Page 94 of Claimed By the Bikers
“Move.”
Silas marches him toward the basement stairs, and I watch them disappear into the darkness below. Part of me wants to follow, to be there when we get the full story of his betrayal. But the blood loss is catching up to me, and I need medical attention before I pass out.
“Where’s the doctor?” I ask Atlas.
“He’s on his way. Should be here in twenty minutes.”
“Good. Because I’m about done standing upright.”
Ember appears at my side, steadying me with gentle hands. “Come on. Let’s get you somewhere you can lie down properly.”
As she guides me to the door, I can hear Silas’s voice echoing from the basement.
“Will you kill him?” Ember asks once we’re back at the house, as we climb slowly toward our bedroom.
“Don’t know yet. Depends on what else he tells us.”
“He was trying to protect his sister.”
“I know. Doesn’t make it right, but I understand it.”
“What would you do? If someone took me, threatened our baby?”
I stop on the stairs, meeting her eyes despite the pain and exhaustion. “I’d burn down the world to get you back. And I’d betray anyone, including Atlas and Silas, if that’s what it took.”
“Even though you know it’s wrong?”
“Love makes you do terrible things, lass. That’s why it’s so dangerous.”
She helps me the rest of the way to our bedroom, where I collapse onto the mattress and finally let the pain take over. Doc Morrison will fix the holes in my chest, and Silas will get the truth from Finn in the basement.
But the damage is done. Our security’s compromised, our location’s blown, and somewhere in the mountains, Los Serpientes are planning their next move.
At least Ember’s alive. At least our child is safe.
For now.
That has to be enough.
29
SILAS
I dragFinn down the concrete steps into the basement, my grip tight on his collar. Each step echoes through the narrow space, bouncing off bare cement walls that smell like damp earth and rust. A single bare bulb swings from the ceiling, casting harsh shadows across our storage room.
Finn stumbles when I shove him toward the metal chair in the center of the room. His breathing comes fast and shallow.
“Sit.”
“Silas, please?—”
I slam my palm against his chest, driving him back into the chair. The metal legs scrape against concrete as he lands hard. “Three years I’ve trusted you and treated you like family.”
“You don’t understand?—”
“Then explain it.” I pull the rope from the shelf behind him, the coarse fibers rough against my palms. “Start with when they first contacted you.”
“I can’t?—”
