He Snatched the Biker President’s Daughter to Use

He Snatched the Biker President’s Daughter to Use Her as Leverage, but the Club’s Savage Response Didn’t Just Crush His Operation — It Exposed Every Lie We’d Been Telling Ourselves About Loyalty, Family, and How Far We’d Go to Protect Our Own

By the time my president’s phone hit the concrete floor, I knew two things for sure.

One: the picture on his screen was real.

Two: somebody in that room wasn’t walking out the same person they walked in.

The clubhouse smelled like oil and coffee and old wood, like it always did. Sunlight cut through the high windows in dusty beams, catching the chrome of the parked bikes lined up along the walls. We’d just finished a long run and people were still peeling off gloves, knocking mud off boots, shifting into that half-relaxed, half-alert state that meant the day was almost over.

Then Hawk’s phone buzzed.

Our president never flinched at much. Not when some angry driver tried to cut us off on the highway, not when a rival crew rolled past and mean-mugged our whole line, not even when he’d taken a wrench to the face in the shop and ended up with twelve stitches.

But that call?

He flinched.

I watched his weathered hand—knuckles scarred, fingers stained with grease—shake as he tapped to accept. The color drained from his face as he listened. No bark, no curse. Just silence.

Then a quiet, “You better pray she’s breathing.”

Every conversation in the room died.

The phone slipped from his fingers. It hit the concrete hard enough to crack the case, spinning to a stop near my boot. The screen stayed lit. A message thread. An image.

I picked it up before anyone else could.

The picture wasn’t high quality. Grainy, a little blurred. But there was no mistaking the girl in the frame.

Maya.

Hawk’s only child. Nineteen years old. Stubborn, smart, all sharp edges and soft eyes. Half the time she was in the shop with us, learning how to rebuild carburetors and cussing when she scraped her knuckles. The other half she was at the community college, knocking out classes like she had someplace better to be.

In the photo, she was sitting in a metal chair in what looked like a storage room. Hands behind her back. A strip of cloth across her mouth. Her dark hair was pulled into a messy knot, one strand falling over her cheek.

Her eyes were open.

Very, very awake.

Underneath the picture, a line of text glowed in a bubble:

You move what I want, or you pick out a stone for her. You’ve got 24 hours.

My pulse roared in my ears. I handed the phone to Hawk like it was a lit match.

He stared at the photo for a long moment. The muscles in his jaw worked.

Behind me, someone muttered, “What the hell?” Another voice—Tank’s, I think—said something much more colorful.

I didn’t take my eyes off Hawk.

He looked up, gaze sweeping the room, landing on each patched vest, each familiar face. When it hit mine, I saw something I’d never seen before on that man.

Fear.

“Church,” he said hoarsely. “Now.”

The main room of the clubhouse emptied fast. Guys stubbed out smokes, left half-full bottles on the bar, pushed chairs back without bothering to tuck them in. We filed into the back room we used for serious meetings—“church” in club talk.

The room was simple. Long wooden table. Old flag on the wall. Our club’s insignia—IRON HORIZON MC—painted behind the president’s chair. It was the kind of space where words weighed more than they did anywhere else.

We took our seats, officers first. Hawk at the head, me on his right. As Sergeant-at-Arms, my job was to keep order, both inside and out. Right now, there wasn’t an ounce of it in the air.

He set the phone on the table, screen up. The picture of his little girl stared up at all of us.

“All right,” he said. His voice was steady now, but I knew him well enough to hear the crack beneath. “Nobody speaks until you hear the whole thing. Then we figure this out.”

Chairs creaked as men settled, the weight of the moment heavy on every patch.

“The call was from Reese,” Hawk said.

A low ripple went around the table. Reese. Even his name made the air feel colder.

He was new blood in town, the kind that didn’t understand—or didn’t care about—how the old lines were drawn. Ran a crew that pushed pills and powder to kids in back alleys and after-hour clubs. Clean clothes, fancy watch, eyes dead behind the shine. We’d crossed paths a few times, but we kept our distance.

He’d wanted to use us. Our reputation. Our routes. Our Rolodex of bars and shops that trusted the Iron Horizon patch. He’d floated the idea to me at a gas station one night like he was doing us a favor.

“You’re leaving money on the table,” he’d said, leaning against his spotless SUV while I fueled up my bike. “You move metal, parts, custom work. Add a little something else into the mix…” He’d rubbed his fingers together. “Everybody wins.”

I’d told him no. Respectful, at first.

“We keep our stuff clean,” I’d said. “We don’t poison our people. That’s not how we roll.”

His smile had gone flat. “Funny,” he’d said. “I looked up some stories. Your outfit wasn’t always so high-minded.”

He wasn’t wrong. The club had a past. Fights. Deals. Some things that never made it to paper but lived in the old-timers’ eyes. But we’d changed. Hawk made sure of that. We ran legit now: custom builds, towing, a little security work when people needed a line of rumbling bikes outside their event.

“So maybe I’m trying not to die stupid,” I’d said. “We’re not in your business. Don’t try to get in ours.”

He’d laughed, but there was no humor in it.

“Tunnels get dug whether you build them or not,” he’d said. “Smart people figure out how to use them. Think about it.”

I had. For about five seconds.

Then I’d told him to get lost.

Apparently he hadn’t appreciated that.

Now, in the church room, the picture on the table told us exactly how much.

“He says we have twenty-four hours,” Hawk said. “We take a shipment for him, move it through our routes, make sure it lands where he wants. Or we get a call with coordinates and a shovel.”

His fingers curled into fists.

“He took Maya,” he said. “To make us his. To make me his.”

Silence.

Everyone looked at the picture again. I could see what they were imagining: Maya joking in the shop, smudges of grease on her face. Maya arguing with Hawk about curfew. Maya rolling her eyes at all of us when we tried to give dating advice she didn’t want.

The idea of her tied to a chair somewhere, scared but trying not to show it?

That hit deeper than almost anything.

Tank, our Road Captain, spoke first. His beard twitched.

