Page 72 of Never Distract a Biker

"Track their last moves," I say, thinking of the enemies that dare cross me. "Find a pattern."

"Working on it, boss," comes the reply from Sergei, our intel specialist, as his gaze doesn't leave the triple monitors in front of him.

"Time is bleeding away," I murmur under my breath, my fists clenching. Scarlett's image burns behind my eyelids—her strength, her fire. She's more than they bargained for. But she's not invulnerable. Not with our children at stake.

My heart feels like granite in my chest, but there's no room for softness now. No room for the love that has been slowlyreshaping the iron of my soul. Now, there is only the cold resolve of the man I was before her.

"Keep me updated. Every fifteen minutes." The room acknowledges with a chorus of 'Yes, boss'. My voice is a weapon too, cold, hard, leaving no doubt. I'm the eye of the storm, the epicenter of the coming destruction.

"Prep the chopper," I order, my voice cutting through the tension like a blade. We'll strike fast, from above if needed. Escape is not an option for them.

"Boss—" Anton begins, but I cut him off.

"Expect casualties," I state flatly. This isn't a warning; it's a fact. I will bring hellfire upon those who took her. For Scarlett, I will become death itself if I must.

"Let's move!" The words are sharp, slicing the air. I stride towards the door, my steps are measured, and purposeful. Each footfall is the drumbeat of war, a rhythm that promises retribution.

"Stay alive, Scarlett," I whisper to myself as I step out into the night, the darkness embracing me like an old friend. "Hold on."

The fury within me burns brighter and hotter, guiding me through the chaos. And when I find her, the world will know the true cost of taking what belongs to me.

I stand at the helm, the map before me a web of routes, safe houses, and potential ambush points. My men circle like eager wolves, their eyes reflecting the same icy resolve that's settled deep in my bones.

"Positions," I command, my voice devoid of emotion. The room springs into action, a clockwork of deadly precision. I stare at the glowing screens, data streaming across them faster than most can process. But I'm not most people.

"East quadrant," I bark, pointing to an area highlighted in red. "Sweep it."

Anton nods, his hand already moving across his tablet, dispatching teams with swift taps.

"Boss, I’ve had my men sweep across that area," Ivan reports, never lifting his gaze from the screen. "No word yet."

"Keep looking," I reply, my fingers clenching into fists. They won't escape my reach.

"Communications?" I ask, turning to another one of my trusted.

"Encrypted channels are open. No interference," he assures me. “We can Zero in on conversations involving her name.”

"Good." I don't thank him; gratitude has no place here. Not now.

"Boss, we'll bring her back," Anton says, mistaking my silence for doubt. He doesn't understand. It's not doubt that gnaws at me—it's the raw, seething anticipation of the violence I'm about to unleash.

"Bring me everyone you come across who is involved," I say, the words slicing through the hum of activity. I lock eyes with each man in turn. "Alive."

"Understood, boss." They echo.

"Five minutes out, boss," someone calls. The chopper's ready.

"Time to hunt," I murmur, stepping away from the map. The control panel blinks at me, but I see only Scarlett's face—the fear, the strength, the love.

"Scarlett," I whisper her name like a prayer, or maybe a curse. She's at the heart of this, my reason for the tempest I'm about to summon.

"Viktor," Anton says, breaking through my thoughts. "We're set."

"Then let’s begin," I reply, the finality in my voice like the toll of a bell.

I stride toward the door, each step heavy with intent. My men fall in behind me, a shadow army ready to reclaim what's been stolen.

"Move out!" I command as we spill into the night, where the darkness awaits us—an ally in our righteous crusade.

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