Page 28 of Her Possessive Biker
“Who saw her last?” I bark, heading straight for the door.
One of the younger guys, Crank, pipes up from near the poker table. “She left maybe twenty minutes ago. Walking toward Main.”
I shove past him. Deadeye and Diesel are already on my heels.
“She’s not answering her phone,” Red calls after me.
My jaw tightens.
That’s because something’s already happened.
And I swear to God, if she’s hurt—
I don’t finish the thought. I can’t. The rage bubbling in my gut would burn the world down.
Deadeye mounts up beside me. “You thinking of someone?”
My hands clench the throttle. “I know exactly who took her. And when I find them, I’ll rip their fucking spine out.”
We split up. Diesel heads for the store. Deadeye rides toward the east end, where the woods curve back toward the old logging road. I take the middle, cutting up the alleyways, back streets, anywhere a rat like Snake might drag her.
The radio crackles.
Diesel’s voice: “No sign of her at the store. Clerk said she was here earlier.”
I pull over hard, wheels skidding on the pavement.
I slam the side of my helmet. “She’s not answering. Nothing. No signal.”
A pause. Then Deadeye’s voice comes through, low and cold.
“Got something.”
My blood turns to ice.
“What?”
“I just found her bag. Tossed near the bus stop behind Fremont and 2nd.”
I’m already turning the bike before he finishes. Ten blocks out, I spot the red beam of Deadeye’s headlight. He’s crouched by the bench, something in his hands.
I kill the engine and leap off.
He holds up the backpack.
Cassie’s.
Open. Half the zipper ripped. Her wallet’s still inside. So’s her phone.
But her keys are gone.
And so is she.
I barely remember pulling my gloves off. All I know is I’m breathing like a freight train, one hand on my gun, the other clenching tight enough to pop bone.
“It’s them.”
Deadeye looks up at me, grim. “How do you know?”