“We go grab her,” he said. “Right now. Find where she is, roll in, get her out. End of story.”

“And how exactly are we supposed to find her?” Skeeter asked from down the table. “We don’t know where he’s holding her. He’s not stupid enough to use his own place.”

“We have contacts,” Tank said. “We ask around. We lean on people. Somebody’s seen something.”

“That takes time,” Shade, our Treasurer, pointed out. “Time we don’t have a lot of.”

“So we start now,” Tank shot back.

He looked at Hawk. “Say the word, and I’ll have every bike on the road in ten minutes.”

Hawk’s eyes flicked to me.

“What do you think, Rafe?” he asked.

I hated when he did that. Asked me for my opinion in front of the whole club, like it was a test we both already knew the answer to.

“I think Tank’s right about moving fast,” I said carefully. “The longer she’s gone, the more chances for things to go sideways.”

“But?” Hawk prodded. He knew me too well.

“But rolling blind with every body we’ve got isn’t a plan,” I said. “It’s panic. Reese wants us off-balance. He wants us desperate. He wants us to make mistakes.”

“And you want us to sit on our hands?” Tank demanded. “Wait for him to send another picture? Maybe one with—”

“Watch it,” I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended.

He shut up, but his eyes stayed hot.

Shade spoke again, tapping the table with one finger. “There’s another option nobody’s saying,” he said. “We take the load. Just once. Move it. Get Maya back. Then we figure out how to cut this tie later.”

A murmur. Some nods, some grimaces.

The unspoken part was clear: dealing with someone like Reese rarely ended with “just once.”

“We don’t move that stuff,” Tank said flatly. “Not for him. Not for anybody.”

“It’s just one job,” Skeeter argued. “We’ve done worse.”

“In the past,” Tank shot back. “Before. We’re not those guys anymore.”

“Tell that to Hawk when we’re planting his kid,” Shade muttered.

The room bristled.

Hawk slammed his hand down. Not as hard as he had on the phone, but hard enough to jolt everyone.

“Enough,” he said.

He looked older than I’d ever seen him. Not in the gray of his beard or the lines on his face, but in his eyes. They were tired. Scared. Furious. All at once.

“We are not selling ourselves to that man,” he said. “I’ve spent ten years dragging this club out of the mess we were in. We start pushing his poison, we’re back in deeper than before. Maybe worse.”

“And Maya?” Shade asked. “What about her?”

The question hung there.

Hawk’s jaw clenched. “I’m not sacrificing my daughter on some altar of principle,” he said. “But I’m not going to drag the rest of you into something that gets your kids hurt down the line either.”

He looked at me again. “Talk to me, Rafe. You always have ideas when I don’t like any of the options.”

I wasn’t sure that was a compliment.

I leaned back, staring at the photo. Twenty-four hours. Enough time to make one good move. Or a whole lot of bad ones.

“We can’t play this his way,” I said slowly. “If we take the shipment, we prove this worked. If we hit every corner and bar in the county right now, we show him we’re flailing. Either way, he wins.”

“So what do you suggest, genius?” Tank asked.

“We split it,” I said. “Small crew looking for her, quiet and fast. Meanwhile, we stall him. Buy time.”

“Stall him how?” Skeeter asked.

I looked at Hawk. “You talk to him,” I said. “Tell him we’ll do it. Ask for details. Routes. Drop spots. Play along just enough to get him talking.”

“You want me to lie to him,” Hawk said.

“I want you to keep him on the phone,” I said. “Text. Whatever. The more he says, the more we can use. Maybe a background sound gives us a location. Maybe one of his guys gets sloppy. We use everything.”

“And if he calls our bluff?” Shade asked. “Says ‘No games, old man. Clock’s ticking’ and sends somebody to prove he’s serious?”

“He already proved he’s serious when he took her,” I said. “We’re not making this worse. We’re just buying a little space to think.”

Tank shook his head. “I still say we roll heavy,” he muttered.

Hawk rubbed his face with both hands. For a man who usually made decisions like he was flipping a coin he’d already rigged, he looked torn to pieces.

“You’re asking me to tell that man I’ll move his load with my patch,” he said quietly.

“I’m asking you to keep her alive,” I said, just as quietly.

The argument that followed wasn’t loud at first.

It was the kind that cut under the surface.

Tank accused me of playing chess with a human life. Shade accused Tank of wanting a war we couldn’t win. Skeeter tried to be the middleman and failed like he always did in fights like this.

Then someone said the wrong word, and it all blew.

“You think you’re smarter than everyone else, Rafe?” Tank snapped. “You think your big brain is gonna out-think a man who just grabbed our president’s kid off the street like it was nothing?”

“At least I’m trying to use my brain,” I shot back. “You want to charge in there swinging and hope he left the door open.”

“At least I’ll be doing something.”

“You think running around putting our patch on blast is going to help Maya?” I demanded. “Or you just itching to hit somebody?”

“Keep talking like that,” he growled, “and it might be you.”

Chairs scraped as a few guys half-rose, instinctively ready to jump between us if it came to that.

Hawk slammed both hands down this time.

“Sit. Down,” he barked. “Both of you.”

We did. My pulse was still pounding.

He looked from Tank to me and back, like he was weighing what pieces he had on the board and which ones he could afford to lose.

Finally, he stood.

“We’re doing this,” he said. “Rafe’s way.”

Tank swore under his breath.

Hawk continued. “I talk to Reese. Buy time. Meanwhile, Rafe takes a crew. Small. Quiet. You go find my girl. You don’t get in a gunfight unless you have to. You don’t make a move that gets her hurt.”

He pinned me with his gaze.

“You bring her home,” he said. “Whatever it takes.”

The weight of that settled on my shoulders like an extra vest.

“Who’re you taking?” he asked.

I scanned the table. Tank was out; too heated. Shade, maybe. He had a head for angles, and he owed me one. Skeeter was good in a pinch if he had direction. And—

“You,” I said, looking at a younger face two seats down.

Brick’s head snapped up. He was twenty-two, a fully patched member for just over a year. Built like his road name—thick and solid—but with a quiet way about him that made people underestimate him.

