She hadn’t.

No one else ever fucking could.

Zeynep had ruined me.

She came into my world, soft and silent, eyes like storm clouds and a spine made of glass I couldn’t stop touching. And now? Now she was gone, and every part of me was screaming for her. I couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t breathe without her fucking name rattling around in my skull like a bullet casing.

I leaned forward, pressing my head against the cold tile, gritting my teeth so hard my jaw popped. I wanted to hate her. God, I should’ve hated her. For running. For slipping through my fingers.

But all I could think about was how she used to look at me, like I wasn’t a monster. Like the devil didn’t own me.

I’m not done with her.

She’ll come back.

One way or another… Zeynep was mine.

I fucking saved her from Big John. Gave her a place. Protection. And yeah, I expected loyalty. Respect. Obedience. That’s how this shit works. I gave, she gave back. It was simple. Fair.

But she ran.

I stepped out of the shower, steam still clinging to my skin like the ghosts of every ride I never came back whole from. Towel hung loose around my waist, water dripping down my chest, mixing with the blood from my knuckles. I didn’t bother wiping it away. Let it stain. Let it remind me I was still breathing.

I yanked open the bathroom door and stalked into the bedroom, the woman still sprawled half-naked across the bed, pretending to sleep.

“Get the fuck out,” I said coldly.

She flinched, grabbed her things, and scrambled for the door like a rat in a burning house. She didn’t even look back.

Smart girl.

I yanked on my jeans and cut, blood still dried on my knuckles from the wall I’d punched last night. That rage hadn’t faded. It was coiled behind my ribs, hungry and mean.

The second I walked into the clubhouse, my eyes locked on Torch and Sly. They were mid-laugh over some bullshit at the bar, but when they saw my face, that shit died fast.

“War room,” I barked.

They didn’t ask questions. Never did. My men knew better than to waste time when my jaw was clenched and my fists still bleeding.

Inside the war room, I didn’t sit. I stood at the head of the table, eyes locked on them like crosshairs. The map of South Carolina stretched beneath my hands, towns marked, safehouses circled, intel scribbled in pencil across the surface. I slammed my palm down near Charleston.

“She’s out there. Somewhere close.”

Torch rubbed his beard. “You sure she ain’t long gone by now?”

I stepped forward, slow and deliberate, until we were eye to eye. “You think she’s smart enough to disappear from me?”

He dropped his gaze. “No, Prez.”

I nodded. “She’s scared. And scared people make mistakes. She’s with that bitch—Lucy. And Lucy’s a nosy little shit who doesn’t know how to stay quiet. Sooner or later, they’ll slip. That’s when we move. I’ve got Fang on that bitch’s tail as we speak.”

Sly leaned back in his chair, cocky. “You want her brought back alive?”

I stared at him so long he started to sweat. Then I smiled—a cold, dead thing with no soul behind it.

“She comes back whole. Anyone else with her? I don’t give a fuck if they walk or crawl or burn.”

The room went still.

They turned.

“If anyone lays a finger on her, they lose more than the hand that touched her. She’s not just some runaway bitch.”

I paused.

“She’s the queen to this fucking kingdom. She just forgot who the king is.” I tapped the circle in red. The Devil’s House MC. “I think they may still be keeping her here.”

Torch stood back, arms crossed. “You think they still got her?”

“I think they had her,” I growled. “But it’s possible she’s been moved.”

Sly leaned forward, smirking. “Then why haven’t we lit their clubhouse up yet?”

I turned my head slow, like a goddamn predator. “Because we don’t make a move until we know exactly where she is. You burn the whole house down without checking the basement, you risk killing the one thing you want most.”

Sly swallowed that smirk.

I pulled a crumpled photo from my cut and slapped it on the table to remind them. Zeynep, from last summer. Sitting on my bike, her smile small but real. My hoodie drowning her tiny frame.

“She’s still close. That’s how Lucy operates—she doesn’t run far. She plays clever. Tricks people into thinking she’s weak. She’s hiding Zeynep.”

