Page 11 of Emmy's Ride

The rumble of my bike cut through the night air as I followed Emmy’s taillights down the empty streets. She drove like she had something to prove, pushing her car just over the speed limit, but I had no trouble keeping up.

She was pissed—her way of keeping the world at bay when she was barely holding on. I had seen it too many times before. That was the problem with Emmy—always too stubborn for her own good.

When she pulled up to her apartment complex, I parked my bike a few spaces down, cutting the engine as she climbedout of her car. The security lights overhead flickered, casting long shadows over the lot, but something in my gut twisted the second my boots hit the pavement.

“You didn’t have to follow me home.”

My raised brow was answer enough as I trailed her up the stairs. Something felt off, and the second she reached her door, she stopped short. Before she put the key in the lock, the door swung open with a creak, revealing the disaster inside.

“Shit.”

Emmy took a step inside, her breath catching. Papers littered the floor, drawers were yanked open, furniture overturned. Her couch cushions had been sliced open, stuffing spilling out like someone had been searching for something. Just like at Luke’s place.

I pushed past her, sweeping the apartment with a trained eye.

Whoever had done this wasn’t just trying to scare her. They were looking for something in particular.

“Stay here,” I ordered, reaching beneath my cut for my piece before clearing each room and circling back. Nothing. No intruder waiting in the shadows. But that didn’t mean the danger was gone.

I found her standing in the middle of the wreckage, arms crossed over her chest, expression stoic. Her home—her sanctuary—had been violated.

“We need to go,” I said.

She bent to pick up an overturned lamp. “What were they looking for? I don’t have anything of real value besides my television.” She froze and gasped, “That’s why they texted. They wanted me out so they could do this.”

That meant someone was watching her. She hadn’t put that together yet, and I wanted her somewhere safe before she did. “Probably. That’s why we need to go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she protested, not even looking at me. “This is my home, Austin.”

“Not anymore. You’re coming to the clubhouse.”

She scoffed, finally turning to face me. “Like hell I am.”

My patience was already running thin. “This isn’t up for debate, Em. Your apartment’s been tossed. Someone’s after you and until I know who, I’m not letting you stay here.”

She let out a sharp breath, shaking her head. “I don’t need you to?—”

“To what?” I stepped closer, closing the space between us. “Protect you? Keep you from getting yourself killed?”

Her brown eyes flared, but I didn’t back down.

“I don’t need your damn permission to make sure you stay breathing,” I continued. “You’re coming with me.”

Her mouth opened and, for a second, I thought she was going to fight me on it. But then, with an exasperated curse, she stormed past me, shoving what little she could into a duffel bag.

It wasn’t a victory. Just a temporary cease-fire.

The second we walked in the clubhouse, I felt the shift. When she was here before, there were only a few guys who had no clue who she was. Tonight, the main room was full of my brothers, their conversations humming low over the crack of billiard balls and the clink of bottles against the bar.

But the second they saw her, everything slowed. It wasn’t just a surprise. It was a goddamn shock.

I caught the exchanged looks, the raised brows, the murmurs. Some of the old guard knew exactly who she was. The younger ones? They only knew what they’d heard—the legend ofthe girl who had once been at my side. The one who’d walked away and never looked back.

Tank was the first to step forward, his massive frame blocking part of the bar. I had known the man for over a decade, and he didn’t speak unless something needed to be said.

Tonight, he had something to say.

“Look, Prez, I get it,” Tank said. “You really think it’s smart bringing her back in?”

---