“M-me?” he stammered.

“You’ve got good ears,” I said. “You notice things. We’ll need that.”

His eyes widened, but he nodded. “I’m in,” he said.

I looked at Shade and Skeeter. “You two as well. Four is enough. We go in separate directions, shake trees, see what falls.”

Tank scowled. “So the rest of us what? Sit here and hold hands?”

“You stay close,” I said. “You’re our hammer if this turns into a nail situation. Right now, we need a finer tool.”

He grunted, not happy but not openly insubordinate either.

Hawk picked up his phone again, staring at the photo one more time before sliding it into his pocket.

“I’ll call him,” he said. “You move.”

We didn’t have much, but we had something.

Reese had patterns. A certain luxury bar he liked downtown. A storage unit we’d seen his men at near the industrial park. A warehouse on the edge of the river that lit up at odd hours.

We split the leads.

“Shade, take the storage units,” I said as we stood by the bikes in the yard. “Bring Skeeter. Talk to the manager, see if any new units got rented cash, late at night.”

Shade nodded. “Got it.”

“Brick, you’re with me,” I continued. “We start with the warehouse district. Eyes open, mouths shut unless we have to talk.”

Brick looked scared and excited all at once. “Yes, sir,” he said.

“And don’t call me ‘sir,’” I added, swinging my leg over my bike. “Makes me feel like I should be telling you to mow the lawn.”

He cracked a small smile. It faded as soon as I met his eyes.

“You good?” I asked quietly.

He swallowed. “They won’t… really…” He trailed off, glancing back toward the clubhouse, toward the church room where Hawk still sat, phone in hand.

“We’re bringing her home,” I said. “That’s the only outcome I’m accepting today.”

He nodded like he wanted to believe me.

We roared out of the lot, the sound of engines rolling through the air like thunder. As soon as we hit the highway, we split—Shade and Skeeter taking the off-ramp toward the storage units, Brick and I heading for the river.

On the way, my phone buzzed once. A text from Hawk.

He bought it for now. Wants to meet at 8 p.m. with first load. Make it fast.

I looked at the time on the dash.

12:17 p.m.

Less than eight hours to find a girl in a city of a hundred thousand.

No pressure.

Maya’s face in the photo stayed with me as we rode. Not just the fear—I knew that look, I’d seen it on people in bad spots before—but the thing under it.

Defiance.

I’d seen that too.

When she was twelve, she’d taken a dirt bike meant for kids twice her age and raced it across a field before any of us could blink. When Hawk had grounded her, she’d glared at him and said, “You raised me to ride. You don’t get to act surprised when I do it.”

That girl wasn’t just going to sit quietly.

And if she fought, someone like Reese might decide she wasn’t worth the trouble.

We took the back roads to the river district, tires humming on the cracked asphalt. Old brick warehouses loomed on either side, some converted to lofts and studios, others still very much in use for loading and unloading things better left unmentioned.

We did a slow pass first, eyes sweeping through chain-link fences, empty lots, stacks of pallets.

Nothing obvious.

I pulled into a dusty lot a few blocks away and killed the engine. Brick rolled up beside me, pulling off his helmet.

“Now what?” he asked.

“We walk,” I said. “Less obvious. Ears open.”

We moved through the maze of buildings like we belonged there. That was the trick, in places like this. Act like you’re supposed to be somewhere and half the time people assume you are.

Half the time.

The other half, they’re the wrong people and you end up with a problem.

We ducked behind a stack of shipping containers when we heard voices.

“…told him, no more boxes until he settles the last batch,” a man was saying. “I don’t care who he runs with.”

“Man, you say that now, but when he shows up with those guys on bikes, you’ll fold like the rest,” another voice replied.

We peered around the edge.

Two men in coveralls stood by a loading bay, smoking.

“Talking about us?” Brick mouthed.

“Maybe,” I mouthed back.

We listened. They moved on to complaining about their supervisor’s taste in music.

Not helpful.

We kept moving.

We were three warehouses down when Brick grabbed my sleeve.

“Look,” he whispered.

Down the alley between two buildings, a black SUV sat parked halfway in the shadows. Not unusual by itself.

But the man leaning against the hood, scrolling his phone?

I recognized him.

I’d seen him behind Reese before. At that gas station. Outside the fancy bar. Always a step back and to the right.

His name was Deke. Muscle. The kind that didn’t ask questions, just carried them out.

“Feels like we’re in the right neighborhood,” I murmured.

Brick swallowed. “We going in?” he asked.

“Not yet,” I said. “We don’t know what’s behind that door. Could be a storage room. Could be a dozen guys with those little toys you see in movies.”

He nodded slowly.

We watched.

Deke finished his smoke, flicked the butt, and went to the metal door beside the SUV. He punched in a code on a keypad. The door buzzed, clicked, opened. He slipped inside.

The door shut.

I counted under my breath. Thirty seconds. One minute. Three.

“What are we waiting for?” Brick whispered.

“Patterns,” I said. “Does he come back? Does someone else go in? Do we hear anything?”

We got a little of the last.

Faintly, through the door, a sound.

Brick’s head tilted. “Is that… music?” he asked.

I listened. A beat. Bass, muffled. Maybe a radio inside.

“And that,” I said, “isn’t all.”

Behind the music, so faint I almost thought I’d imagined it at first, something else.

A dull thump. Then another.

“Footsteps,” Brick whispered.

“More than one set,” I said.

We didn’t hear voices. That could mean they weren’t talking.

Or that someone didn’t have the option.

I checked the time. 1:03 p.m.

We weren’t going to find a better lead than this.

“Okay,” I said. “We’re going to get closer.”

“How?” Brick asked. “We can’t just stroll up and—”

“We’re not strolling,” I said. “We’re working.”

Before he could ask what that meant, I walked toward the door like I owned the place.

Brick hissed, “Rafe!” but he followed, because that’s what Brick did. He followed.

The key was casual. Not sneaky, not aggressive. Just… like we were supposed to be there.