Torch grunted. “Could’ve moved her out of state already. The Devils ain’t stupid.”

“No, they’re not.” I stared down at the photo. “But they’re soft. That club’s full of men who believe in saving women, they’re weak—easy targets. That’s where I think she is—hidden behind their code.”

Sly scratched his jaw. “You want recon? We got eyes on the clubhouse, but nothing’s moved in days.”

“Eyes aren’t enough,” I snapped. “We need ears too. Word is, they’ve got new faces drifting in and out lately. I want names. I want patterns. I want the waitress at their shitty bar who knows how they take their fucking coffee.”

Torch nodded. “I can call in Brick. He knows how to get information, owes us.”

“Good. You tell Brick he’ll be rewarded if he comes through.”

I leaned forward, tapping the edge of the photo.

“They’ve got her. Or they did. But if they moved her, I need to know so we can blow that clubhouse to dust.

The air in the room turned thick.

“If she gave them any intel on us… if she opened her mouth…”

Torch hesitated. “What then?”

I looked up, voice low, dangerous. “Then I remind her who owns her voice.”

Silence.

“Find her,” I said, straightening. “I don’t care how long it takes. You dig through every back alley, every motel. You watch The Devil’s House like it’s the only goddamn whore left on earth.”

I paused at the door, glancing back at the photo.

“They think she’s safe.” My jaw clenched. “But no one’s safe from me. Not forever.”

***

THE KNOCK CAME hard. Sharp. Like a warning shot instead of a request.

I didn’t like being interrupted, not when my head was full of Zeynep’s fucking name, my fists itching to break something, my gut burning with the need to move. Hunt. Burn. Kill. I’d been staring at that damn photo of her for hours, her soft eyes taunting me like a ghost I couldn’t put in the ground.

But I wasn’t the kind of man to ignore opportunity when it kicked in my door. And Brick had brought me an opportunity.

“Get in here,” I barked.

The door creaked open and in strutted a woman like she owned the goddamn floor. Platinum blonde hair, dress that covered nothing. Her eyes raking over me slowly as she gave me a smile that screamed fuck me.

Fucking patch chaser.

I didn’t stand. She didn’t mean shit to me. Just leaned back in my chair and let my whiskey swirl, studying her like a weapon I hadn’t decided how to use yet. Brick said she had information I wanted to hear, he better be right and not wasting my time.

“Who are you?”

“Ashlynn.” She said it like it should mean something. Like the name alone could stop bullets. She stepped further in, hips swaying, one hand cocked on her hip like she expected me to give a shit. “You and me have somethin’ in common.”

I raised a brow, slow. “That so?”

She smiled—cold and bitter. “Payback.”

That word had weight. I felt it settle into the room like smoke. I sat up a little, eyes narrowing.

“The Devil’s House MC,” she went on, voice dipped in venom. “They tossed me out like trash. After everythin’ I gave them.” Her hand curled into a fist at her side, nails digging into her palm until her knuckles went white. “I was supposed to be his.”

“Whose?” I asked, wondering where the fuck this was going.

“Spinner,” she spat. “That bitch Lucy waltzed in and poisoned him. Turned the whole damn club against me. Made me look crazy. Like I didn’t belong.”

She looked crazy now. The kind of crazy I could use.

“No club. No home. No him,” she muttered, eyes glassy, jaw tight. “They took everythin’ from me.”

I chuckled, low and mean. “So you come crawling to me. Want me to play knight in shining armor? Help you win your man back?”

Her eyes snapped to mine, wild and filled with hate. “I don’t want him back.”

She stepped forward, leaned across the desk.

“ I want to watch them burn .”

Now that... that got my attention.

I set the glass down slow, the ice inside clicking like a countdown. Then I leaned forward too, elbows on the desk, staring straight into the pit of her madness.

“And what exactly do you think I can do for you?”

Her smile was a razorblade dressed in red.

“You’re already circlin’. I know things Drago.” She paused, lips curling. “They’re hidin’ a certain redhead you’re after.”

