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BY THE TIME they reached the posh club Lock would never step foot in under any other circumstances, he was vibrating as much as his bike.
Midnight had passed a few hours ago, and the parking lot only had about ten cars, all worth more than all the vehicles he’d ever owned combined. String lights twinkled from palm trees scattered through the parking lot. The club’s entrance shone bright with a white neon sign over a revolving door that glittered as though made of diamonds. It spoke of money, superiority, and exclusivity.
Fucking rich people and the shit they valued.
“How are we doing this?” Tracker asked. “Just busting on in?”
“Fuck yes.” Lock started to charge toward the door, only to be stopped by a giant hand landing on his chest.
“Hold up, Rambo,” Jinx said. “Give it a hot second.”
Scowling, Lock tried to bat his brother’s hand away, but the man was too damn big. “Fucking move, Jinx. Every second we waste, Brenna is in there suffering through Christ knows what.”
“I know,” Jinx said with none of his usual snark, only steadfast determination. It bolstered Lock, knowing how seriously his club brothers took this, especially Jinx, who had every reason to hate him. “That’s why we need to be smart. We have one chance to get her out, and we’ll blow it if we charge in there like a bunch of hot-headed idiots.
“Okay. You’re right. I know you’re right.” He rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off some of the antsy tension.
“Good man,” Jinx said, clapping Lock on the back. “So what’s the plan, Spec?”
Lock shifted his attention to Pulse, who assessed their surroundings in a more subdued manner, as usual. He wore a large backpack stocked with medical supplies. The man was a walking emergency room. Most of what he carried he’d pinched from the hospital where he worked, but his expertise had come in handy more than once. Hopefully, they wouldn’t need his skills tonight, but Lock was grateful to have him there in case. Ty stood beside him, also taking in the area with a shrewd gaze.
“Ollie… rest in hell, motherfucker… said there’s a back entrance.” Spec cleared his throat. He cast a wary glance at Lock as though he didn’t want to reveal the next plot point. “Once inside the back, you can go downstairs to where they keep the women or stay up to where they do the auctions and have the rooms for the winners to collect their prize.”
“Jesus fuck,” Lock stalked ten feet away, gripped his hair and growled. “We gotta get the fuck in there. Now.”
Spec nodded. “I’ll take out the guard at the back door. Lock, you and Jinx will take the upstairs. Tracker, you’re out here on watch. Ty and I will head down to search the basement. You all have flexi cuffs. Incapacitate and hogtie whoever you come across. No exceptions. Pulse, I want you to come downstairs too. I have no idea who or what we’re gonna find. We might need medical attention.”
“I’m ready.” He nodded once.
“Lock?” Spec asked.
“Ready.” So fucking ready.
He glanced around at the men in his club, armed to the hilt and ready to do battle on his behalf, no matter what he’d done in the past.
Why?
Because it’s what family did.
It was all true. Everything Brenna said. Everything his therapist tried to pound into his head for months. This club was family, not just in lip service but in cold, hard reality. They’d loved him, and they’d fight for him, but they’d also call him on his bullshit when needed, as he’d do for them. And if one of them fucked up as he had after Deanna’s death, he wouldn’t cast them out. He’d help them as they helped him. It’d taken this extreme event to drive the point home, but he got it now.
His arms tingled with the anticipation of holding Brenna again. Whatever had happened, whatever she’d endured, he was prepared to help her heal. A calm clarity settled over his mind, chasing away the usual doubt that lived there. For the first time since Deanna died, Lock felt strong and capable. He had the tools to give Brenna what she needed. He could do anything with the growth he’d made and his family by his side.
“Ready your weapons,” Spec ordered as though commanding troops.
Lock killed the safety on his pistol.
“Let’s go get Lock’s woman.”
Fuck yes.
As a unit, they marched toward the club, ready to fuck shit up.
“GET ON THE bed.”
The queen-size bed in the center of the room with its stark white sheets and disturbing restraint rings on the headboard.
This was it. The moment Kelsie warned her about where she’d cautioned Brenna not to fight. She’d claimed it’d turn out so much worse.