When we were almost to the door, it opened.

Deke stepped out, talking over his shoulder.

“…told you, you keep her quiet, this is easy money—”

He stopped when he saw us. His eyes flicked over our vests, taking in the patch.

His mouth curled. “Well, well,” he said. “Look who decided to pay a visit.”

Brick tensed beside me. I could feel it like static.

“Afternoon,” I said. “Didn’t know this was your spot. We can take our stuff somewhere else.”

“Your stuff?” he echoed, amused. “You don’t run anything down here.”

“Just looking for a place to stash some parts,” I lied easily. “We’ve got a delivery later. Didn’t want to clog up the main drag.”

He stepped forward, effectively blocking the door.

“That so?” he said. “Funny. The only deliveries we’re expecting today already came through.”

He looked past me, scanning the alley.

“Where’s the rest of your boys?” he asked. “Thought you traveled in packs.”

“You know how it is,” I said. “Everyone thinks they’re too busy to help until something explodes.”

He snorted.

Behind him, through the crack of the still-open door, I heard it again.

A thump.

A chair leg scraping.

Deke heard it too. He shifted slightly, hand moving toward his side, like he was signaling someone inside to hold.

I smiled, the kind of easy smile that never reached my eyes.

“Look,” I said. “We don’t want trouble. Just needed a spot. Plenty of buildings out here; we’ll find another.”

He studied me for a moment. He was big, but not in the same way as Tank. No rough edges, no scars he couldn’t cover with good grooming. More like a gym membership kind of big.

“I heard your boss is rethinking that no-fun policy,” he said. “Man upstairs must’ve made a convincing argument.”

“Must’ve,” I agreed. “He ever make you a convincing argument?”

Deke’s jaw tightened. “I know which side of the fence I’m on,” he said. “And it’s not the one that turned down a payday.”

“Money’s not everything,” I said.

He smiled, all teeth. “It is when you’re the one holding it,” he said.

A phone rang inside. His eyes flicked over his shoulder.

“You lost?” he asked.

“Not anymore,” I said.

We stared each other down for one beat longer.

Then I nodded, turned, and walked away.

Brick practically vibrated.

As soon as we were out of earshot, he hissed, “What are you doing? That has to be the place. We can’t just leave—”

“We’re not leaving,” I said. “We’re calling.”

“Calling who?” he asked. “Tank? Hawk? We don’t have time to get everyone—”

“Not them,” I said. “We’re calling someone who can get eyes on that building without making everything blow.”

He blinked. “Who’s that?”

I pulled out my phone and scrolled.

Her name wasn’t saved under “Detective” or anything that obvious.

Just “A.”

I hit dial.

Aya picked up on the second ring.

“You only call me during work hours when it’s bad,” she said by way of hello. “How bad is it, Rafe?”

“Kidnapping bad,” I said.

Silence for half a second. Then, “Where are you?”

I told her. I heard keyboard clicks, some muffled conversation in the background.

Aya and I went way back. High school back. She’d been the one who told me to get my head out of my own tail and stop using fists to solve everything. I’d been the one who’d taught her how to change a tire by the side of the road.

Years later, she was a detective with the city police. I was Sergeant-at-Arms for a motorcycle club she had mixed feelings about.

But when things got ugly, we trusted each other.

“Text me a picture of the building and the plate on any vehicle you see,” she said. “Don’t do anything dumb while I’m looking.”

“What do you consider dumb?” I asked.

“Anything that ends with your face on a news alert,” she said. “Give me ten.”

I hung up, snapped some photos, sent them.

Brick looked like he had a hundred questions, but he kept them behind his teeth. I appreciated that.

We waited in the shadow of another building, just far enough back to see without being seen.

Five minutes. Seven. Nine.

My phone buzzed.

Aya: Got something. Warehouse leased to a shell company tied to a long list of noise complaints. No official heat yet. Also, that SUV? Same plate popped up on camera near a snatch-and-grab two weeks ago.

Aya: You sure you just ‘happened’ to be down there?

Me: Not now. We think they have Hawk’s kid inside.

Aya: …You’re serious.

Me: Yeah.

Aya: All right. I can get a unit to do a “routine check,” but if this is tied to something bigger, my captain’s going to want us to stay back, build a case. You know how that goes.

I did. Which was exactly why we hadn’t called 911 as soon as Hawk got the picture.

We didn’t have time for caution. We needed action.

Me: We can’t wait.

Aya: What are you planning?

I looked at the warehouse, then at Brick.

Me: Getting her out. Quiet if we can. Loud if we have to.

Aya: You want my advice?

Me: Always.

Aya: If you’re going in, do it before the sun goes down. People get jumpy at night. And if shots get fired, you want witnesses who aren’t just whoever works for your guy.

Me: Copy that.

Aya: And Rafe?

Me: Yeah?

Aya: Don’t make me come find you on a sheet.

I huffed out a laugh that was more air than humor.

Me: I’ll be in cuffs long before I let that happen.

Aya: That’s not comforting.

She added: I’ll swing by “off duty.” Radio dark. You didn’t hear that from me.

That was as much backup as I could hope for.

I turned to Brick.

“Okay,” I said. “Time to get closer.”

His eyes widened. “Closer than we just were?” he asked.

“Yep,” I said. “We’re going to see what’s on the other side of that wall.”

“How?” he asked. “There’s one door, and it has a code. We can’t see inside from here. Unless you got x-ray vision in that vest I don’t know about.”

I pointed up.

“Their ventilation’s lousy,” I said. “Place like that, they’re going to crack a window somewhere. We find it.”

It took us fifteen minutes of sneaking, climbing, and at least one scraped knee, but we found it.

A small, dirty window high on the side of the building. Just enough of a gap at the bottom where the lock was broken, probably from someone prying it open for a smoke break at some point.

Brick was lighter than me. I cupped my hands, and he stepped up, then grabbed the ledge and pulled himself up until his eyes were level with the opening.

He peered in.

His fingers dug into the brick.

“What do you see?” I whispered.

