Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
“You can argue as much as you want.” His voice hardened as he added, “Not. Fucking. Happening.”
It was a good thing Cage didn’t have me hooked up to any monitors because my heartbeat spiked so hard it almost hurt. Mason made me feel cornered—and something else entirely different that I didn’t dare examine too closely—in the same breath.
Mason’s jaw was set like stone as he turned toward the door.
“I’ll be back.”
It sounded more like a warning than a promise.
“You can’t just—”
But he didn’t wait to hear the rest. The door shut behind him, followed by a sharp click that echoed in the quiet.
He’d locked me in—like I couldn’t be trusted to decide where I went.
I shoved the blanket aside and slowly shifted my legs over the edge of the bed. The bruises in my ribs pulled tight, but the ache was nothing compared to the hot spike of frustration at being locked in.
Except I discovered there was nowhere to go. My legs were wobbly as I made my way to the only other door and heaved a deep sigh when I saw it led to a bathroom with no window to climb through.
Without any other option, I shuffled back to the bed and pulled the blanket over me. I hated the idea of putting Mason and his friends at risk, but I was also relieved to be somewhere safe. Even if just for a little while.
4
AXLE
Istared at the closed door longer than I should’ve. My angel was still in there—battered, bruised, and trying way too fucking hard to be calm about it. Which only confirmed what my instincts were already screaming.
She wasn’t running from something small. No, she was running from hell.
And now, I’d stepped into the fire with her too. But despite having just met her, I didn’t regret it.
The reception area in the front of the clinic was silent. Dim morning light filtered in through the blinds, dust catching in the sunbeams. The room smelled faintly like antiseptic and motor oil. Cage had set up his clinic like any typical doctor’s office, with two exam rooms, except there was also an operating room. The building was across a small parking lot, close to the small garage. Oil and blood. Fitting combination for our lives.
Her duffel was where I left it, right by a padded chair. I crouched, and with tension buzzing just under my skin, I unzipped it slowly. The metal teeth rasped, loud in the quiet.
I expected maybe a weapon. A burner phone. Some kind of ID. Instead?
And the cash I’d gotten a glimpse of.
Stacks of it.
Tight bricks banded with blue straps, all fresh and smug. I whistled low under my breath and slid a bundle free. Hundreds. The ink was crisp, edges sharp. I thumbed one band and held it to the light because I’d had people try to pass me the kind of funny money that stains your fingers.
Nope. This shit was real. Probably around ten grand. No wonder she’d been so twitchy when I wouldn’t give it back.
Beneath the money was something small and flat, wrapped in plain brown paper with the clean corners of a package nobody wanted to be special. I peeled it open, expecting some documents, but inside was a sleek, matte-black solid-state drive, heavy in my palm. It was the size of a cigarette pack with a tamper seal snapped across its face but no markings. It wasn’t your average drive. This was military grade. Industrial.
“What the hell are you carrying, angel?” I murmured, turning the drive over, looking for anything—names, tags, stickers. But there was nothing.
Digging through the rest of the duffel, I didn’t find anything personal. No phone. No wallet. Not even a lip balm someone like her might’ve lost at the bottom. She’d come in anonymous and planned to leave the same way. Except she hadn’t left. She’d burst into my life on two wheels, crashed, and passed out in my arms while the whole damn world watched.
She was ghosting on purpose.
And doing a pretty damn good job of it since I had no idea who the fuck she was or what she was running from. But whatever this was—whoever she was—none of it screamed criminal. She wasn’t some drug mule or con artist. She was scared and on the run. And considering that she’d been facing down with me—a big, tatted guy in leather whose very presence screamed danger—she stood her ground with more guts than most men I knew.
I re-wrapped the drive and tucked it into the pocket of my cut, then grabbed the bag and headed to the clubhouse. My boots crunched on the gravel as I stalked out the front door and across the lot toward the clubhouse and Jax’s office.
Entering through a side door, I went down the hall and knocked once before pushing into his office. It sat under the eaves, a wide room with an industrial fan and too many monitors throwing ghost-light across his face. He was hunched over one of them in a backward cap and a hoodie, glasses sliding down his nose while his fingers sprinted over the keys like they had their own engine rev limiter. Edge had a hip against the side of the table with his arms folded, road dust still on his boots, and Nitro leaned in the doorway, expression carved out of granite.