Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 52357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Tripp meets my eyes. “I know. That’s why I need you to not lose your shit, Toon.”
“Fuck!” I roar. “This club made me a better man, sure. But fuck it all, she makes me whole. You gotta know, they’ll come for her. All to send another message to this club. Brotherhood is everything. I chose this fuckin’ patch over her. I walked away so none of this chaos would ever touch her.”
Tripp glares at me, “I respect your love for my daughter, Toon. But watch yourself. I’ll end you before you fuck around and mess shit up for us with the feds going off wild on this one. And your choice in pussy is yours and my daughter or not that shit ain’t club business. That’s the responsibility I deal with as President. And I’ll tell you like Roundman told me, you fuck up I got a bullet with your name on it and I’ll end you myself. Now calm the fuck down so we can make sure Dia is safe and the club stays out of any law enforcement sites while we get retribution for Clutch.”
“They come for her, I make no promises,” I tell the room honestly moving back to the door and getting into the box that houses our phones. Dia needs to go to her mom’s until I finish here. She shouldn’t be alone with this potential threat.
“I know that too.” Tripp gives me a half smirk in what I can only read as pride. “Just askin’ you to give us time to move as a unit, brother. I know there ain’t another motherfucker who will keep my princess safer than you. Always known that shit. Just needed you to get your head outta your ass.”
My mind races. Images of her belly round and heavy with our child—not mine by blood but mine by soul—flash behind my eyes.
“We need to move her,” I say. “Now. Call Doll, I’m calling Dia to go home to your house until I come pick her up. She isn’t to be alone anymore.”
Before I can finish, my phone buzzes. Then it dings the high-pitched chime.
Motion alert.
My blood turns to stone. The app loads slow. Too slow. Then the feed pops up.
It’s my front porch. The security camera above the door.
Three men in black hoodies walk up. Calm. Focused. One bangs hard, drawing attention from Dia. The other circles the side of the door.
I switch views and see her checking her phone. She’s checking the camera. She’s taking too long for the men. The the third kicks the door open like it’s made of paper.
“No,” I bolt upright.
BW stands too. “What the hell?”
I tap the screen. The feed cuts back to the living room camera.
Dia appears, stumbling into view. Her belly obvious beneath the hoodie she’s wearing, phone in hand. Skye is running around crazy.
She’s trying to call someone.
Her voice is a blur through the mic feed: “Get the hell out of my house!”
She grabs a lamp. Swings it. Catches one in the shoulder. As Skye latches on to the third man entering the room. He cries out as he swings her around wildly, her jaws clamped down on his arm.
The second man tackles Dia. She lets out a wail that cuts me to my soul. She fights like hell—elbows, teeth, screaming.
But the first man rights himself from the lamp incident and pulls a syringe from his pocket. No! No. No, this shit isn’t happening. She’s outnumbered and I helplessly watch on this tiny screen as she looks at the camera, her eyes pleading for me to get back to her.
My heart stops. They inject her in the neck.
She jerks once, crying out, “I love you, Justin.” Then crumples to the ground before they drag her by her feet across our living room floor..
I scream, I think. Or maybe I just move so fast that the whole room blurs and it feels like screaming in my mind..
The feed cuts out.
No video. Just black.
“They have her,” I choke out. “They grabbed her. I just watched it happen.”
“WHERE?” Tripp barks.
“My house.”
“Go,” he says instantly. “Go now. BW—ride with him. Tank, alert outer circle. Nobody moves solo. We find her.”
We’re on the road in under three minutes.
I don’t feel the engine. Don’t feel the wheels or the road or even my own heart. Just the scream inside me that won’t stop.
They took her. They took her.
And she is pregnant. Helpless. But still tried to fight.
God, she fought.
Tears blur my vision, but I blink them back.
I can't break down. Not yet.
Not until she's in my arms.
My house is trashed. Skye is pacing like crazy, her eyes swollen, her white fur matted in blood. Someone hit her in the face, either really hard or multiple times. I don’t know which.
Looking around, she follows. The door is off the hinges. Table overturned. Blood on the floor, hers, maybe? One of theirs?