“Two guys by a table,” he murmured back. “Looks like they’re, uh, counting stuff. Boxes. Some crates. And…”

He went quiet.

“And?” I hissed.

“And a girl,” he said. “Chair in the corner. Hands behind her. Pretty sure it’s her.”

Relief and rage hit me so hard I had to put a hand on the wall to steady myself.

“Anyone else?” I asked.

“Can’t see the whole room,” he said. “Could be more off to the side.”

He dropped down as quietly as he could. His face was pale under his tan.

“It’s bad?” I asked.

He swallowed. “She’s awake,” he said. “But yeah. It’s… not great.”

At least she was awake.

I checked the time again.

1:34 p.m.

We had a location.

Now we needed a way in that didn’t end with Maya caught in crossfire.

Back at the clubhouse, Hawk paced like a caged animal.

He’d talked to Reese twice more, each conversation bought with a lie he hated telling.

“Your boys ain’t moving very fast,” Reese had taunted on the last call. “Maybe I picked the wrong leverage.”

Hawk had gritted his teeth, thrown out words like “routes” and “distribution points,” anything to make it sound like we were actually lining up his plan.

“First drop’s at eight,” Reese had said. “You don’t show, I send you something you don’t want to see.”

Now, Shade and Skeeter had returned from the storage units with nothing but a grumpy manager’s promise to “check the logs later.” Tank had been vibrating in place all afternoon, taking any excuse to snap at people.

When Brick and I rolled back into the yard and told them what we’d found, the room changed.

“You saw her?” Hawk demanded, every muscle in his body straining.

Brick nodded. “She’s there,” he said. “I swear.”

Tank slapped his hand on the back of Brick’s shoulder hard enough to rock him. “Good work, kid,” he said, and for once it didn’t sound sarcastic.

“Okay,” Hawk said. “We know where she is. We go get her.”

“Slow down,” I said. “We do this wrong, we don’t get a second shot.”

He rounded on me. “You telling me to wait again?” he snarled.

“I’m telling you we can’t roll up fifteen deep with engines screaming and expect them not to panic,” I said. “We need to thread this.”

“Thread it?” Tank barked. “She’s tied to a chair somewhere, and you want to do embroidery?”

I ignored him.

“We hit from two sides,” I said. “Small team in the back, quiet. Another crew ready out front if things go loud. No warning, no calls. We go before Reese gets there, when it’s just his workers.”

Hawk’s eyes bored into mine. “You sure he’s not there already?” he asked.

“Deke was in and out,” I said. “But it didn’t smell like a full crew yet. Just enough to watch her and mind the goods.”

“I don’t like splitting up,” Tank muttered. “But I like leaving her there even less.”

Hawk took a long breath.

“Who’s on the quiet team?” he asked.

I met his gaze. “Me,” I said. “Brick. Shade. Skeeter. Four’s the most we can move without sounding like a parade.”

“And the front?” he asked.

Tank’s eyes gleamed. “Now you’re talking,” he said. “Me, Buzz, Crow, and three others. We stay out of sight until we hear trouble or see your signal. Then we knock.”

The way he said “knock” made it clear he meant with more than hands.

“Fine,” Hawk said. “I’m coming.”

“No,” I said.

Heads swiveled.

“No?” Hawk repeated, like he’d misheard.

“You’re the one he wants to see,” I said. “If he shows up early and you’re not where you’re supposed to be, he might get ideas. You need to be ready to stall him again if this takes longer than we think.”

“You’re telling me I’m staying here?” he asked, voice low.

“You’re staying close to your phone,” I said. “If everything goes right, you’ll be driving her to the hospital yourself in a few hours. If it goes wrong, you’re our backup plan.”

His nostrils flared.

“This is my daughter,” he said.

“This is your club,” I said. “You’re the president. We need you thinking wide, not clearing rooms.”

The argument was serious now—not just about tactics, but about trust, pride, power.

“If she dies because I wasn’t there—” he began.

“If she dies, it won’t be because you stayed by the phone for twenty minutes,” I cut in. “It’ll be because a man who doesn’t think anyone will stop him decided it was easier to erase his mistake. We are trying to make that the hardest option for him, not the easiest.”

Tank stepped in. “He’s right,” he said reluctantly. “You’re too valuable up top. We screw this up, someone’s gotta make sure the club survives what comes next.”

Hawk looked like he wanted to break his chair in half.

Finally, he exhaled.

“Fine,” he said. “But if I hear anything go sideways, I’m on my way. You don’t get between me and that door.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said.

We geared up.

Not like in movies. No big display, no long speeches. Just men checking that what they needed was where they could reach it.

We didn’t carry heavy firepower around town unless we had no other choice. This wasn’t a battlefield, and the last thing we needed was headlines.

But nobody walked into a situation like this bare-handed either.

As Sergeant-at-Arms, I made sure we kept it simple. Enough to defend ourselves. Not enough to start a war we couldn’t explain.

Aya had texted once more.

Aya: I’ll be ten minutes out at all times. If you hear sirens, that’s not for you unless you want it to be.

Aya: Keep your hands clean. Or as clean as you can.

I tucked my phone away. Hawk was still staring at his.

“Time?” I asked.

“2:15,” he said. “Sun’s high. You got a few hours before traffic gets heavy.”

“Good,” I said. “We won’t need that many.”

I hoped.

The back entrance we’d scoped out wasn’t a real door. It was a service hatch half-hidden by stacked pallets and a dumpster that smelled like it had never heard of collection day.

Shade and Skeeter moved the pallets an inch at a time, just enough for us to squeeze through. Brick stood watch, eyes flicking between the hatch and the corner where Tank’s crew would be sitting out of sight in their trucks and bikes.

The club usually liked loud entries. Engines, boots, a wall of noise that made people step back on instinct.

Today, the only sound was our breathing and the distant buzz of a forklift somewhere else in the district.

I pulled the hatch open.

Cool air washed over us, carrying the smell of old concrete, cardboard, something chemical and sharp underneath.

We slipped inside.

