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)
BW sweeps the rooms while I replay the feed again and again, scanning for a plate, a face, anything.
There’s nothing.
Whoever they were, they were clean. Fast. Professional.
“Security feeds are down,” I mutter. “Jammed it somehow.”
“They knew what they were doing,” BW says grimly.
I pick up her phone. Smashed. Useless.
Then I kneel by the couch, where she was dragged across the floor.
The blanket she always uses is still crumpled near the corner.
I bury my face in it.
I breathe her in.
Then I stand.
I’m not crying.
I’m a burning inferno of rage.
Tripp calls while we’re still sweeping for clues.
“Road crew says a black SUV blew through the county border checkpoint twenty minutes ago. Heading south. Fast.”
I grit my teeth. “The Vulcans?”
“Most likely. I’ve got eyes on the interstate. We’ll track the plates.”
“Then we ride.”
“Not yet,” Tripp snaps. “They’ve got a pregnant woman. This isn’t a bloodbath mission. We do this smart. Clean.”
“You better find her fast,” I growl, voice shaking. “Because if something happens to her or our baby, I’ll fucking burn the world down around them all.”
Hours pass in agony. I’m not a patient man.
No word.
No clue.
Every second is hell.
Every minute without her is another inch of me unraveling.
The rest of the club is scrambling—reaching out to contacts, leaning on allies, pushing the Vulcans out of hiding.
But me?
I’m stuck in limbo. I sit in her rocking chair in the nursery—empty walls, unassembled crib—and press my hand to my chest.
She was just here.
She made tea this morning. Kissed my shoulder. Laughed at my failed attempt to fold baby socks.
And now she’s gone..
Injected.
Taken.
Alone.
I whisper into the air, unsure who I’m talking to. “Clutch… please. If you’re anywhere—anywhere at all—don’t let her die. Don’t let the baby die.”
I squeeze my eyes shut.
I can’t lose her again.
I can survive cancer. I can’t do life without Dia Crews.
SIXTEEN
DIA
"In the wilderness of life, let your bear spirit guide you." — Unknown
The room is dim, the air stale.
The mattress beneath me is stiff and smells like dust and bleach. There’s no window. Just a vent in the ceiling that hums like a fly stuck behind glass. My limbs are heavy, my head cloudy. Everything feels slow, like I’m moving through syrup.
The injection.
They stuck me with something. Not enough to knock me out for long, but enough to steal time. Hours maybe. Maybe more.
My first thought is the baby.
My hands fly to my stomach—still round, still solid, still there. The kick is weak but real, thumping against my palm like a whispered, “I’m here, Mama.”
Relief floods me so fast I almost vomit. Then the fear creeps in again. Where am I?
I sit up, slowly, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. My ankles throb. My lower back screams. But I move. That’s what matters.
The door is solid steel. No handle on my side. A camera in the upper corner blinks red.
They’re watching.
I pace. I breathe. I count. One, two, three. One, two, three.
If I let myself panic, I’ll drown in it.
I’m still trying to force my thoughts into something useful when voices echo outside the door.
Two men. One older, one younger. Their accents are thick—Southern, sharp-edged.
“She still out?” the younger one asks.
“No. She’s up. Pacing like a damn hamster.”
A low chuckle.
“You think the lady is gonna come check on her?”
“Eventually. Probably wants to wait until she’s calm. No sense stressing the cargo.”
The word cargo turns my stomach.
“You sure this is what she paid for?” the younger one asks. “This whole containment thing on a pregnant lady?”
“She gave us fifty grand and one hell of a reason. Her son’s woman? Pregnant? With a Hellion's baby? She wants that kid.”
“What’s she gonna do with her after it’s born?”
My mind races. Benji’s mom. Why does she want me? What do they mean she wants ‘that kid’? This baby is her grandchild. Would she hurt him?
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.” One of them mutters and I can’t help but agree even though I really wish I had all the answers right now.
I stumble backward, breath catching in my throat.
She wants the baby.
They’re going to keep me here until I give birth—and then take it from me.
I press my hand to my mouth, swallowing down bile.
They called her “the lady.” Maybe it isn’t his mom. But they said her son’s woman. Justin’s mom died when he was twelve.
No.
No, it couldn’t be. My mind goes back. Benji was supposed to be the safest person for me to ever be with. This doesn’t feel right.
I’m sitting cross-legged on Benji’s couch holding a video game controller.
“Okay,” he says, gently turning the controller right-side up for me, “this is the jump button. This one does fireballs, but don’t waste them.”
He’s trying to teach me this game with racing karts. I’m terrible. BW wasn’t into video games so I don’t have experience doing this. Still, though, Benji sits in front of me smiling like he is solving world hunger.