Page 128 of Boulder's Weight

But the truth is, everyone around me needs protection from what follows me—the darkness that is my family legacy, the violence that seems to find me no matter how far I run.

I open my eyes, knowing I have to at least try and get out of this place.

If Boulder is coming for me—and I know he is—then I won't sit here helplessly waiting to be rescued.

I'll find a way out of these restraints.

I'll get a message to him somehow.

I'll fight back.

Because I've learned something important in these past weeks with Boulder and the club.

Something that changes everything—I'm not some weak woman who needs to be saved.

Okay, maybe I do… but I can at least try to save myself.

As Benji's men position themselves around the warehouse, checking weapons and murmuring into radios, I begin working at the zip ties binding my wrists, rubbing them against a rough edge on the chair's metal frame.

It's painful, the plastic digging into already raw skin, but pain is a small price for freedom.

I think of Benji's words—"You can change your name, your hair, your location... but you can't change who you are. Blood is blood."

He's right about one thing, I am a Warlow by blood.

If that means anything, it means I'm just as stubborn, just as determined, just as dangerous when cornered as he is.

The only difference is, I'm fighting for something worth protecting, and that makes me stronger than he could ever be.

CHAPTEREIGHTEEN

Boulder

"We'll move against the café first," Andrés says, his voice distorted but clear enough on the playback. "The enforcer's woman is the owner, there every day. Take him, we’ll get her to comply with whatever we want."

"And the girl?" Sally asks. "The one Boulder claimed?"

"According to our source, she'll be vulnerable at specific times. We've been watching the rotation schedule."

I feel ice spreading through my veins hearing those words.

They've been studying our protection details, looking for gaps.

At some point, they've learned Kelsey is at the café with only minimal protection during certain hours.

I'm reviewing the intel with Razor in the warehouse when my phone rings, Zorro's name lighting up the screen.

"Yeah?" I answer, still focused on the maps in front of me.

"Café's been hit," Zorro's voice is tight, so tight I can tell he’s barely holding himself back. "Multiple casualties. You need to get back here now."

Blood turns to ice in my veins. "Kelsey?—"

"Unknown. Get back to the club. Now."

The ride back to the clubhouse feels like moving through water—everything in slow motion and blindingly fast.

Razor keeps pace beside me, his face grim behind his helmet visor.

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