The corridor was narrow, lit by a single flickering bulb. We moved in formation—me in front, Shade just behind, Skeeter and Brick covering the rear. Every few steps, we paused, listening.

Voices, faint at first, then clearer.

“…told you to tape that box better. If that bottle cracks, his supplier will have your head—”

“He can come do it himself if he’s so worried.”

Laughter.

I held up a hand. We pressed to the wall.

The voices were ahead, through a doorway. Light spilled from it, brighter than the dim hall.

I edged forward, staying out of the direct line of sight.

I peered around the corner.

Two men, just like Brick had seen. One by a folding table, sealing boxes. The other leaning against a crate, scrolling his phone. Stacks of cartons around them, all with the same logo that had been popping up in arrests recently.

And in the corner, exactly where Brick had said…

Maya.

Seeing her through my own eyes was different than seeing her in a photo.

Bruise on her cheek. Dried blood at the corner of her mouth. A rope looped around her torso, pinning her arms to her sides, tied to the back of the chair. Ankles bound. The cloth was gone from her mouth, but a dirty strip hung loose around her neck.

Her eyes were open.

Even from here, I could see the spark.

She saw me.

Her eyes widened for a second, then narrowed. Smart girl. She didn’t cry out. Didn’t move.

One of the men looked up anyway.

“Thought I heard something,” he muttered.

“Rats,” the other said. “This place is full of ’em.”

“You’re the rat,” the first one shot back, and they went back into their bickering.

I pulled my head back.

“How many?” Shade whispered.

“Two visible,” I whispered back. “Maya in the corner. No sight of Deke or anyone else. But that doesn’t mean they’re not close.”

“We hit them fast,” Skeeter murmured. “One-two. Quiet.”

“And if someone hears?” Brick whispered.

“Then we get loud,” I said.

We took positions.

Shade and Skeeter on either side of the doorway, knives out—not for anything fatal, just enough to make sure those guys couldn’t call out immediately. Brick behind me, ready to move when we did.

I caught his eye, pointed two fingers at mine, then toward Maya.

His job was clear: reach her.

One breath. Two.

On three, I moved.

I stepped into the doorway like I belonged there.

“Afternoon, boys,” I said.

Their heads snapped up.

For one second, they froze. Then:

“Who the—”

Shade was behind the one at the table like a shadow, arm hooked around his neck, blade at his side. Skeeter slammed the other one against a crate, pinning his arm.

“Hands where I can see them,” I said calmly.

The man by the table wheezed, but obeyed. The other cursed, struggling until Skeeter dug his fingers into a pressure point that made him hiss.

Brick slipped into the room and headed straight for Maya.

Her eyes filled with tears when she saw our patch.

“You’re late,” she croaked, voice wrecked.

“Traffic,” Brick said, hands already working the knots at her wrists. “You know how it is.”

Smart kids. Jokes in the worst moments.

I kept my focus on the two men.

“Reese here?” I asked.

“Never heard of him,” the one by the crate lied.

“Try again,” I said. “This time without insulting my intelligence.”

“We just pack boxes,” the table guy gasped. “We don’t ask names.”

I believed half of that. Maybe a little less.

“You keep tape on the shipments or just on the girl?” I asked, nodding at Maya.

He flinched.

“He’ll kill us,” he said. “If we talk.”

“If you don’t talk, I turn you loose with a club full of people who love that girl like she’s theirs,” I said. “You can take your chances with whichever set of consequences you like better.”

The crate guy swallowed. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

“He’s not here,” he blurted. “He drops by later. To ‘check on stock.’”

“What time?” I asked.

“Seven,” he said. “Sometimes earlier, sometimes later. I swear. He likes to keep people guessing.”

“What about Deke?” I asked. “He in the building?”

“Left like half an hour ago,” the table guy wheezed. “Said he had to go ‘make a pick-up.’ It’s just us right now.”

Brick got the rope around Maya’s chest loose. She winced as she moved her arms in front of her, circulation returning in pins and needles.

I scanned the room quickly. No cameras I could see. No obvious alarms.

“Any other exits?” I asked.

“Front door,” crate guy said. “And the one your boy came through. That’s it.”

He wasn’t looking at me when he said it.

He was looking past me.

At the door.

At the shadow that had just fallen across the threshold.

“Now, now,” a smooth voice drawled. “Look at this little party.”

Deke stood in the doorway, hand resting casually under his jacket.

Behind him, two more men flanked the hall.

“Thought I saw your pretty patch on the cameras,” he said. “The boss is going to be thrilled.”

If there was one thing my time in the club had taught me, it was this: plans fall apart in the first thirty seconds of contact.

The second thing it had taught me?

You better have something inside you that can handle that.

“Brick,” I said without looking back, my voice low but firm. “Get her out. Now.”

“I’m not leaving—” Maya started.

“Not the time,” I snapped. “Brick. The back hatch. Go.”

Brick hesitated only a heartbeat, then hauled Maya to her feet. She staggered, legs wobbly, but he half-carried, half-guided her toward the side of the room opposite Deke and his men.

Deke’s eyes tracked them.

“Where you taking my friend?” he asked, still in that too-calm tone.

“She’s not your friend,” I said. “She’s a bargaining chip you’re about to lose.”

He laughed. “You think walking in here with three guys and a pocket knife is going to scare me?” he asked. “I’ve got more men outside. And your president dancing on my strings.”

Outside.

Tank’s crew.

Signal.

I took a breath.

“You got more men outside?” I asked. “That’s funny. We heard engines out there earlier. Thought it was you. Maybe it wasn’t.”

He frowned.

“I don’t have time for this,” he said. “Move away from them and maybe you walk out of here with all your pieces.”

Behind him, one of his men shifted, hand going to the small of his back.

I lifted my hand.

Not toward them.

Straight up.

Shade and Skeeter moved.

The room exploded into motion.

Shade drove his elbow into the ribs of the table guy and shoved him aside, giving himself a clear line. Skeeter twisted the crate guy’s arm behind his back and used him as a partial shield.

I lunged toward the closest stack of crates, putting something solid between me and whatever Deke’s men were about to pull.

