Page 59 of Emmy's Ride

No, no, no.

I fought, twisting my body, pulling at the arms restraining me.

“Feisty little thing,” Riot muttered. There was no amusement in his tone, only cold efficiency.

This wasn’t a mistake. This wasn’t some sick prank.

I screamed against the tape, the sound muffled. Suddenly, I was lifted, slung over a shoulder like I weighed nothing.

A door creaked open. Then… falling. I landed hard against something solid, the air knocked from my lungs.

A vehicle door slammed. A van probably. An engine rumbled to life.

My mind raced, desperation creeping in. Think, Emmy. Think.

Where were they taking me? Who was behind this? Was it Riot, or was he just a pawn?

But in the deepest part of my gut, I already knew the answer.

The Ghost.

The name slithered through my mind, leaving behind a trail of ice.

Riot was working with The Ghost? Which would make Riot a mole within the club. I remembered enough to know betrayal was a death sentence.

I needed to stay calm. Needed to think because whatever was waiting for me at the end of this ride, I had to be ready.

I tried to gauge the time span when the van finally rolled to a stop, the hum of the engine cutting off. A few hours if I had to guess. Doors creaked open, then rough hands grabbed me again.

I fought, wiggling in their grip, but it was useless.

I was dragged forward. The air changed—stale, damp, like an old warehouse. A few more steps and then concrete beneath my knees as I was dropped unceremoniously to the ground.

The bag was ripped from my head, and then the tape was stripped off, causing me to scream at the sharp pain. Worse than any waxing I’d ever had.

I blinked against the dim, flickering light.

The towering, surly figure before me could only be The Ghost.

He was tall, lean but muscled, his features sharp and inhumanly cold. A man who was used to power. Used to being feared.

His lips curled into a mocking smile.

“Well, well,” he murmured, stepping forward, his hands clasped behind his back. “The infamous Emmy Carter. Luke’s little sister.”

My blood ran cold.

Stay calm. Don’t let him see your fear.

I lifted my chin, refusing to shrink beneath his stare. “Where’s my brother?” I demanded.

The Ghost laughed, a deliberately cruel sound.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, crouching down so we were eye level. His hand reached out, trailing along my jaw in a touch that made my skin crawl. “Luke isn’t coming to save you.”

His fingers tightened, gripping my chin, forcing me to hold his gaze.

“You see, your brother made a deal,” The Ghost continued, his voice deceptively smooth. “And when it came time to pay his debt, he got… difficult.”

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