The next stretch of time came in fragments. I felt myself being carried, then placed inside a vehicle. The engine rumbled as I drifted in and out, vaguely aware of movement and the press of rope still circling my wrists. Every time I tried to fight, the fog pulled me back under.
Eventually, the car jerked hard and slowed to a stop. I heard Dr. Kinghorn curse under his breath as he got out.
My body felt sluggish, like I was moving through thick syrup, but this was my only chance.
I forced my eyes to remain closed and my breathing steady when he popped the trunk. He gently nudged me further back to pull out the spare tire and equipment he needed to change it.
It seemed like forever until I heard the sound of a tire iron hitting the ground while the car dipped a little lower. I pushed upright and slowly crawled out of the trunk. Peeking around theside of the car, I found Dr. Kinghorn struggling to put the spare onto the wheel.
Rushing forward, I lunged for the tire iron, my fingers quickly closing around cold metal even though my hands were still tied together. He turned at the sound, and I swung with everything I had left, catching him hard across the side of the head. He staggered, but I didn’t wait to see if he fell.
I ran.
My thin slippers tore almost immediately on the rough ground. Branches and roots sliced at my bare legs and arms as I crashed through the edge of the woods and swampy undergrowth. Pain flared with every step, but I kept going, gasping for air. The ivory linen dress tangled around my legs, slowing me down.
Somehow, I managed to work the loosely tied rope off my wrists while stumbling forward. I threw it aside and pushed harder, my lungs burning as my vision swam from the drugs still in my system.
Finally, I burst out of the tree line, my feet stumbling onto asphalt. Exhaustion and the lingering sedative made the world tilt.
A motorcycle headlight suddenly cut through the darkness, bearing down on me fast. I tried to move, but my body wouldn’t obey.
3
REV
My instincts reacted before my mind registered exactly what was in front of me.
A pale figure stumbled out of the tree line and onto the road, illuminated for a blinding instant by my headlight. I reacted instantly, wrenching the handlebars hard and laying the bike sideways to avoid running the person down. My heart hammered as the asphalt scraped beneath metal and leather, the skid echoing through the quiet night air. I barely had the bike down before rolling up onto my feet, my muscles coiled and ready.
The first coherent image that slammed into my awareness was of the woman—petite and disheveled, with tangled strawberry-blond hair falling loose around her shoulders. Her delicate face was stark white beneath the moonlight, her hazel eyes wide and frantic, reflecting glints of fear and desperation.
Before I could speak or move, she launched herself into me, her hands gripping the leather of my Redline Kings MC cut in a desperate, terrified hold.
Everything went still, the world shrinking to the frantic sound of her breathing and the shocking softness pressedagainst me. Instinctively, my hands locked around her waist, steadying her as I absorbed every detail, instantly cataloging what my eyes and hands could find.
“Please,” she gasped, her voice raw and trembling. “Don’t let him take me back.”
My body locked down, the impact of her plea detonating something primal deep in my chest.
Wide, expressive hazel eyes stared up at me in sheer terror, and protectiveness flared inside me. I felt a powerful certainty seize me as I held her firmly against me. It overrode thought and logic, everything except the certainty that hit me like a gut punch: she was mine.
Well, shit.
“Easy,” I murmured roughly, my arm sliding around her slender frame. Feeling her shake against me, I cupped the back of her head protectively. Gently, being careful not to add to her fear, but unable to resist the need to reassure myself that she was protected in the shelter of my arms. “You’re safe now.”
My analytical instincts kicked in next, scanning her injuries and the state of her clothing in a single sweep. Her palms and feet were scraped raw, bleeding slightly from running barefoot through brush and debris. She wore something out of time—soft ivory linen and delicate hand-stitched embroidery, now torn and dirty. Clearly not something a woman her age would choose or wear voluntarily in this decade.
The historical style of her dress struck me as bizarre and significant. More importantly, the abrasions on her wrists were fresh and appeared to be from rope bindings.
Though she was pale and exhausted, she didn’t shy away from my hold. Her trust at this moment, however desperate, felt shockingly intimate.
She swayed against me, her small frame trembling. Her breathing was rapid and shallow as the adrenaline began to ebb.The realization hit me again, harder this time, wrapping around every instinct in my body. She belonged to me. Not just because I’d found her or because she needed protection—but because every cell in my body screamed at me that she was mine. The ferocity of that certainty shook me more than I was willing to admit.
She looked up, desperation etched in every line of her face. Her eyes were luminous and striking, even dilated and glassy from fear and fatigue. Yet even as exhaustion dragged her down, the trust in her gaze pierced straight through my chest. It was instant and undeniable.
“Please,” she whispered again, her voice almost too quiet to hear above the pounding of my own heart. “Don’t let him take me back.”
Those words sliced through me like razor wire. Fury ignited instantly, but I didn’t let it show, keeping my expression steady even as my insides coiled into knots of violence. She was scared and vulnerable. Whoever had done this to her was a dead man walking.