Outside, a roar.

Engines.

Lots of them.

Tank, right on time.

A shout from the hallway. The heavy slam of a door. Then the unmistakable sound of Tank’s voice, loud and full of satisfaction.

“Knock, knock!” he bellowed.

Chaos.

Deke cursed and drew, but before he could aim, the doorframe behind him splintered.

Not from a bullet.

From a boot.

Tank’s boot, to be specific.

He barreled through like a linebacker, catching Deke square in the back. They went down in a tangle.

The two men behind Deke scrambled, trying to decide whether to help their boss, shoot at us, or deal with the sudden wave of leather and denim coming through the hall.

They chose wrong.

We didn’t.

Skeeter shoved his human shield toward them. One of Reese’s men fired, but the shot went wide, burying itself in a crate. Shade tackled the shooter low, driving him to the ground. The other tried to run, only to meet Buzz’s shoulder in the doorway with an impact that made my own bones ache.

Maya and Brick were almost to the back corner.

I saw her stumble, leg buckling again.

Without thinking, I was there, grabbing her other arm.

“Walk,” I said. “We got you.”

Her eyes were wild, but she nodded, gritting her teeth.

We moved as one, weaving between crates while the club did what it did best when pushed too far.

It was brutal, in its way.

Not flashy. Not drawn out.

Efficient.

Tank didn’t ask Deke politely to drop his weapon. He knocked it away with his boot and pinned him with one knee. Shade and Buzz disarmed the others with a combination of well-placed blows and a couple of tools that had been used to fix bikes an hour earlier and were now making a very different kind of point.

There was shouting. Cursing. The sound of fists meeting jaws. A couple more shots, wild and fast, into ceilings and walls, making cardboard dust rain down.

But there wasn’t what I’d feared most.

No screams from Maya.

No cry of someone hit who didn’t deserve it.

We made it to the back hatch. Brick shoved it open. Sunlight flooded in, blinding after the fluorescent hum.

Outside, more of our crew had the perimeter locked. Bikes idled. Truck engines rumbled.

Hawk’s truck was there.

He’d ignored my very reasonable suggestion about staying at the clubhouse.

Of course he had.

He launched himself out of the driver’s seat as soon as he saw us. For a man his age, he moved fast.

“Maya,” he croaked.

She broke away from us and ran toward him, legs shaking, but fueled by something older than pain.

He caught her, arms wrapping around her so tight I briefly thought he might crack a rib.

“You okay?” he asked into her hair, voice breaking.

She laughed, a wet, hysterical sound.

“I’ve had better days,” she said. “But yeah. I’m here.”

His shoulders shook once. Twice.

I looked away, giving them that moment.

Then I turned back to the hatch.

Deke was being dragged outside by Tank and Buzz, hands zip-tied behind him with something we’d grabbed on the way out. He was breathing hard, face red, hair mussed.

He still tried to smile.

“Well,” he said, lip bleeding, “this is a party.”

Tank shoved him against the side of the building.

“You picked the wrong house to knock on,” Tank growled.

Deke spat blood onto the dirt. “You think this changes anything?” he sneered. “You think you scared him? Reese is going to burn this place to the ground when he hears what you did.”

“Maybe,” I said, walking up. “If he hears it from you.”

Deke’s eyes narrowed. “You gonna shut me up?” he asked. “Right here, in broad daylight, with all these witnesses?”

He jerked his chin toward the other warehouse workers who’d poked their heads out at the commotion. Tow truck guys, forklift operators, a couple of office ladies peering through a window.

I smiled.

“No,” I said. “We’re not adding murder to our day.”

He looked almost disappointed.

“So what, then?” he demanded. “You rough me up, let me walk, and we pretend this never happened?”

“You don’t walk,” I said. “You ride.”

He frowned.

“Excuse me?” he asked.

I nodded toward the street.

A familiar sedan was pulling up. It parked half a block away. Aya stepped out, plain clothes, badge not visible but always there.

Deke went pale.

“You called the cops on me?” he shouted, like no worse insult existed.

“You kidnapped a kid to force a business deal,” I said. “You’re lucky that’s all we called on you.”

“You think they can hold me?” he snarled. “You think I don’t have friends downtown?”

“I think,” I said, “that even the loosest system doesn’t like people who grab teenagers off the street. That gets attention. That gets news. And you, my friend, do not like the kind of spotlight that comes with news.”

Aya walked up, eyes scanning the scene calmly. She took in the bruises, the zip ties, the open hatch, the men standing around with carefully empty hands.

“Funny who you run into out here,” she said to me, voice dry.

“Field trip,” I said. “Kids these days never listen.”

She looked at Deke, then at Maya, who was still clinging to Hawk like she might never let go.

“You okay?” Aya asked her.

Maya nodded, voice rough. “Been better,” she said. “But yeah. Thanks for coming.”

Aya’s jaw worked. “I wish you’d called sooner,” she said, eyes flicking to me. “But I’m glad you called at all.”

Maybe she meant that. Maybe she didn’t. The important part was what she did next.

She stepped toward Deke.

“You’re under arrest,” she said. “For unlawful restraint, assault, and a few other things I’m sure we’ll find on the way downtown.”

“This is ridiculous,” he sputtered. “You can’t just—”

She spun him neatly, guiding him toward her car like she’d done this a thousand times. Probably because she had.

He looked back at me over his shoulder.

“This isn’t over,” he said, eyes burning.

“You’re right,” I said. “It’s not.”

I glanced at Hawk.

“Because after your boss sees the news tonight,” I added, “he’s going to know this kind of move doesn’t work on us.”

Hawk’s eyes were steel.

“And if he tries it again,” he said quietly, “he’ll find out what happens when we stop giving warnings.”

That was as close to a threat as he was willing to say in front of a detective.

Aya heard him anyway.

“Don’t make my life harder,” she muttered, pushing Deke’s head down as she guided him into the car so he didn’t crack it on the doorframe. “Please.”

He cursed all the way in.

The door shut.

Aya turned back to us.

