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Her attacker continued to tighten his grip, his gloved fingers closing around her throat with deadly intent. Her struggles grew weaker, her world fading into darkness. She could feel the cold embrace of unconsciousness beckoning her, and with a final, desperate burst of strength, she clawed at the stalker's face.
He cried out in pain, his grip loosening for a fraction of a second. It was all the time Harley needed. With the last reserves of her strength, she managed to break free, gasping for precious air as she stumbled away from the bed.
Her assailant’s mask had been torn in the struggle, revealing his twisted face—a visage contorted by madness and anger. He lunged at her again, but this time, Harley was prepared. She grabbed a nearby lamp, swinging it with all her might and striking the stalker on the side of the head.
He staggered back, dazed and disoriented, giving Harley the chance she needed to escape. She fled from the room, her heart racing as she rushed downstairs, her voice finally finding its strength as she screamed for Trigger.
But her cries fell on deaf ears as no one came. Her attacker, recovering from the blow, pursued Harley with a chilling determination. He cornered her in the dimly lit living room, his gloved hands reaching out to grab her once more.
Harley’s desperate fight was in vain as the stalker overpowered her. With a cruel smile, he silenced her cries with a sharp blow to the head.
Chapter 15
The clubhouse buzzed with voices, the atmosphere thick with tension as Trigger tried to focus on the discussion at hand. But his thoughts kept drifting back to Harley. She was never far from his mind, especially since threats had recently surfaced that jeopardized her safety.
She was at his place with two of his most trusted prospects. They were tasked with keeping her safe, to ensure that nothing happened to her while he was tied up in this meeting with the different clubs. But a gnawing feeling of unease had taken hold of him, a gut instinct that refused to be ignored.
A glance at his phone told him that it was five minutes past time for them to check in. Excusing himself from the table, he stepped away to send a text to Calamity and Jingles. A couple of minutes passed, and neither man responded. Trigger immediately walked back to the table and stopped next to Rock.
“I have to go. Something is wrong. Calamity and Jingles are not answering their phones.”
Rock stood and signaled to Everest and Grimm before leaning over to say something to Stone. Then he turned and led the way out of the clubhouse, not speaking until they were outside.
“When wasthe last time you spoke to them?” Rock asked.
“About twenty minutes ago. Calamity said that Harley was in bed and that everything was okay. He was supposed to update me five minutes ago. I texted him instead, with no response. Same for Jingles.”
Nothing else was said as they quickly made their way across the grassy area to his place. The moonlight cast eerie shadows among the trees. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something had gone wrong, that his worst fears were coming true.
When Trigger arrived at his home, his heart plummeted. The scene that greeted him was one of chaos and violence. Jingles and Calamity lay unconscious on the ground, their faces bloodied and bruised. Calamity’s shoulder looked strange, telling Trigger that it was probably dislocated. Fury welled up within him as he rushed to their side, checking for signs of life. They were alive but incapacitated, unable to speak due to their injuries.
Trigger couldn’t help but feel responsible. He had entrusted Harley’s safety to them, and now they lay battered and broken.
His home hadn’t fared any better. The interior was in shambles, with furniture overturned and shattered glass strewn across the floor. It was clear that a brutal struggle had taken place here. Calamity and Jingles had put up a hell of a fight. They’d been outnumbered.
His voice trembled as he called out for Harley, the desperation evident in his raw, hoarse cry. “Harley! Where are you?”
