Page 4 of Emmy's Ride

“I’m serious,” he said, eyes soft now. “Someday, it’s gonna be you and me. No bullshit. No secrets. Just us.”

And God help me, I’d believed him.

Austin Prez King

The door shut behind Emmy, the distant rumble of her car barely audible over the hum of the clubhouse. The instinct to chase after her was strong. I’d spent years trying to shake the grip she had on me, but some chains weren’t meant to be broken.

The moment I saw her, it was like the air got knocked out of my lungs. Emmy. She looked different, but still so damn beautiful it hurt. Her hair was a little shorter, pulled back in a loose knot like she didn’t even realize how effortlessly sexy she was. There were shadows under her eyes, a weariness she hadn’tcarried before, but it only made her look stronger—like she’d been through hell and clawed her way out.

And those eyes… fuck, those liquid brown eyes still held the same golden flame that used to light me up from the inside out. One look at her and every wall I’d built over the years cracked wide open. I told myself I’d moved on, that I’d buried whatever I’d felt for her a long time ago. But standing there, watching her walk back into my world like she still owned a piece of me, I knew I had only been fooling myself.

My fingers dug into my palms, tension flaring through my muscles like a slow-burning fuse. I knew her. Knew the stubborn fire in her belly, the reckless way she threw herself into a fight if she thought it was the right thing to do. She’d dig into Grit’s disappearance with both hands, push into places she had no business being.

And that was exactly why I had no choice but to keep an eye on her. She’d get herself hurt.

My jaw flexed. I wouldn’t let that happen. That’s why I gave in and let her believe she was helping, let her think she was taking control. It was easier that way. If she felt like she was in charge, she wouldn’t try to shake me off when I kept a tail on her.

Pulling out my phone, I shot a quick message to Diesel.

Follow her. Make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid.

Emmy Carter. The girl who’d once been everything. Memories hit me like a two by four to the head. Long summer nights sneaking around, her breathless laughter as I pinned her to the seat of my bike before taking her for a ride. The way she used to look at me like I was something more than the brash son of a man who never deserved the title of father.

I scoffed, shaking my head. That was a lifetime ago. Before my old man had driven into a concrete barrier with enough liquor in his system to kill a lesser man. Before I’d stepped up to take over the club, carrying a weight that wasn’t meant to bemine—at least not that quickly—but had landed on my shoulders anyway. I was a King. And Kings ruled the club. They always had. My grandfather had started the club, and I thought I’d have years before the job fell to me. I was wrong.

My father had ruled the Kings of Chaos with a fist as heavy as the bottle he was always drinking from. I swore I wouldn’t be like him. Wouldn’t let power rot me from the core.

But responsibility had a way of eating at a man, forcing him to make choices that left blood on his hands and regrets in his heart.Emmy.

Then there was Luke, the closest thing I had to a real brother. We’d come up together, survived the old man’s wrath together. And now he was gone.

It was suddenly harder to take a full breath. Luke wasn’t dead. Couldn’t be. But there was no doubt something had gone horribly wrong.

Emmy knew it too. She wasn’t gonna let this go. And that’s why I’d do everything in my power to make sure she stayed safe. None of this ugliness would touch her.

With a sigh I made my way through the clubhouse, ignoring the calls from a couple of the guys who were deep in their usual poker game.

The place was a mix of old and new—leather couches that had seen too many late nights and too much sex, a bar that was restocked more frequently than it was cleaned, and walls covered in the history of the Kings of Chaos.

Framed photos of past presidents lined the hallway outside my office, a constant reminder of the men who came before me. The first one, my grandfather, Elias King. Then my grandfather’s brother, Ephrem King, and a few uncles. And the last one before my own—my father. Tate King. A son of a bitch with a mean streak a mile wide.

I shook off the memories and pushed into my office. The second I sat down, a knock sounded at the door.

"Yeah?"

Tank stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The man was a wall of muscle, six-four with a thick beard that hid most of the scars lining his jaw. His real name was Dean Hollis, but no one had called him that in over a decade.

Tank had been my right-hand since the day I took the gavel. He wasn’t just the club’s Sergeant-at-Arms—he was the guy who made sure problems were handled before they ever made it to my desk.

Right now, he looked like he had a problem.

"You got Diesel tailing her?" Tank asked, dropping into the chair across from me.

I nodded. "She’s not gonna back off, so I’d rather have her close."

He exhaled loudly, rubbing a hand over his beard. "Damn shame, man. Luke goes missing, and now we got Emmy digging into shit she don’t need to be involved in."

"She’s smart. She’s got instincts, and she’s got a connection to Luke." My jaw flexed. "She’s gonna be a pit bull on this."

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