Page 29 of Property of Blade (Kings of Anarchy MC: Alaska #1)

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Blade

R anger is standing next to me when I get the call from Hannah.

I don’t even need to look at him to know that he can tell something’s gone wrong just by the way I handle the conversation.

My fist clenches around the phone as her voice comes through, shaky but trying to stay calm.

I don’t like it. I don’t like the tone of her voice or the fact that some asshole is making her feel this way.

“What do you need from me, Prez?”

I hold up a finger to him as I listen to the end of the call, making sure I hear everything she’s telling me. When I end the call and turn toward Ranger, my jaw is tight, and anger bubbles through my veins.

“What do you need from me, Prez?” Ranger repeats.

“Hannah’s being harassed by an old boyfriend. His name’s Travis.” I spit the name as though it’s venom. “Find him, drag him to her house.”

I’m already walking toward my bike, and Ranger is on my heels, keeping pace like the good-fucking-enforcer he is.

The tension in my chest is growing, tightening like a vice.

My bike roars to life as I twist the throttle, the sound cutting through the silence, and Ranger follows me, his bike growling behind mine.

Without bothering to look back at him, I talk loudly over the noise of our engines. “No need to be gentle, but I want him alive.”

“Do you know where he was staying?”

I shake my head. “No. But he had a rental, a silver Honda.”

Ranger is a man of action, and I know he’ll get the job done. But the more I think about this Travis guy, the angrier I get. Nobody fucks with what’s mine. And I’m damn sure as hell not going to let this prick think he can get away with it.

P arking in Hannah’s driveway, I swing my leg over the bike and take in her neighborhood. It’s quiet, almost unnervingly so. In Alaska, isolation is a double-edged sword—peaceful yet suspiciously solitary. I’ve always preferred a place where my privacy isn’t subject to neighborhood gossip.

The door creaks open, and Prophet emerges, his grim expression softened by a wry grin.

“You look like shit.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “Thanks, Prez.”

“And you know you shouldn’t have done it. Takes too much out of you, not to mention the damn side effects.”

Prophet grunts in agreement, running a hand through his hair. His gaze flickers to the surrounding houses. “Anyone notice?”

“Doesn’t seem like it,” I reply, scanning the windows for any signs of curiosity. “But we should do a canvas.”

He gestures toward the door. “She’s inside washing the cat. From the sounds of it, it’s not going well.” Prophet laughs. “I’ll give you two some alone time, and I’ll go knock on a few doors.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Prophet, you’re wiped and covered in blood.”

He looks down at his clothes and shakes his head. “Probably not a good look. I might head back to the compound. Want me to send someone else to chat with her neighbors?”

“Yeah, send Hollywood. The women will fall over themselves to talk to him, and so will some of the men.”

Prophet nods, then pulls the keys for the truck out of his pocket. “Will do.”

Reaching out, I place a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t drive. It’ll take too long. Give me the keys. I’ll get Scout to return it to the clubhouse.”

Prophet nods. “Okay, Prez. I’ll just take a walk farther into the woods at the back of Hannah’s house. You never know, I might find something while I’m there.”

“Be safe.”

Turning into Hannah’s home, I pause at the threshold, catching the echo of her animated conversation with Grace.

“Stop it! I’m trying to help you,” she insists, her voice firm yet gentle.

Smiling to myself, I navigate around the corner toward her bathroom. The trail of blood catches my attention, leading me down the hallway and into her bedroom. The once pristine walls mock the chaos inside—the bed is stained, the sheets soaked in a darkness that doesn’t belong here.

Taking a deep breath, the coppery tang of blood fills my senses. I reach for my cellphone and dial Scout’s number.

“Blade, how goes it?” His voice crackles over the line.

“Are you at the compound?” I ask.

“Yes,” he confirms.

“Has Prophet arrived?” I inquire further.

“Hang on.” I hear faint footsteps, the tension building with each passing second. “He’s just landed. Man, he looks bad. Did you want to talk to him?”

“No,” I respond quickly. “Just make sure he’s settled. Scout, I need you and Rooster at Hannah’s place. Have Fury look after Prophet. Get him fed and rested. Something tells me we’re going to need him very soon.”

“Okay, I’ll let them know, and I’ll be there ASAP.” Scout’s voice fades as I end the call.

Turning my attention back to the bed, I lift the quilt cover, then the sheet beneath it. The blood has soaked deep into the mattress, staining it a sickly shade of red. It’s worse than I thought. The silence in the room presses down on me, thick with the weight of whatever happened here.

