Page 16 of Emmy's Ride

I shot upright, breath catching as the walls seemed to tremble around me.

For a split second, disorientation clouded my mind. The darkness, the scent of leather and whiskey, the faint hum of music still playing somewhere in the distance—I wasn’t in my apartment. I was in Austin’s world. In his bed. Alone.

Then the chaos erupted.

Boots pounded against the floors. Voices shouted, loud and urgent. Someone slammed a door down the hall.

I was already up, pulling on my jeans, heart racing, bare feet hitting the cool wooden floor as I lunged for the bedroom door.

It swung open before I could reach it, and Austin stood there, his broad frame filling the doorway, his bare chest rising and falling in rapid bursts. I had to force my eyes upward away from all that amazing tattooed skin and the barbell through his right nipple. I was with him when he got that done.

His gaze locked on to mine, eyes burning with something raw and protective, something that made my pulse stutter in my throat.

“Stay here,” he ordered.

I shoved past him anyway. “Like hell.”

“Jesus, woman. Will you ever do what you’re told?”

The answer was obvious, a reply unnecessary.

The hallway was a blur of moving bodies, club members charging past, some still pulling on shirts or boots, others already gripping weapons. The odor of smoke and gasoline was strong, assaulting my nostrils as I rushed toward the stairs.

Austin was right behind me, his fingers ghosting over my arm like he was debating grabbing me. But he didn’t. Not yet.

The second I stepped into the main room of the clubhouse, I felt the tension so thick it nearly suffocated me. Through the open doors, I could see the lot was a war zone.

Smoke drifted in curling tendrils, glowing orange at the edges where flames still licked at a pile of twisted metal. Several bikes had been knocked over, their chrome frames reflecting theflickering light. One of the trucks parked near the garage had a shattered windshield, glass scattered like diamonds across the pavement.

And on the hood of that car, deep, jagged, scratches carved into the metal left a message.

I’m coming for you.

A chill raced down my spine, ice spreading through my veins as I took a step closer.

“Jesus Christ,” Diesel muttered, raking a hand through his hair. His jaw was tight, his eyes hard as he turned toward Austin. “Some bastard tossed a Molotov at the garage. Minor damage, but it was a warning.”

Tank was already barking orders. “Check the perimeter! Find out where the hell that came from.”

The air buzzed with barely contained violence, a storm of rage and retaliation ready to break open.

But all I could focus on was that message. Seeing the destruction brought home how real this life was. Danger was unavoidable, and Luke was right in the middle of it. By default, I was as well.

Austin moved before I could, shoving a prospect out of the way as he prowled toward the wreckage. His shoulders were tense, his movements controlled but deadly, like a lion waiting to pounce.

I forced myself to look away from the twisted, burned-up metal and meet his gaze.

What I saw there—the cold fury, the absolute promise of vengeance—made my breath catch.

His voice was deadly quiet. “You okay?”

My heart thumped hard against my ribs. I wanted to tell him I was fine, that this was nothing, that I had dealt with worse, but the words got lost somewhere between my throat and my pride.

Because the truth was that this was different. This wasn’t just about me. It wasn’t just about Luke anymore either. It was about all of them.

The Kings of Chaos had been sent a warning, loud and clear.

I had no doubt somebody or something was just getting started.

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