Page 120 of Legacy

“What’s up?”

“The Iron Sinners have Reagan. Are you at the clubhouse?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I need to talk to Sera now. She needs to stop being uncooperative and tell me where the fuck they took her before something happens.”

“Shit.” Something slams on the other end of the line, and I assume it’s his office door.

Ghost doesn’t say anything, but I hear commotion from every room as he moves through the clubhouse looking for Sera.

It takes too long. Every minute, my heart sinks.

Havoc is already on his third phone call coordinating while I wait for Ghost to get back to me.

“Sera’s not here.”

“What the hell? She left?”

“She went shopping with Reina and Wren this morning. She told them she was going to run a couple of extra errands and find her way back to the compound, but shedidn’t.”

There’s silence, and I know he’s probably reading my mind. Sera’s continued staying with us under the pretense of healing, but this past week, she’s been insistent on getting out. It didn’t matter how much we warned her of the risks, she needed a fix, and we refused to give one to her. And that’s if her addiction is even the reason she was desperate to leave. Her disappearing on the same day Reagan goes missing is too convenient for me to believe.

But I can’t focus on that right now, or all I’ll see is red.

“I need you to find her, brother. Sera’s the only one who might know where they’ve taken Reagan.”

“I will.”

“Marcus…” I swallow hard. “Reagan’s pregnant.”

There’s another deathly silent pause on the other end of the line. Havoc’s gaze meets mine, and I swear I see my own fear flood his eyes.

Finally, Ghost’s voice comes back through the other end of the line. “I’ll find her, Jesse. You have my word.”

34

Reagan

Darkness has all myother senses heightened as I’m pulled out of the back of a vehicle. From the uneven ground, I assume I’m walking over dirt. Calloused fingers grip my arm, tugging me to follow faster, and I nearly trip over something.

The creak of rusted hinges fills the silence and then the ground beneath me changes. The warmth of the afternoon sun is replaced by muggy heat. There’s another creak of old hinges, and then I’m led down a set of stairs.

No matter how careful I try to step, the man tugs me harder. He’s more impatient with every step. The hood over my head is musky, stirring up my already sensitive sense of smell.

We couldn’t have driven for more than thirty minutes, so we’re probably on the outskirts of Vegas, but even that is not comforting. There’s no city noise. No traffic. Just silence as wooden stairs groan beneath my feet.

Voices filter through the silence when we reach the bottom of the staircase, and the man guiding me releases my arm to untie the hood, ripping it off.

It’s not much lighter down in this basement than it was under the hood. Outside, it’s still daylight, but the dirt covering the windowpane of the only window barely allows any light through.

My eyes take a moment to adjust. With my hands cuffed behind my back, I can’t rub them or brush the stray hairs from my face.

Slowly, my vision clears, and goose bumps prickle my skin at the sight of three bikers standing directly in front of me. If that wasn’t enough to rake my nerves, the iron cages lining the walls of the basement do the trick.

Some are empty. Some aren’t. Either way, I know I’m joining them, and this is worse than I thought.

“So, this is Legacy’s new bitch?” the man in the center says, drawing my attention back to him.

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