My phone buzzes again, more insistently this time. The vibration is never-ending. I pull it out with a sigh, glancing at Thunder's name on the screen before declining the call. Whatever club business needs attention can wait an hour.
I'm lost in memories of Devil's hands on my waist as we danced to a Brantley Gilbert song, of the way he whispered promises in my ear that made my cheeks burn, when I hear footsteps on the gravel outside.
My head snaps up, immediately alert. No one should be here. The greenhouse is on private property, and everyone in the club knows to call before showing up. Thunder never comes out here, so his call can't be because he was on his way.
Through the glass walls, I can see three figures approaching. My stomach drops as I recognize the leather cuts they're wearing, not the familiar Saint's Outlaws colors, but the red and black of The Rebels.
Tommy's in the lead, and even from here I can see the cold fury on his face. From what I heard, he's feuding with the guys. They apparently set him up. He got arrested, probably spent a night or two in jail before making bail, and now he's here for payback.
I reach for my phone with shaking hands, but before I can even unlock it, the greenhouse door crashes open.
"Well, well," Tommy drawls, his voice carrying the weight of barely controlled rage. "If it isn't the club president's pretty little wife."
I straighten my spine, channeling every ounce of Devil's intimidating presence. "You're trespassing, Tommy. I suggest you turn around and leave before my husband finds out you're here."
He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Your husband's the reason I spent three days in county lockup, sweetheart. But don't worry, we're not gonna hurt you. You're too valuable as collateral."
The other two Rebels move to flank me, cutting off any chance of escape. One of them is huge, easily six-foot-four with arms like tree trunks. The other is smaller but moves with the quick, nervous energy of someone hopped up on something stronger than coffee.
"My husband will come for me," I say, proud that my voice doesn't shake. "You know that, right? This is a war you can't win."
"Maybe," Tommy agrees. "But your husband cost me my business, my reputation, and my freedom. Seems only fair I return the favor."
He nods to his men, and before I can react, the big one grabs my arms while the smaller one produces zip ties. I struggle, kicking and trying to break free, but I get nowhere. They're stronger, and there are more of them.
"Don't make this harder than it has to be," Tommy says as they bind my wrists behind my back. "You behave, and maybe we'll let you go home to your old man in one piece."
He's lying, I know he's lying. They drag me toward the door, and I can see a beat-up van parked behind my SUV. My phone is buzzing incessantly in my pocket. Thunder's still trying to reach me, probably watching this whole thing unfold through the security cameras. Fuck, at least they know. They've gotta know, right?
As they shove me toward the van, I hear the distant rumble of motorcycles. Multiple bikes, moving fast. The cavalry's coming, but they might be too late.
"Move," Tommy shouts, and his men hustle me faster toward the vehicle. Pushing me. I do my best to stumble, in order to slow them down, but they pick me up.
The rumbling gets louder, closer. Through the trees, I can see the flash of headlights and the familiar outline of Harley-Davidsons. Saint's Outlaws colors stream behind the riders like battle flags.
Tommy curses viciously and tosses me into the back of the van just as the first bike breaks through the tree line. It's Devil, and even from here I can see the murderous expression on his face.
The van's engine roars to life, and we speed forward when Tommy hits the gas, just as gunfire erupts behind us. The rear window explodes in a shower of glass, and I throw myself flat on the van's floor, my heart hammering against my ribs.
More shots ring out, the sharp crack of pistols mixing with the deeper boom of shotguns. Tommy's driving like a maniac, taking the winding road too fast, and I slide around the back of the van with every sharp turn.
"Shut up," the smaller Rebel yells, though I haven't said a word. His gun is in his hand, pointed vaguely in my direction, and his eyes are wild with adrenaline and whatever he's been taking.
I keep my mouth shut and make my body as small as possible. These men are desperate, and desperate people do stupid things. The smart play is to stay quiet, stay alive, and wait for Devil to rescue me.
Because he will find me. I know that with absolute certainty. My husband might be distant lately, might be wrapped up in club business and his own demons, but he'll move heaven and earth to get me back.
The question is whether I'll still be breathing when he does.
The van hits a pothole hard enough to bounce me off the floor, and I taste blood where I bit my tongue. Through the broken rear window, I can still hear the sound of motorcycles, fainter now but persistent. They're following, tracking us.
Tommy catches my eye in the rearview mirror. "Hope your husband loves you as much as you think he does, sweetheart. Because you're about to find out just how far he's willing to go to get you back."
I meet his gaze, even though terror is coursing through my veins like ice water. "Further than you can imagine," I tell him quietly. "And when he catches up to you, you're going to wish you'd never heard the name Saint's Outlaws."
He laughs, but I can hear the edge of uncertainty in it. Good. He should be afraid.
Because Devil is coming, and God help anyone who stands in his way.
