Page 22 of Salvation

I allowed myself a small, cold smile as I pictured the look on Snake Tattoo’s face when he realized his mistake. When he understood exactly who he’d taken and what it meant for him. The Reckless Kings were dangerous enough on an ordinary day. But Salvation, when his family was threatened? There would be no mercy. No quarter given.

The thought should have disturbed me. Once, perhaps, it would have. But eleven years with the club had changed me. Mothering Clover had changed me. Loving Salvation -- first from a distance, then with growing certainty -- had changed me. I no longer flinched from the darkness.

A sudden noise from beyond the door snapped me back to the present. Footsteps approaching again, heavier this time. Angry. I tensed, rising to my feet in one fluid motion.

“Behind me,” I murmured to Clover, positioning myself between her and the door.

She scrambled up, pressing close to my back. I could feel her trembling, but her voice was steady when she whispered, “Be careful.”

The lock rattled. I widened my stance, centering my weight. With my hands bound, my options were limited, but not nonexistent. I’d survived worse situations than this. And I had more to fight for now than I ever had before.

The door began to open, and I steeled myself, ready to protect my daughter at any cost. These men had made the biggest mistake of their lives taking us. And whether Salvation reached us first or we freed ourselves, one thing was certain…

They would pay for it in blood.

Chapter Five

Salvation

I barely felt my hands on the steering wheel as I roared through the gates of the compound, my truck fishtailing on the gravel. The world had narrowed to a single burning point of focus since the moment Yulia and Clover disappeared from the fairgrounds. Every second that passed without finding them felt like a knife twisting deeper into my chest, the edges of my vision tinged red with a fury I could barely contain.

The truck skidded to a halt in front of the clubhouse, dust billowing around me like a storm cloud. I threw the door open and stepped out, scanning the compound with hawk-like intensity. An hour of searching the fairgrounds with my brothers had yielded nothing. I’d had a growing sense of dread that clawed at my insides.

Of course, Hawk had pointed out that we had no idea if that note was intended for my family or was merely a coincidence. Maybe what I saw as a sinister message was a teenager’s playful prank on a friend.

A Prospect -- Decker, the newest kid -- jogged toward me, his face pale under his week-old scruff. Something in my expression made him slow his approach, caution replacing urgency in his steps.

“Salvation,” he called, stopping several feet away. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I was about to call you.”

“What is it?” My voice came out flat, stripped of emotion I couldn’t afford to show.

Decker shifted his weight, glancing over his shoulder toward the clubhouse. “A kid came by about twenty minutes ago. Dropped off a note. We had an issue at the gate right after and I forgot about it.” He pulled an envelope from his cut. “Said it was for you specifically.”

My blood turned to ice. I closed the distance between us in two strides and snatched the envelope from his hand. “What kid? Who sent him?”

“Just some neighborhood boy, maybe ten years old. I’m not good at guessing ages. They all look fucking small to me.” Decker took a step back, hands raising slightly. “Said someone gave him five bucks to deliver it. Couldn’t describe who paid him -- just said it was a man in a baseball cap who stopped him near the convenience store on Fourth.”

My fingers trembled as I tore open the envelope, the roaring in my ears drowning out everything but the frantic hammering of my heart. Inside was a single folded sheet of notebook paper, the kind you’d find in any school kid’s backpack. I unfolded it, a muscle in my jaw twitching as I forced myself to read the blocky, handwritten text.

SALVATION --

WE HAVE YOUR WIFE AND KID. THEY’RE ALIVE FOR NOW. $200,000 BY 6AM OR THAT CHANGES. WAIT FOR INSTRUCTIONS. NO COPS OR THEY DIE.

A photo was stapled to the bottom of the page -- Yulia and Clover, bound with zip ties, sitting against a concrete wall. Their faces were pale but composed, defiance rather than fear in their eyes. The sight simultaneously relieved me -- they were alive -- and unleashed a wave of rage so intense my vision blurred.

“Is it…” Decker began, then fell silent when I raised my gaze to his.

My hands clenched so tight around the paper that it crumpled, knuckles going white with strain. A coldness settled over me, something deeper and more dangerous than the hot fury that had driven me since the fairgrounds. This was the calm that came before violence, the still water that hid deadly currents.

“Get Beast,” I said, my voice so controlled it barely sounded like my own. “Tell him I need everyone. Now.”

Decker nodded rapidly, backing away. “He’s already inside with Hawk and Shield. They’re setting up Church. Said something about turning it into a war room.”

I folded the note carefully, tucking it into my cut, right above my heart. The photo I kept in my hand, my thumb rubbing over Yulia’s face. The hard, determined set of her jaw. The way she’d positioned herself slightly in front of Clover. Protective. Fierce. My woman. My daughter.

Something shifted in my chest. Eleven years we’d been married on paper, living under the same roof, raising Clover together. Eleven years of respecting boundaries, of friendship that had slowly, inexorably deepened into something more. And now, when we’d finally been ready to acknowledge what had been building between us for so long, they’d been ripped away from me.

The Prospect still hovered nearby, watching me warily like you’d watch a feral dog that might lunge without warning.

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