Page 10 of Salvation (Reckless Kings MC #6)

Salvation

I barely felt my hands on the steering wheel as I roared through the gates of the compound, my truck fishtailing on the gravel.

The world had narrowed to a single burning point of focus since the moment Yulia and Clover disappeared from the fairgrounds.

Every second that passed without finding them felt like a knife twisting deeper into my chest, the edges of my vision tinged red with a fury I could barely contain.

The truck skidded to a halt in front of the clubhouse, dust billowing around me like a storm cloud.

I threw the door open and stepped out, scanning the compound with hawk-like intensity.

An hour of searching the fairgrounds with my brothers had yielded nothing.

I’d had a growing sense of dread that clawed at my insides.

Of course, Hawk had pointed out that we had no idea if that note was intended for my family or was merely a coincidence. Maybe what I saw as a sinister message was a teenager’s playful prank on a friend.

A Prospect -- Decker, the newest kid -- jogged toward me, his face pale under his week-old scruff. Something in my expression made him slow his approach, caution replacing urgency in his steps.

“Salvation,” he called, stopping several feet away. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I was about to call you.”

“What is it?” My voice came out flat, stripped of emotion I couldn’t afford to show.

Decker shifted his weight, glancing over his shoulder toward the clubhouse. “A kid came by about twenty minutes ago. Dropped off a note. We had an issue at the gate right after and I forgot about it.” He pulled an envelope from his cut. “Said it was for you specifically.”

My blood turned to ice. I closed the distance between us in two strides and snatched the envelope from his hand. “What kid? Who sent him?”

“Just some neighborhood boy, maybe ten years old. I’m not good at guessing ages.

They all look fucking small to me.” Decker took a step back, hands raising slightly.

“Said someone gave him five bucks to deliver it. Couldn’t describe who paid him -- just said it was a man in a baseball cap who stopped him near the convenience store on Fourth. ”

My fingers trembled as I tore open the envelope, the roaring in my ears drowning out everything but the frantic hammering of my heart.

Inside was a single folded sheet of notebook paper, the kind you’d find in any school kid’s backpack.

I unfolded it, a muscle in my jaw twitching as I forced myself to read the blocky, handwritten text.

SALVATION --

WE HAVE YOUR WIFE AND KID. THEY’RE ALIVE FOR NOW. $200,000 BY 6AM OR THAT CHANGES. WAIT FOR INSTRUCTIONS. NO COPS OR THEY DIE.

A photo was stapled to the bottom of the page -- Yulia and Clover, bound with zip ties, sitting against a concrete wall.

Their faces were pale but composed, defiance rather than fear in their eyes.

The sight simultaneously relieved me -- they were alive -- and unleashed a wave of rage so intense my vision blurred.

“Is it…” Decker began, then fell silent when I raised my gaze to his.

My hands clenched so tight around the paper that it crumpled, knuckles going white with strain.

A coldness settled over me, something deeper and more dangerous than the hot fury that had driven me since the fairgrounds.

This was the calm that came before violence, the still water that hid deadly currents.

“Get Beast,” I said, my voice so controlled it barely sounded like my own. “Tell him I need everyone. Now.”

Decker nodded rapidly, backing away. “He’s already inside with Hawk and Shield. They’re setting up Church. Said something about turning it into a war room.”

I folded the note carefully, tucking it into my cut, right above my heart. The photo I kept in my hand, my thumb rubbing over Yulia’s face. The hard, determined set of her jaw. The way she’d positioned herself slightly in front of Clover. Protective. Fierce. My woman. My daughter.

Something shifted in my chest. Eleven years we’d been married on paper, living under the same roof, raising Clover together.

Eleven years of respecting boundaries, of friendship that had slowly, inexorably deepened into something more.

And now, when we’d finally been ready to acknowledge what had been building between us for so long, they’d been ripped away from me.

The Prospect still hovered nearby, watching me warily like you’d watch a feral dog that might lunge without warning.

“You said a kid delivered this?” I asked, forcing the words past the tightness in my throat.

Decker nodded. “Yeah, couldn’t have been more than ten. Skinny little thing with glasses. Said he didn’t know what was in it, just that he got five bucks to bring it here.”