“I’m going to have to write this up somehow,” she said. “You want to tell me why I got an anonymous tip about screaming at this warehouse and then found absolutely nothing suggestive in your hands?”

“Must be a glitch in the system,” I said.

She snorted.

“You know this doesn’t fix everything,” she said in a low voice, pulling me a step aside. “Reese is still out there. He’s going to assume it was you, not me, who wrecked his plan. He might double down. He might get sloppy. Either way, you need to be ready.”

I nodded. “We’ll be ready,” I said.

“Try,” she said, “to be ready in ways that don’t involve my caseload tripling.”

“No promises,” I said.

She shook her head, but a tiny smile tugged at her mouth.

Then she slid into her car and drove off, siren off, lights off.

Just another sedan in traffic.

Back at the clubhouse, the adrenaline had worn off, leaving something heavier in its place.

Maya sat at one of the long tables, a blanket around her shoulders despite the warm afternoon. Someone had cleaned the blood off her face and put a bandage on the cut at her lip. Her wrists were red, rope burns angry against her skin.

Hawk hovered like a storm cloud, never more than two feet away.

I grabbed a coffee and sat across from her.

“How you holding up?” I asked.

She gave a lopsided smile that looked too much like her father’s.

“I got kidnapped,” she said. “Ten out of ten do not recommend.”

I huffed a laugh.

She sobered.

“Thanks,” she said. “For coming.”

“Always,” I said. “Family, right?”

She looked at the patch on my vest, then at the others scattered around the room. Some were talking quietly. Some were just sitting, staring at their hands, processing.

“Got into a big fight, didn’t you?” she asked. “Before you came.”

“Why would you think that?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes. “I know you guys,” she said. “Half of you probably wanted to call the cops, the other half wanted to storm every building in a ten-mile radius. And somewhere in the middle, you and Dad yelled at each other about ‘what’s best for the club’ and made everyone uncomfortable.”

She wasn’t wrong.

“It got heated,” I admitted.

“About me?” she asked.

“About everything,” I said. “You were just the thing that made it all real.”

She looked down at her wrists.

“I heard them talking,” she said quietly. “Those guys. They said Reese was mad the ‘old man’ had turned him down. That he was going to show you who was really in charge.”

She looked up, eyes sharp.

“You showed him,” she said. “Not just with the rescue. With calling your detective friend. With making sure he doesn’t get to stay in the dark.”

I shrugged. “We didn’t do it for him,” I said. “We did it for you.”

“I know,” she said. “But he’s going to take it personal.”

“We’ll be ready,” I said.

“You can’t watch me every second of my life,” she said. “I can’t live in here forever.”

“I know that too,” I said.

We sat in silence for a moment.

Across the room, Hawk was in a quiet argument with Tank and Shade. It didn’t have the edge the earlier fight had, but it still had weight.

“You guys going to be okay?” Maya asked.

“Eventually,” I said. “We saw what we needed to see today.”

“What’s that?” she asked.

“That some lines we drew weren’t as bright as we thought,” I said. “That we still have teeth when we need them. And that we got choices about how we use them.”

Her mouth twisted. “I heard one of them say you should just take the deal,” she said. “Move his stuff, get me back.”

I didn’t ask how she’d heard; brick walls aren’t as soundproof as people think.

“Some of us would have done worse in the past,” I said. “We’re still learning.”

“You didn’t do it, though,” she said. “You didn’t sell out.”

“No,” I said. “We didn’t.”

“Good,” she said. “I’d rather you let me figure out how to fight my way out than turn into something you hate to save me.”

I looked at her, eyebrow raised. “That so?”

“Yeah,” she said. “We’re not them. You and Dad keep telling me that. Today you proved it.”

Across the room, Hawk raised his voice just enough for us to hear.

“From here on out,” he said, “if anyone so much as whispers about moving that poison through our routes, we shut it down. No more ‘maybe later.’ No more ‘let’s think about it.’ We’re done.”

Tank nodded. “Agreed,” he said. “We saw where that road leads.”

“To chairs and ropes,” Shade muttered.

“Exactly,” Hawk said.

He caught my eye.

For a second, the argument from earlier flickered between us. The anger. The fear. The accusation.

Then he nodded.

“Thanks,” he said simply.

“For what?” I asked.

“For telling me no,” he said. “For making me stay by the phone. For calling Aya. For having a plan when I just had rage.”

“That’s what you pay me for,” I said.

He snorted. “I don’t pay you,” he said. “That’s the problem. You keep working like this for free.”

“Yeah, well,” I said. “You give me a family. Consider us even.”

Maya rolled her eyes again, but there was affection in it.

“You two going to hug now?” she asked. “Because I’m going to need more coffee if this turns into a feelings circle.”

“Watch it,” Hawk said. “I can still ground you.”

“I’d like to see you try,” she shot back.

We laughed.

It wasn’t over. Not really.

Reese was still out there, his favorite enforcer on his way to a holding cell. Word would spread. Lines would be tested again. Maybe tomorrow, maybe next month.

But we’d drawn one of our own.

We’d shown ourselves who we were willing to be.

Not saints.

Not demons.

Something in between.

A club that could be rough when pushed. Brutal, even.

But not cruel.

Not anymore.

That night, as the sun sank and the bikes cooled in the yard, I sat on the clubhouse steps, listening to the low murmur of voices inside, the occasional clink of a bottle, the distant hum of city traffic.

My phone buzzed.

Aya: He’s not talking. But his lawyer is sweating. This’ll stick.

Aya: You did good. Even if your methods give me a headache.

Me: Likewise. Coffee on me next time.

Aya: You wish. You still owe me for high school.

I smiled.

Behind me, I heard Hawk’s voice, softer than it had been all day.

“Maya, stay where I can see you,” he said.

“Dad,” she groaned. “I literally just escaped a warehouse. Let me go to the bathroom alone.”

“Bathroom, then right back,” he said. “You think I’m letting you out of my sight for more than five minutes this week, you’re dreaming.”

I turned my face toward the horizon, where the last light bled out of the sky.

We were still here.