Page 94 of Rampage

Tiffany answers on the second ring. When I explain the situation, her professional demeanor cracks.

"Jesus Christ," she breathes. "I was just about to call you. Frank's brother was released from county this morning on a technicality. Walter Dawson. He served ten years for aggravated assault, and he's been vocal about blaming Lily for his brother's arrest."

My blood turns to ice. "Address. Now."

"Walter Dawson lives at 1429 Cypress Lane," Tiffany says, her voice clipped with urgency. "But, Reid, he's dangerous. Let me call in the FBI team. This is?—"

I hang up mid-sentence, shoving my phone into my pocket as I sprint for the door. My vision tunnels, blood roaring in my ears as I burst into the parking lot. The image of Lily—terrified, hurt, calling for me—burns behind my eyelids, fueling a rage so consuming I can barely breathe.

"Reid, wait!" Lane shouts behind me, but I'm already on my bike, the engine screaming to life beneath me.

I tear out of the lot, the front wheel lifting off the ground as I gun it toward Cypress Lane. The world blurs around me, my only focus the address repeating in my mind like a battle cry. 1429 Cypress. Where that bastard has my Lily.

A minute down the road, reason penetrates the red haze of my fury. I can't do this alone. If Dawson has men with him, if he's prepared… I need backup. I need my brothers.

With a vicious curse, I wrench the bike around, tires squealing as I cut across three lanes of traffic. Horns blare, but I barely register them, racing back toward the clubhouse with the throttle wide open.

I skid into the lot, abandoning my bike where it falls as I charge through the doors. The entire club is mobilized—weapons being checked, vests being donned, faces grim with deadly purpose.

"1429 Cypress Lane," I announce, my voice a feral growl that barely sounds human. "Frank's brother, Walter. Just got out of prison this morning."

Lane nods, already directing teams. "Christopher, take six men and approach from the back. Mason, set up a perimeter. No one in or out once we arrive."

"No police," I insist, checking the magazine in my Glock with trembling hands. "This stays within the club."

"Agreed," my father says, strapping on his own weapons. "Dawson doesn't see the inside of a courtroom. Not after this."

Within minutes, twenty heavily armed men pour out of the clubhouse, mounting bikes and climbing into SUVs with military precision. I lead the convoy, my bike screaming down empty streets as afternoon fades toward evening.

My mind races with horrific possibilities: Lily hurt, Lily bleeding, Lily calling my name with no one to answer. The images fuel a murderous rage that builds with each passing second. I've killed before. For the club; for necessity. But what I'm prepared to do to Walter Dawson transcends killing.

We cut our engines a block from the address, moving on foot with practiced stealth. The house is isolated at the end of a cul-de-sac, thick woods providing cover on three sides. Perfect for holding someone against their will.

Lily

I wake with a jolt as rough hands drag me from the van's darkness. Cold air hits my face, bringing me fully conscious in an instant. My head throbs where they struck me, but the pain ignites something primal inside me.

"Get her inside, quickly," a man's voice orders.

I recognize him. Walter Dawson, Frank's brother. The resemblance is unmistakable in the harsh porch light illuminating his face.

Pure, white-hot fury surges through me. Not again. I will not be a victim again.

As they haul me toward a dilapidated house, I twist violently in their grip, bringing my bound hands up and smashing them into the nearest kidnapper's face. He howls, blood spurting from his broken nose as he stumbles backward.

"Fucking bitch!" he screams, clutching his face.

I drop my weight suddenly, becoming deadweight. The second man holding me loses his balance, and I drive my elbow back with all my strength, connecting with his groin. His grip loosens as he doubles over, giving me the opening I need.

I roll away, scrambling to my feet despite my bound wrists. Walter lunges for me, his meaty hand closing around my ankle. I kick out with my other foot, my heel connecting with his temple. The impact jolts up my leg, but his grip falters.

"Shoot her if you have to," Walter bellows, blood trickling from where my kick landed. "But I want her alive enough to suffer!"

I sprint toward the tree line, my heart hammering against my ribs. Behind me, footsteps pound the earth. A gunshot cracks through the air, dirt exploding inches from my feet. I zigzag, making myself a harder target as branches whip against my face.

"You can't run from us, Lily!" Walter's voice echoes through the trees. "There's nowhere to go!"

He's wrong. I've spent my life running, surviving. They may have taken me, but I'm not the same terrified girl I once was. Reid, the MC, Eleanor, they've shown me my own strength.

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