Page 1 of Wilder's Promise
Chapter 1 - Wilder
"She's due at the station at four. Don't let anything happen to her, Wilder." Reaper's voice is cold steel, but there's something beneath it I rarely hear. Fear. "I need my daughter safe."
I nod, zipping up my leather cut over my black t-shirt as I head for the door of the Outlaw Order clubhouse. "I've got her. Emma will be fine. I promise you."
His hand clamps down on my shoulder, stopping me. When I turn, those ice-gray eyes that have made hardened criminals piss themselves are boring into mine.
"You understand what I'm asking? With Charles's men hunting for payback, this isn't just another club errand." The lines in his face deepen. "She's all I have left of anything good in this world besides Evelyn."
"I know what she means to you," I say, meeting his gaze without flinching. "I'll protect her with my life."
The clubhouse door swings open behind me, letting in a blast of summer heat as Ghost and Blade walk in. The timing couldn't be better. Reaper needs all hands preparing for whatever the Vultures MC throw at us next.
"Get going," he says, finally releasing my shoulder. "And Wilder. She doesn't know anything about what went down with the trafficking ring or the Vultures. She barely speaks to me as it is. Don't make it worse."
I head to the club's garage where I've parked the nondescript black Dodge Charger. My Harley would be my preference, but Reaper insisted on the car—better protection, easier to hide our faces, and a trunk for her luggage. I slide behind the wheel,adjusting the shoulder holster under my cut for easier access in case things go sideways.
The two-hour drive to Oakridge Station stretches ahead of me, nothing but open road and the weight of my president's trust on my shoulders. I pull out of the compound, nodding to the prospects manning the gate, and hit the highway.
The road unfurls like a black ribbon through the dense pine forests surrounding our territory. I push the Charger hard, mind racing faster than the speedometer.
Emma Kane. I've never met Reaper's daughter, only seen her in the single photo he keeps in his office: a teenage girl with fiery red hair and her father's defiant chin, looking away from the camera like she'd rather be anywhere else.
I know the basics: nineteen years old, studying criminal forensics, wants nothing to do with her father or his MC. The irony isn't lost on me. The daughter of an outlaw dreaming of becoming a fed. Must drive Reaper crazy, though he'd never admit it.
The road signs for Oakridge appear sooner than expected. I've been driving hard, making good time. I check my watch—3:15. Perfect. Enough time to scout the station before her train arrives.
Oakridge is a nothing town, the kind of place people pass through on their way to somewhere better. The train station sits on the edge, a brick building with peeling paint and windows clouded with years of diesel exhaust. I park the Charger where I can keep an eye on it and scan the surroundings.
Two exits, sparse crowd, a couple of bored security guards. No sign of trouble, but that doesn't mean it's not coming. I position myself with my back to the wall, giving me a clear view of both the platform and the main entrance.
My phone buzzes with a text from Ghost: *Any signs of Vultures MC?*
I type back: *Clear so far. Train arrives in 30.*
The minutes tick by with excruciating slowness. I catch my reflection in a grimy window. Tall, dark hair pulled back, stubble I haven't bothered to shave in days. The leather cut with our patch stands out among the civilians, drawing nervous glances. Good. People who keep their distance stay safe.
The station speakers crackle to life, announcing the arrival of the 4:00 from Westridge. I straighten, scanning the faces of disembarking passengers until I spot her.
There's no mistaking Emma Kane. The photo in Reaper's office doesn't do her justice. She's small, barely comes up to my chest, but moves with purpose. Her red hair falls in waves past her shoulders, and those amber eyes are scanning the crowd with suspicion. She's wearing jeans, a green tank top under an open flannel shirt, and carries a backpack that looks ready to burst. A rolling suitcase trails behind her. Smart to pack light, but still enough to make me glad for the car's trunk.
Those eyes find me, or rather, they find the patch on my cut, and narrow with instant dislike. I watch her spine stiffen as she approaches, chin lifting in that same defiant angle I recognize from her father.
"You must be my father's errand boy," she says, voice cool and clipped. "Where is he?"
"Rex Torres," I reply, ignoring the jab. "Everyone calls me Wilder. Your father's securing the clubhouse. I'm your ride to Pine Haven."
She looks past me toward the exit. "I assume you brought a car? Or are we hitchhiking?"
"Black Charger in the lot," I say, reaching for her rolling suitcase. "Your father thought it would be safer than a bike."
She relinquishes the suitcase but keeps a tight grip on her backpack. "At least he got one thing right."
I scan the station one more time before guiding her toward the exit, keeping my body slightly between her and the rest of the crowd. "Stay close."
"Is that really necessary?" she asks, but her voice has lost some of its edge.
"Your father didn't drag you home for fun, princess. There are people looking for anyone connected to him."
