Page 33 of Her Dirty Biker
“She’s gone,” I grit. “Someone took her.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then Rock’s voice hardens. “What the fuck happened?”
“She didn’t leave on her own,” I say, already striding back outside. “Lock’s broken. Phone’s still here. No sign of a struggle, but the back door’s wide open.”
“You think it’s the Guardrail?”
“Iknowit’s the him.”
“Jesus Christ.” A pause. “Get to the clubhouse. Now.”
“I’m going to find her.”
“Diesel—”
I hang up.
Fuck meeting. Fuck the plan. I’ve never been the kind of guy who waits for permission when someone I care about’s in danger.
And Willow? She’smine.
The minute I roll up to the Black Crown garage, I stalk toward the side office where Beast is pulling apart a carburetor.
He looks up, frowning. “What the hell—”
“They took her,” I growl.
His eyes go wide. “What?”
“Sons of Decimation. They hit the cabin. Back door’s busted in.”
“Fuck.”
I lean over the map laid out on the table, slamming my palm down hard. “You still got those surveillance taps near the casino?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Pull everything from the last couple of hours from there and the cameras around my cabin. If they moved her through Jackson Ridge, I want plates, faces, fuckinganything.”
Beast is already grabbing his laptop.
My hands shake as I pace the concrete floor. My mind won’t stop racing, running through every possibility. Every sick, twisted thing they might do to her.
She’s so damn small. So sweet. She didn’t deserve any of this. She barely even knows who the club is, let alone how deep this shit goes.
I never should’ve left her. I was supposed to protect her. Instead, I let her get taken.
I swear to God, if they touch her—
“Got something,” Beast mutters.
I shove in beside him, watching as he pulls up security footage from the south edge of town. A black van rolls past the camera at 8:04 a.m.
“Zoom in.”
He does. Grainy but clear enough. The passenger window is down just enough for a face to be visible.
Guardrail.
