Taken by the Bikers (Screaming Eagles MC)

“Emily—”

“Get out!”

“Tell me what I can do. Anything. Just tell me.”

I send her my most withering glare, and she nearly crumples under it. If I can make it any more obvious that I don't believe her, I'm not sure how. But then she straightens, and her expression hardens. That look of pure determination seems foreign on the face of someone who—as far as I can tell—has spent her whole life primping and staying on Dad's good side so she could live the good life on the arm of a wealthy politician.

“Tell me.”

“Get me out of here.”

Her expression falls. “I can't do that.”

“Figures.”

“No.” She shakes her head and this time she doesn't look away. “I literally can't. Your father has posted guards, and they're not going to listen to me. Maybe I can convince one, or two, but not all of them. Maybe I could distract them for a few moments, but not long enough for you to get anywhere.”

“Then what's the point? As long as I'm a prisoner, if you can't get me out, there's nothing you can do that will make me any less a prisoner.”

“Where would you go? If you could leave.”

I know how crazy it sounds as I say it, but I can't imagine anything else. “Back to the Screaming Eagles. At least they treated me like a person.”

“You'd be in danger, Emily. Not just from them, but from your father. You know he's going after them.”

Of course he is. I should have known better. “We made a deal. I came with him, and he would give them the option to surrender.” Even as I say it, I realize how stupid that sounds.

Mom's look says it all. Of course he's going to go in, guns blazing, because he knows just as well as me that there's no way the guys will ever surrender to the likes of him. Or anyone, really.

Shit.

“Then I really need to get out of here. They would still protect me more than you guys ever have,” I snap, hating how it makes me sound like a bratty teenager, but knowing the truth of it anyway. “And they're probably already planning on… actually, maybe there is something you can do.”

“What is it?”

How far can I trust her? And does it matter? If she's trying to entrap me, then I'm no less screwed than I was before. This is probably batshit insane and has no chance of working, but maybe… just maybe. And what do I have to lose?

Them. King, Hero and Wild Child. I could lose them.

But I'll never have them if I don't try.

“Can you pass on a message for me?”

34

KING

There aren't enough things to smash in this storeroom. I'm frustrated enough to want to take down a whole damn building, but I have to keep calm. To keep my shit together, because if I lose it, Hero and Wild Child will go off the rails. That's how this works.

“We don't even know if she meant to leave or not,” grumbles Hero. There's the hurt of betrayal in his growl. “She wasn't just messing around with us the whole time, was she?”

“I refuse to believe that,” says Wild Child. He's sitting for once, but the chair's balanced on its back legs as he rocks it back and forth with one foot on the ground. I'm just waiting for it to fall over and spill him out on the floor behind. Even that makes me think of Emily. He was calmer with her around. Always moving, sure, but not nearly as frantic. Now the instability is coming back. “We can't just fucking sit here. I'm going to explode if we don't find her soon.”

There are days when I'd rather eat shit than agree with Wild Child, but this isn't one of them. I'm ready to explode too.

“I don't believe it either,” I break in. “There was too much that was…” For once I’m at a loss for words. “That was… that was too fucking real. Genuine. That wasn't all a fucking act. She's not that good of an actress.”

Hero nods, as if he needed that confirmation. “Yeah. It was. But then, what hold does old Hawthorne have on her that she went with him willingly? He wasn't exactly dragging her kicking and screaming into the car.”

“I don't know.” And I fucking hate not knowing. “But my gut tells me that she's in danger, and I refuse to sit by.”

Wild Child almost tips over, but catches himself just in time. “So where is she? Back home? Do we have to fucking kidnap her? Again? It won't be as easy this time.”

“They'll be waiting for us,” says Hero.

My phone rings. Who the fuck? Caller ID doesn't have a name for me.

“Hello?”

“Is this… King?” It's a woman's voice.

“It is.”

“This is Miriam Hawthorne, Emily's mother.”

Holy fuck. “I'm putting you on speaker so we can all hear. Where's Emily?”