My jaw flexed.

She laughed soft, like she’d struck gold. “Thought so. You want your ol’ lady back. I want revenge. You bring the fire, I’ll point you to the fuel. I know that club since I was a sweet butt for over a year. Who they trust. Who they don’t. Who slips up when they drink too much.”

I studied her closer. The twitch of her fingers. The way she said Lucy’s name with the same hate I did. Ashlynn wasn’t just bitter—she was broken in all the right ways. Dangerous, desperate, and willing to drag the whole damn world down if it meant someone else burned first.

I exhaled slow through my nose, leaning back again, eyes never leaving hers.

“Alright, Ashlynn. Let’s talk.”

She smiled—wide and wicked.

And just like that, I had a new weapon in the war.

Ashlynn didn’t wait for an invite, she leaned back in the chair like it was hers, legs crossed, eyes locked on me with a predator’s calm.

“I was there, you know,” she said, tone casual, but laced with poison. “The night they dragged her in. Zeynep.”

My hand froze over the whiskey glass.

“Nearly dead. Busted up real bad. Face was a mess, body broken, couldn’t even talk. Looked like someone done her over good.”

I didn’t speak. Just let the rage start to boil beneath my skin like old oil on fire. I knew she’d been beaten but hearing a first hand account made me rage all over again.

“And who was glued to her side?” Ashlynn went on, savoring every word. “Mystic.”

That name scraped against my memory as I tried to put a face to him.

“That ugly bastard never left her room for days,” she said, voice dipped in mock sweetness. “Didn’t matter if she was awake or out cold—he was there. Like some scarred-up fucking guard dog.”

My jaw clenched. Hard.

She saw it. Smiled like a cat who just batted a wasp’s nest.

“Guess some girls go for the broken soldier type.” She tilted her head, those venom filled eyes glittering. “All that pain. All that brooding silence. You know how soft girls eat that shit up.”

I slammed the glass down, cracking it on the edge of the desk. If I didn’t need this bitch I’d kill her right now for pissing me off.

“She doesn’t want him ,” I growled. “She pities him. Zeynep has a soft spot for the weak. That’s all it is. He’s a fucking monster—face like a goddamn nightmare.”

Ashlynn shrugged, calm as ever. “Maybe. But my sources from the inside tell me he’s still glued to her side.”

I stood then, slow and deliberate, pacing behind my chair, needing to move before I broke something—or killed this bitch.

“She belongs to me ,” I said through gritted teeth. “She’s mine. I made her. Protected her. Pulled her from sure death. Mystic’s just trying to get close while she’s weak. She’s so fucking beautiful any man would try, but Zeynep loves me.”

Ashlynn leaned forward, voice low.

“Then you better move fast. Because I heard he’s been real protective. No one gets close unless he says so. Some say he’s already claimed her.”

That sank deep, coiled around my spine like a fuse waiting to be lit. I turned back to her, staring her down. “You want to burn the Devil’s House? Prove it.”

Her lips curled. “How?”

I stepped around the desk, getting in her space, close enough to smell her perfume, sweet and heavy like every bitch in this fucking place.

“I want a layout. Schedule. Entry points. I want to know who drinks until they can’t stand, who talks too much, who might be greedy enough to sell out their own.”

Ashlynn grinned like she’d just been handed a box of matches and told to go wild.

“Done.”

“One more thing,” I said, voice cold. “If you so much as look like you’re playing both sides, I’ll gut you and send your teeth to Spinner in a box.”

Her grin widened. “I’ll die before helping those bastards.”

I stepped back, letting the tension linger.

“Good,” I said. “Now get out there and start proving you’re not a waste of my time.”

Ashlynn rose slow, steady, brushing invisible dust off her dress like she hadn’t just poked the devil and lived to smirk about it.

“Oh, and Drago?” she said at the door, turning just enough to meet my eyes. “If you think she’s not looking at Mystic… you’re already losing.”

She disappeared before I could throw something.

But her words stayed.

Like rot.