Page 34 of Her Dirty Biker
My hands fist. “They’re holding her,” I whisper. “That sick bastard took her.”
“I’ll ping the tags,” Beast says. “Might take a few.”
“I’m not waiting.”
I storm back out.
I don’t even get on my bike—I head for the club house, where a meeting’s already started.
Rock looks up as I throw open the doors.
“Diesel—”
“They’ve got her,” I say. “Guardrail took her. Probably Langford too.”
The room stills.
“Where?” Rock asks.
“Don’t know yet. But I’ve got footage. Beast is working the plates.”
Prez steps forward. “Then we go dark. We pull every hand we’ve got, find her, and bring her home.”
I nod once. My throat is tight, but I force the words out anyway.
“If they touch her, I’m burning the whole fucking world down.”
Two hours later, we’ve got a location. A warehouse south of Jackson Ridge that Langford’s been seen entering a few times over the last month, off the grid. There are no cameras or businesses for blocks. Perfect for someone trying to hide a hostage.
Perfect forkillingthe bastards who took her.
We ride out in force. I’m in the lead.
The warehouse is exactly what I expected, gray and squat, surrounded by woods. There’s a black van parked outside, and two SoD bikes flanking it.
Jagger signals from the rear. “Two guards on the west side. Another by the entrance.”
“Quiet or loud?” I ask Rock.
“Your girl’s in there?” he says.
I nod.
“Then we go in quietly until we need to get loud. We’ll get her, D.”
The first guard doesn’t even see it coming. A knife to the throat. He crumples, gurgling.
Jagger moves next, taking out the second.
We breach the front door, guns drawn. Everything happens fast—screams, shots, bodies dropping.
I see her through a cracked doorway, tied to a chair. Head down. Shoulders slumped.
“Willow!”
Her head snaps up. “Diesel!” Her voice is hoarse, terrified.
Guardrail moves toward her like a shield. I lunge, tackle him hard. We hit the floor, fists flying. He’s strong, but I’mpissed.Rage fuels me.
