The room fills up fast. The brothers come in one by one. They don’t ask questions. They just show up. Cole sits next to me. He doesn’t say anything. He just puts a hand on my shoulder. Steele stands by the door like he’s ready to ride at any second. The twins pace near the back. Everyone is here and ready for whatever comes next.
My phone buzzes. I grab it fast. It’s not Lucy. It’s Scarlett.
Scarlett: Her dad just called Sophie. He’s been trying to reach Lucy too. He sounded panicked.
I read the message twice. My stomach drops even further. “Her dad’s looking for her too.”
Pres’s jaw tightens. “That’s not good.”
I stand up. I can’t sit anymore. I pace the length of the room. My mind is racing through every possibility. Did she get in an accident? Did the Southside Kings grab her? The last thought makes my blood run cold. I stop pacing and look at Pres. “We need to move,” I say. “We can’t just sit here.”
“We’re moving,” he says. “But we do it smart. We split up. Check every place she might be. Hospitals. The usual spots. Rook, you take the north side. Steele, south. Wyatt and Weston, east. We’ll coordinate from here.”
The brothers start moving. I head for the door. Pres stops me. “Tiny. Stay with me for now. You’re too close to this. You ride out when we have a lead.”
I want to argue. I want to get on my bike and ride until I find her. But I know he’s right. I sit back down. My leg bounces nonstop. Cole stays next to me. He doesn’t say much. He just sits there. Solid. Present. The way brothers do.
Hours pass. The calls come in one after another. Nothing. No sign of her car. No sign of her. Hospitals have no record of her. Her dad says she hasn’t come home.
I feel like I’m losing my mind. I stand up and pace again. “Where the fuck is she?”
Pres is on the phone again. He hangs up and looks at me. “We’re pulling in every favor we have. Contacts in the police. Contacts on the street. We’ll find her.”
I nod but the panic is eating me alive. I can’t lose her. Not now. Not after everything. Not when she’s finally happy. Not when she’s finally mine.
My phone rings. I grab it and see that it’s an unknown number. I answer fast. “Hello?”
A voice I don’t recognize comes through. “This Tiny?”
“Yeah. Who is this?”
“Friend of a friend. Heard you’re looking for a girl. Blonde. Works at the clinic.”
My heart stops. “Where is she?”
“Can’t say over the phone. But I know some people who might. Southside Kings have been talking about a new girl. Might be her.”
The room goes dead quiet. Everyone is watching me as I grip the phone tighter. “Tell me where.”
The line goes dead. “God fucking damnit!” I look at Pres. “Southside Kings. They might have her.”
Pres’s face hardens. “Then we ride.”
The brothers move fast. Bikes roar to life outside. I head for my bike. The panic is still there but now it’s mixed with something sharper. Rage. I’m going to find her. I’m going to bring her home. And whoever took her is going to pay.
The pack rolls out. I ride in the front with Pres. The wind whips past me. My mind is on Lucy. On her smile. On her laugh. On the way she says my name. I’m going to find her. I have to. She’s mine. And I’m not stopping until she’s back where she belongs.
TWENTY-ONE
LUCY
I stepout of the clinic and pull my cardigan tighter around me, the thin fabric doing little to ward off the unexpected chill that clings to the evening air. The sun has already dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky in shades of deepening purple and gray, and the parking lot lights flicker on one by one with a faint electrical hum. I text Tiny the moment I clock out.
I smile to myself as I walk toward my car, my sneakers scuffing softly against the cracked asphalt. The weight of the day, the sterile smell of antiseptic still lingering in my nose, the endless beeps of monitors, the quiet ache in my lower back from standing too long, starts to lift at the thought of him. The way he’ll kiss me like he’s been waiting all day, not just hours, hungry, yet somehow gentle, his lips claiming mine while his fingers thread through my hair. The way he makes everything feel safe, like the chaos of the world outside the Iron Reapers clubhouse can’t touch me when I’m with him. He always asks first, always waits for my nod, my whispered "yes." With Tiny, I’m not just wanted, I’m cherished and protected. Loved in a way that makes my chest feel warm and full even on the coldest nights.
My fingers dig into my bag for my keys, the familiar jingle of them somewhere in the depths of tissues, lip balm, and my student ID. Footsteps sound behind me on the asphalt, heavy, deliberate boots, not the soft shuffle of a tired nurse or the hurried click of a doctor's heels. I turn, expecting maybe a patient leaving late or one of the clinic staff waving goodbye. Instead, two men are walking toward me. They’re big, broad-shouldered, the kind of size that makes the shadows around them seem deeper. Leather cuts hang over their shoulders, patches I don’t recognize glinting faintly under the streetlights. One of them smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, cold, calculating, like a predator sizing up prey.
“Hey, you’re Lucy, right?” the taller one says. His voice is rough, gravelly from years of smoke and shouting, carrying an edge that sends an immediate prickle of unease down my spine. “Tiny’s girl.”
