Page 6

CHAPTER SIX

FOUR WEEKS.

THAT’S how long we’d been running, hiding in motels, crashing anywhere with a roof and a door that locked. Always moving. Never staying long enough to unpack. My muscles ached from sleeping on lumpy mattresses, my nerves frayed from the constant glances over my shoulder. But we were alive. That should have been enough.

We just had to stay hidden until Drago let his guard down. Then, I’d go to The Devil’s House MC to find Aislynn. She’d help. I knew she would. But I also knew Drago, probably better than anyone. And he wouldn’t stop. Not until he had me back.

We hadn’t been apart since he rescued me from Big John Ricca five years ago.

Lucy was out again, digging for information, her obsession with bringing down Dragon Fire keeping her focused. Me? I just wanted to breathe without fear tightening around my ribs. When she left this morning, I told myself I wouldn’t leave the motel. Stay put. Stay safe.

But the empty refrigerator said otherwise.

Just a quick trip. In and out.

I pulled my hoodie up, tucking my hair beneath the fabric, careful to hide my bright red strands. Be invisible. Keep your head down. The grocery store wasn’t far. Just a few blocks. No one knew me here.

I hoped.

The bell above the door jingled as I stepped inside. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, bright and harsh after the dull lighting of the motel room. I grabbed a basket and moved through the aisles, picking only what we needed, bread, bottled water, instant noodles. My fingers hovered over a chocolate bar.

I grabbed it, a small smile tugging at my lips.

A treat.

Drago didn’t like chocolate, which meant I didn’t like chocolate.

At the register, I handed over crumpled bills, avoiding the cashier’s gaze. Outside, the afternoon air was warm against my skin. Almost normal. Almost peaceful.

Until I heard it.

“Zeynep.”

My blood froze. That voice, deep, familiar, twisted with cruel amusement. Slowly, I turned.

Two men stood by the curb, biker cuts stretched over broad shoulders. Drago’s men.

Panic gripped me, cold and sharp. My feet moved before my brain did, launching me into a sprint.

Run. Run. Run.

Footsteps thundered behind me.

A hand clamped around my arm, yanking me back.

I fought—kicking, scratching—but they were stronger. So much stronger.

A fist connected with my jaw. Pain exploded across my face. I tasted blood, warm and metallic. My knees buckled.

“You thought you could run from him?” one sneered, breath hot against my ear. “Drago doesn’t let what’s his just walk away.”

“I am... not his,” I gasped, my words slurred.

Another blow landed, my ribs this time. Agony rippled through me, white-hot and searing. Tears blurred my vision, but I refused to beg. Not for them. Not ever.

But it was hard.

I hadn’t been handled rough like this since Big John Ricca. Drago had never raised his hand to me.

Had he ordered this?

They dragged me toward a van. My mind screamed no, no, no! but my body was giving out. Darkness edged my vision.

Glimpses flashed, passing cars, oblivious strangers, the bright blue sky overhead.

Help me.

No one stopped.

No one saw.

The last thing I heard was a door slamming shut.

Then—nothing.

I was wrong.

I should have stayed inside.