Page 151 of 12 Months of Mayhem

“Sounds like they’ve got your fighting spirit already,” I say, a smile tugging at my lips.

“Don’t you start,” she warns, but I can hear the affection beneath her gruff tone. “I hate this. I hate being apart from you, the kids, and from everything going on.”

“I know, Rem. I hate it as much as you do, but if all goes to plan, we won’t be apart much longer.”

“God, I hope so. Life just keeps kicking us when we’re down. I’m ready for some peace.”

“Peace and motorcycle clubs, darlin’?”

“Yeah, I know. Pipe dream.”

“We’ll make it happen,” I promise, even as doubt gnaws at my gut. But before I can say more, my phone beeps with an incoming text. “Hold on, Rem.”

I pull it away from my face, and I see the message from Voodoo. Two words that set everything in motion.

They’re moving.

“Gotta go, darlin’,” I tell her. “It’s time.”

“Be careful. Come back to us.”

“Always,” I vow, ending the call.

I’m on my feet in an instant, adrenaline surging through my veins. The clubhouse erupts into controlled chaos as I bark orders, my brothers and sisters falling into formation with practiced ease. The roar of Harleys fills the air as we mount up.

The night air whips against my face as we tear through the streets. I lead the pack, my mind racing faster than my bike. Thankfully, Harlow and Tinsley already moved Meredith to the location. With any luck, I would beat the cartel there, and our play will work. Everything hinges on it.

I peel off from the group, heading straight towards the warehouse while the rest move into their positions.

The warehouse looms before me. I kill the engine of my Harley and hop off the bike. My boots crunch on the gravel as I approach the factory.

I slip inside through a side door, my hand instinctively resting on the gun at my hip. The interior is dimly lit. My eyes adjust quickly, scanning the space until they land on Meredith.

She’s slumped in a metal chair, her blonde hair hanging limply around her face. Even from here, I can see the rise and fall of her chest – still sedated, thank fuck.

I nod to Tinsley and Harlow, jerking my head towards the back exit. “Time to make yourselves scarce,” I mutter. They hesitate for a moment, concern etched on their faces, but a sharp look from me sends them moving.

The warehouse falls silent again, save for Meredith’s shallow breathing. I position myself behind a stack of crates. The air feels heavy, charged with anticipation.

Car doors slam outside. Guess that aren’t ones for being quiet. My muscles taut, ready for action. The large metal door groans as it’s pushed open, flooding the space with harsh light from the cars outside.

Two men in crisp suits enter the building. Behind them, four burly figures follow – enforcers most likely, their bulky frames betraying the presence of concealed weapons. Their suits exude an air of authority, their eyes scanning the warehouse with calculating precision.

“Spread out,” one of the leader’s orders, carrying a hint of a New York accent. “Find her.”

The enforcers fan out, their movements efficient and practiced. I press myself further into the darkness, my breath slow and controlled. My heart pounds in my chest, but years of experience keep me steady. I watch as one of the enforcers approaches Meredith’s slumped form, his hand reaching out to check her pulse.

“She’s alive,” he calls out, his voice gruff. “Just out cold.”

The suit with the New York accent strides forward, his expensive shoes echoing in the cavernous space. He grabs a fistful of Meredith’s hair, yanking her head back. Her eyelids flutter, but she doesn’t wake.

“Wake her up,” he orders, releasing her roughly.

My jaw clenches as I watch one of the enforcers produce a syringe. I know it’s likely filled with adrenaline or some other stimulant to wake her up and get her talking. As much as I despise Meredith for what she’s done, seeing her treated like this makes my blood boil. But I force myself to remain still, waiting for the right moment.

The enforcer jabs the needle into Meredith’s arm, and within seconds, she jerks awake with a gasp. Her eyes, wide and unfocused, dart around the room in panic.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Ms. Crane,” the suit says, his tone mockingly polite. “You’ve been a hard woman to find. Looks like someone left you gift wrapped for us.”

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