Page 77 of You've Got The Love
He smirks. “Feisty.Good. Makes it more fun. If this goes wrong—if your daddy don’t do what I want—you’ll stay with us. In the basement. I’ll stick my dick in every hole you’ve got ‘til you’re nothing but bone and breath. Then I’ll let my boys have you.”
His eyes are empty, shark-like. I know he means it. The bile creeps up my throat, but I force it down. Men like him feed on fear. I will not give him that.
They shove me into a small, freezing room in one of the dock offices. Concrete walls. No windows. My wrists are bound again; the gag left in place. The lock clicks.
The silence is brutal.
I slide down the wall to the floor, every muscle taut. My heart hammers against the gag, each breath loud in my own head. The air smells of dust and rust and something faintly rotten.
I let my head rest against the wall, but my eyes stay open. My fear is a living thing now, pacing inside my ribs, whispering what they could do to me. I push back against it.
I think of Bea, Jess, and Andrea—how scared they must be. Of Dad’s fury when he finds out. Of Bas…
Oh God,Bas.
I left because I thought I was protecting my heart. Because he thought he couldn’t give his. But all I want is to hear his voice and know he’s coming for me.
A thread of hope pulls tight in my chest. He won’t let this be the end.
Hours drag. My legs cramp. My shoulders burn. Every creak in the building makes my pulse jump. The fear presses in, heavy, but I keep my breathing even.
Outside—footsteps. Muffled laughter. The metallic clink of a chain.
“Bas will come,” I tell myself through the gag, the words distorted but steady in my head. “He’ll come. He promised.”
Because if I stop believing that, the fear will eat me alive.
Then—engines in the distance. Low, heavy, and familiar.Harleys.
Hope spikes sharp in my chest—or maybe dread.
Either way, I know the night’s about to change.
Chapter 42
Bastiaan
The floodlight hums overhead, its beam spilling hard and white across the dock, carving the night into brutal contrast—blinding brightness and deep shadow.The Reapersare already waiting for us, gathered in a knot of leather and patched cuts. Still hands. Eyes that track every inch of me as I close the distance.
Each step I take is deliberate.
Boot scrape. Pause. Boot scrape.
Not slow enough to look scared.
Not fast enough to look desperate.
One of them steps forward before I’m close enough to hear him clearly. Doesn’t matter—I know his type. Big, broad-shouldered, built like he could pull a fucking engine block with one arm. His mouth carries a half-smile, the kind worn by men who have already imagined how they’ll hurt you and are just waiting to see if you deserve it. His gaze locks on mine like he’s measuring me against whateverfantasy he’s already worked out. I’m sure this prick is the President.
When I’m close enough, he says it. “Van der Meer. Flower man in the flesh. Didn’t think you’d walk in here alone.”
“I’m here for Amber. Who are you?”
His grin sharpens. “Hawk. Prez of the London chapter. I get it, the bitch is a pretty thing. Got some fight in her. I like fight.”
My jaw ticks, a reflex I can’t stop. He notices.Likesit.
Behind me, the low growl of engines cuts through the air—two quick revs, then silence. Headlights sweep over the dock and vanish. Boots hit the concrete—heavy,deliberate. Jack moves up beside me, his men spilling out behind him like a black tide, spreading to the edges of the light.
