Page 21 of Hard & Haunted

Looking over the warehouse, I see the bodies of our enemies, but also the strength, determination, grit, and absolute loyalty of my brothers. The stakes are even higher now that most of us officers have women to come home to at the end of the day. We’re not just fighting for ourselves or the club, we’re fighting to protect the lives we’ve built. Fuck if that isn’t beautiful sentiment.

As the club secures the perimeter to hand off the remaining grunts and the physical evidence to our federal contacts, I check my watch. The feds are currently sweeping the city, rounding up every corrupted official and middle manager tied to The Black Meridian.

Which means the clock is ticking.

I holster my weapon and walk out to my bike, throwing my leg over the leather seat and gunning the engine. I have one last stop to make before I go home.

Ten minutes later, I kick in the front door of a quiet, unassuming suburban house. The wood splinters, the doorframe shattering inward with a violent crack.

Eden’s father jumps up from the living room sofa, his face draining of all color as I fill the doorway. He looks exactly like a rat caught in a trap—pathetic, cowardly, and shaking in his expensive shoes. He starts stammering, holding his hands up as he backs away, tripping over the edge of the coffee table.

Every muscle in my body screams at me to draw my blade and put the motherfucker six feet under. I want to tear him apart piece by piece for the lifetime of abuse he put her through, and for trading her away to monsters just to save his own miserable skin. But I know the club can’t handle a homicide charge right now, especially when federal sirens are already echoing in the distance, heading straight for this address.

"Wait, wait! Who are you?" he begs, scrambling backward until his back hits the wall.

"I'm the man who kept the daughter you sold safe," I growl, closing the distance in two massive strides.

I grab him by the collar of his shirt and drive my fist straight into his face. Bone crunches under my knuckles. He goes down hard, crying out as blood immediately spills from his broken nose. Before he can even attempt to curl into a defensive ball, I step forward, planting the heavy, reinforced heel of my combat boot squarely onto the center of his chest, pinning him flat to the floor.

He wheezes, his hands weakly clawing at my ankle as the breath is crushed from his lungs. “Eden,” he gasps, his eyes widening as he struggles for air.

I lean over him, my eyes devoid of any mercy. "You are going to spend the rest of your miserable life rotting in a prison cell," I tell him, my voice a deadly, vibrating rumble. "If you ever breathe her name again, I will find a way inside that prison, and I will end you."

I spit right in his bloodied face. What a pathetic excuse for a father, for a man, for any human being. My Raindrop was too afraid to take up space, when the real fucking waste of space was this disgusting piece of shit.

As he squeezes his eyes shut, whimpering in terror, I shift my weight, pull my foot back, and drive my boot viciously into the side of his right kneecap. The joint snaps backward with a sickening pop.

His agonizing scream echoes through the empty house, drowning out the approaching wail of the police sirens.

I turn my back on him without a second glance. Walking out the shattered front door, I wipe the blood from my scarred knuckles with a rag from my pocket. The storm has finally broken, the sky clearing to make way for the stars.

I swing my leg over my bike and rev the engine, the vibration settling the last of the adrenaline in my blood. The threat is gone. The monsters are dead or in chains. I shift the bike into gear and tear out of the neighborhood, my chest tight with a fierce, overwhelming anticipation.

I’m ready to go back to my woman, and I’m going to claim her for fucking good.

CHAPTER TWELVE

EDEN

The heavy, suffocating silence in the clubhouse lounge shatters the second the deep, guttural rumble of motorcycle engines echoes through the compound walls.

The sound hits me right in the chest. Around me, the other women instantly jump up from the leather sofas, their collective relief flooding the room like a physical wave. I drop my sketchpad onto the coffee table, my heart hammering violently against my ribs as I follow Corinne and Hadley out toward the main hallway.

The heavy double doors swing open, bringing with them the sharp scent of cold night air, exhaust, and gunpowder.

The Rebel Kings pour inside. They look rough, their leather cuts dusted with debris and their faces grim, but they are all walking tall. They are whole. The threat is gone.

Around the room, the men immediately seek out their women. I watch Stryker pull Soraya into a fierce embrace, burying his face in her neck, while the other brothers wrap heavy arms around their old ladies, murmuring low, comforting words that ease the tension of the night.

But my eyes are desperately scanning the crowd for one man.

Then, the crowd parts, and Onyx fills my vision.

He looks terrifyingly lethal, a towering mountain of dark leather and scarred muscle, a fresh smear of blood across his knuckles that makes my breath catch. But the second his dark, intense eyes lock onto mine across the room, all the violence in his posture melts away.

He crosses the floor in three massive strides. I barely have time to whisper his name before he wraps his arms securely around my waist and hoists me off my feet.

"Onyx," I gasp, laughing and crying at the same time as my hands frantically cup his jaw to make sure he's really here, really whole.