I nodded once, digesting this. Amateurs, then. Professionals wouldn’t have used a local kid as a messenger. Wouldn’t have left a paper trail. That was both good and bad news. Amateurs were unpredictable, prone to panic, but they also made mistakes. Mistakes I could exploit.

“Did anyone follow the kid? See where he went?”

“Brick tried but lost him in the neighborhoods past Main. Kid knew the alleys better.”

A muscle twitched in my cheek as I tamped down a surge of frustration. “Tell Beast I’m coming. And find Shield. I need him working on this now.”

“Already on it.” Decker jerked his head toward the clubhouse. “He’s set up in the new tech room. Been monitoring traffic cams since you called from the fair.”

I headed into the clubhouse, each step measured, controlled.

The Prospect trailed a few steps behind me, giving me space.

Smart kid. He’d noticed what the others would soon see -- that something fundamental had changed in me since leaving the fairgrounds.

The desperate fear had crystallized into something harder, colder. More lethal.

They wanted money. Two hundred thousand by six in the morning. Not a lot of time to get it together. But money wasn’t what they’d get from me. No, they’d made their final mistake the moment they put their hands on Yulia and Clover.

I reached the clubhouse steps, pausing to look back at the compound. At the life we’d built here. The home we’d made. My family wasn’t defined by blood or legal documents, but by the bonds we’d forged through years of trust and loyalty. By the love that had grown between us, spoken or not.

I would find them. I would bring them home. And then I would make those responsible wish they’d never been born.

That wasn’t a promise. It was a fact, as inevitable as the setting sun.

* * *

Church felt smaller than usual, the air heavy with cigarette smoke and tension.

Maps of the city covered the table, streets marked in red where brothers had already searched, yellow highlighting possible areas still to cover.

Empty coffee cups and crushed beer cans littered every empty surface, evidence of the hours that had passed since the fair.

Since my family had vanished. I closed the door behind me.

Beast stood at the head of the table, arms crossed over his chest, his face carved from stone.

The President’s patch on his cut seemed to gleam under the harsh fluorescent lighting, a reminder of the power he wielded, the resources at his command.

Hawk leaned against the wall to my right, his usual easy posture replaced by coiled tension, like a spring wound too tight.

“Let me see it,” Beast said, extending his hand.

I pulled the crumpled note from my cut and passed it to him, holding onto the photo. Some things were too personal to share, even with my brothers. Beast read the note quickly, his jaw tightening with each word.

“Two hundred grand by 6AM,” he muttered, looking up at me. “Seven hours from now.”

“Six hours and forty-three minutes,” Hawk corrected, checking his watch. He pushed away from the wall and moved to look over Beast’s shoulder at the note. “Amateurs?”

“Looks that way,” I said, my voice flat. “Used a local kid as messenger. Couldn’t even be bothered to type it up.”

Beast nodded, eyes sharp as he assessed me. “The club has the money. We can have it ready in an hour.”

I knew what he was doing -- laying out options, letting me know the full support of the Reckless Kings was behind me, whatever I decided.

We’d never agreed to a ransom in the past, and I didn’t want to start now.

The leather of the worn couch creaked as I sank onto it, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees.

My hands dangled between them, fingers laced together to hide their trembling.

“You’ve got eyes out?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

Hawk nodded. “Every brother not here is on the streets. Shield’s got the Prospects taking turns monitoring cameras. We’ve got calls in to the Dixie Reapers and Devil’s Boneyard for backup if we need it.”

The mention of the allied clubs sent a surge of gratitude through me, momentarily cutting through the haze of rage and fear. This was what it meant to wear the patch -- to have brothers across the country ready to ride to your aid without question.

Beast tossed the note onto the table and moved to the small makeshift bar in the corner, something that hadn’t been there just yesterday.

The bottle clinked against glass as he poured three fingers of whiskey into each of three tumblers.

He handed one to Hawk, another to me, keeping the third for himself.

“This is your call, brother,” Beast said, his voice gruff but gentle. “Your family, your decision.”

Hawk nodded, raising his glass slightly. “Whatever you need, we’re behind you.”

I stared into the amber liquid, seeing Yulia’s eyes reflected there. The defiance in them when she’d looked at the camera. The subtle message I’d read in her expression, in the tilt of her chin . Do not pay. Do not follow their instructions. Come for us your way .