Page 19 of Rough & Ruthless

"A note doesn't change a damn thing," I growl, crushing the paper in my fist and shoving it into my pocket as I storm out to the parking lot.

The roar of multiple V-twin engines firing up in unison shakes the ground beneath my feet. The heavy smell of burning rubber and thick exhaust fills the air as my inner circle rallies, pulling their bikes into formation. I swing a leg over my saddle, gripping the handlebars so hard my leather gloves creak under the strain.

She thinks she can just leave? Walk straight into unknown danger completely unprotected? Not a chance in hell. I just found her. I just locked down our future, and there is zero chance I’m letting her slip through my fingers.

I kick my bike into gear. The hunt is officially on.

We fly down the coastal highway, the edges of my vision stained red with a primal, suffocating rage. She actually thought she could just slip away. She thought leaving a polite little note on a windowsill would stop me from turning this entire West Coast upside down to find her.

She severely underestimates exactly what she means to me.

My comms crackle in my ear. "Prez," Wolf’s voice cuts through the static and the rushing wind. "Hack just got a hit. Her cell phone pinged off a tower on the east side. She's moving toward the old industrial district near the shipyards."

My jaw grinds so hard my teeth ache. The shipyards. That’s nowhere near her botanical shop or her apartment. It’s dangerous territory, a rotting, forgotten part of town crawling with scavengers and bottom-feeders. What the hell is she doing out there?

"Cut across 4th Avenue!" I roar into the comms, banking my bike so hard my boot sparks against the asphalt. "Block off the access roads. Nobody gets out of that district until I have her."

The brothers fall into perfect, lethal formation behind me. We weave through the afternoon traffic like a pack of hunting wolves, ignoring red lights and blaring horns. Every second she’s out there alone feels like a physical knife twisting in my gut. I won’t breathe properly until I have her soft, curvy body pressed firmly against my chest again.

We hit the industrial district in under ten minutes. The pavement turns to cracked asphalt and loose gravel, the air thick with the smell of rust and decaying brick. I scan the desolate streets, my chest tight.

Then, I see her.

She’s standing near the entrance of a dilapidated, boarded-up warehouse, her arms crossed defensively over her chest. And she isn't alone. A tall, stringy bastard in a dirty hoodie is looming over her, gesturing wildly as he speaks, encroaching on her personal space.

A blinding sheet of pure fury drops over my eyes.

I don't even wait for my bike to fully stop. I hit the brakes, kick the stand down, and my heavy boots hit the gravel before the engine completely cuts out. The deafening sound of a dozen Rebel Kings pulling in behind me echoes like thunder off the brick walls.

The guy in the hoodie freezes, his eyes going wide with absolute terror as an entire motorcycle club surrounds him. "Hey man, I was just—" he stammers, backing up with his hands raised in surrender.

"Wolf," I bark, not even bothering to look at the piece of shit.

"Got him, Prez," Wolf replies smoothly. He steps off his bike with a predatory grin, cracking his knuckles as he and two other brothers move to intercept the guy.

I ignore them, my singular focus locking onto the beautiful, reckless woman standing a few feet away.

"Stryker—" she starts, her eyes widening as I storm toward her.

I don't give her a chance to explain. I close the distance in three massive strides, wrapping my arm tightly around her waist and hauling her hard against my chest. I bury my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the sweet, grounding scent eucalyptus and vanilla that clings to her skin. My heart finally restarts. She's safe. She's whole.

"Don't you ever," I growl against her skin, my voice crackling with dark, absolute possession, "ever walk away from me again. Your problems are my problems now. You don't handle a damn thing alone anymore. Understood?"

She shivers against me, her hands slowly coming up to grip the leather lapels of my cut. "Understood," she whispers.

CHAPTER TEN

SORAYA

I’m shaking. Even wrapped in the heavy, familiar warmth of Stryker’s apartment, a violent tremor wracks my body as the terrifying reality of what just happened sets in.

Stryker sits beside me on the edge of his bed, gently dabbing a warm, damp cloth over the dirt and grime on my face and hands. It reminds me of the night he found me crouching on the ground outside of my shattered shop window. Only this time, I can tell he’s completely rattled. Beneath his rough, calloused exterior, his massive hands haven't stopped trembling as he cares for me.

Once I'm clean, he can't stay still. He stands and begins to pace back and forth across the hardwood floor, the raw, unbridled frustration coming off him in waves.

Before he can explode, before he can yell at me for what I did, I beat him to the punch.

"I was stupid," I blurt out, my voice cracking in the quiet room. "I was so naive, Stryker. I just... I just wanted to help."