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I stand a few feet from the clubhouse door, a little buzzed from the gin and tonic, not to mention the two shots of Jack, watching as it all unfolds.
My biggest fucking nightmare.
“Gia,” I call out to her once again. The stubborn damn woman is angry and hurt and too emotional to be reasonable. At first, I just want to talk to her, but then I hear the roar of multiple bikes in the distance. The near distance. My heart rate speeds up because this can’t be good.
Bikers don’t roll up that deep to another MC’s territory if they’re not coming to make trouble.
“Dammit, Gia, get over here. Now!”
She turns in my direction, a look that’s a mixture of sadness and anger on her beautiful face.
I wave my hands, motioning for her to come to me. To get over to the clubhouse and to safety before those bikes get any closer. “Come. Now.”
She looks over her shoulder, and even from this distance, I can see her body stiffen in fear and in shock. It’s not the motorcycles leading the pack. That loud roar is from a black van with blacked-out windows, deeply in need of a new muffler, maybe even a new fucking engine. She turns back to me, and it all clicks, what I’m trying to tell her.
Gia throws her bag and starts to run toward me, pumping her arms and legs as fast they can go as the van picks up speed.
I run in her direction, hoping to intercept her, or at the very least, get in the way of those dirty fucking Iron Kings before they can get their paws on Gia. She’s mine.
Mine.
“Run, Gia!” We’re getting closer, so close that I can see the fear in her wide blue eyes.
She pumps her legs higher and faster, using her arms to push more air behind her to quicken her pace. Our door is close enough she might make it.
The black van engine squeals with the effort of being pushed beyond its limits, but the driver is rewarded for his persistence. The van rolls up right beside Gia, just ten feet from the door. She’s so close to safety, but she has no idea how close the danger is.
“Faster,” I yell, but in my heart, I know it’s too late.
The van slows down almost as if in slow motion, and the side door slides open. A pair of hands dart out to grab her, and I can’t fucking see which of the Kings it is because he’s wearing a black mask and gloves. No visible tattoos or scars. Dammit.
Gia freezes when the hands reach out to her. Horror crosses her face. Horror and a fear so terrifying all the blood instantly rushes from her face. One hand yanks her by the hair, and the other arm hooks around her waist, scooping her up and unceremoniously dumping her in the van.
I’m still running like hell to get to her when the van door slides shut, and the tires squeal in place before they take off, a thick cloud of smoke left in its wake.
“Shit!” I rush toward my bike in a mad dash to catch up to the black van or at least one of the choppers providing cover for them.
For the first three blocks, I stay on their ass, following close enough behind that the bikes weave all over the road to keep an eye on my progress. They have to be going to one of their stash houses, so I pull back a little to make sure the van doesn’t run off the road or flip with Gia inside.
The black van approaches a four-way stop sign, and this is my chance to slide up to the right side, open that door, shoot all the bastards inside, and grab my woman.
Two Iron Kings on bikes leave the pack, each swerving around the van, but I can’t see where they are. Fuck, I need to get Gia no matter the danger.Get us through this, God. Please.
I move slowly to the right, practically riding in the gutter as I pass the two Iron Kings bringing up the rear of the caravan.
The asshole closest to me kicks my bike and laughs.
I stop and turn to him, my silver Glock in hand as I take aim and shoot, hitting that chunk of flesh between the shoulder and the throat.
He falls and takes his bike with him, not to mention the other driver.
I smile. The wound isn’t fatal, but it’s gonna hurt like a son of a bitch for a few days. With them taken care of, I slide past the bikers in the middle, providing up-close protection for the van.
The riders are young, possibly prospects, because their attention is focused on the three scantily clad women swinging their hips on the other side of the street, giving me a clear path to the van.
I’m almost there, so close I can feel the heat of Gia’s flesh under my hand.
The van tires squeal, and the vehicle accelerates into traffic, nearly t-boned on both sides for going out of turn. Both cars honk at the van, but they don’t stop to apologize or threaten the other drivers. They accelerate until the roar of the engine is nothing but a distant hum.