The soft creak of floorboards breaks the tension, and without turning, I already know who it is.

“It’s not good to sneak up on me, Scout,” I mutter, not bothering to look up from the mess on the bed.

“As if I could,” he replies dryly, his boots scuffing the floor as he steps beside me. “Rooster will be a while, he’s riding in. What the fuck happened here?”

I let out a heavy breath, rubbing a hand across my face before answering. “Someone broke in and tried to kill Hannah’s cat.”

“A warning?” Scout asks, the seriousness in his tone matching the scene before us.

“Could be,” I say, but something in my gut doesn’t sit right. “She has an ex who can’t take the hint, but this doesn’t feel like him. The guy was a pussy... no way he’s capable of this.”

Scout’s eyes narrow. “Who then?”

I shake my head, frustration bubbling up. “No fucking idea. Maybe Hannah can shed some light on possible suspects. But this doesn’t sit right. Something is off.”

Scout stays quiet for a moment, taking in the bloodstained room. “What do you need me to do?”

“Prophet’s truck is out front.” I hand him the keys. “Strip the bed and get rid of the mattress.”

“I can do it,” says Hannah from the doorway.

She’s wearing one of my T-shirts. It’s soaked through, and she’s got a very disgruntled Grace wrapped tightly in a towel in her arms. The cat’s growl is low, a constant reminder that she’s not at all happy about her bath.

I step forward, and a growl escapes me more from the protective instinct clawing at my gut than anything else. Grace buries her head into Hannah’s chest, but the growling stops. It’s almost as if the cat senses something in me that makes her quiet down.

“Hannah, this is Scout.” I nod toward him, my eyes still locked on her. “Give me the furball so you can get changed.”

Hannah looks past me into her room, hesitation flickering in her eyes. “Hello, Scout.” She reluctantly hands Grace over as if she’s entrusting a piece of herself to someone else. “Can you stay with me while I grab some clothes?”

“I can do that,” I answer, my voice calm so she knows she’s safe.

Scout moves past us into the living room, making himself scarce. I watch as Hannah opens drawers and shuffles through her closet. She heads to the bathroom to get changed, and I wait outside the door for her.

When she finally comes out, her hair is pulled up into a ponytail, and she’s dressed in jeans and a simple black T-shirt. It’s a stark contrast to the disarray in her room. She’s still beautiful, even in the midst of this chaos.

“Let’s sit at your kitchen table,” I suggest.

She nods and leads the way, though the tension in her shoulders is hard to ignore. She sits down but immediately stands again. “Did you want coffee? Or a cold drink?”

“I’m good.” I shake my head.

Scout smiles faintly. “I’m fine.”

Hannah offers a small smile of her own before sitting down once more. I sit beside her and gently rub Grace all over to get her dry. After a moment, I release her, and she bolts toward Scout, sniffing him as if she’s trying to figure him out.

“Her name is Grace,” Hannah says softly, a touch of affection in her voice.

I glance over at Scout, who has picked up the cat, and then looks back to Hannah. Moving my chair closer, I take her hand in mine, feeling the warmth of her skin against my own. “Do you think Travis did this?”

A frown creases her brow, her gaze dropping as she processes my question.

“I want to say no...” she admits, her voice strained, “... but he’s been persistent.

” A tear slips down her cheek, and my heart tugs painfully.

I reach up and gently brush it away with my thumb.

“It’s hard to believe he’d do that... he knows how much I love Grace. ”

“That’ll be why he did it,” Scout speaks up from where he’s still standing with Grace, his tone blunt. He pats the cat’s head, but his focus remains sharp, already thinking ahead.

I squeeze Hannah’s hand, pulling her focus back to me.

“There’s more than just Grace’s blood on your bed.

She’s lucky to hold three hundred milliliters of blood.

Your mattress is soaked through.” My words hang heavily between us, but I press on.

“Whoever did this, I don’t think they came here to kill Grace.

I think they wanted to scare you. And as an afterthought, they hurt Grace. ”

Hannah’s breath hitches. “How did Prophet fix her?” she asks, her voice a mix of hope and desperation.

I lower my gaze to our linked hands, the connection between us stronger than any words could express. I want to tell her everything, to spill all my truths, but I know it’s not the right time. Not yet.

“It’s complicated.”

“That’s what he said,” she murmurs, her eyes also lingering on our hands.

“Prophet has a gift,” I say quietly, my voice almost a whisper. Her fingers tighten around mine, and I raise her hand to my lips, kissing her knuckles gently. “I promise I’ll tell you everything, but not yet. Not until we know who this threat is.”