Chapter 24

Jaxon’s heart dropped to his stomach as his brother slammed the door of the clubhouse open. His eyes were wild, chest heaving.

“They took Rachel and Daphne.”

The words echoed in Jaxon’s mind. His hands curled into fists, knuckles cracking.

“Who?” he growled. Though he already knew.

“The Wolverines. Jasper from the tattoo shop just called me.”

Jaxon saw red. His blood roared in his ears as a maelstrom of emotions tore through him—rage, fear, desperation. Rachel. He had to get to her.

He stalked to his bike, fingers tight around the handlebars. She was out there, in the hands of those animals. Cold terror seized his heart at the thought of what they might do to her.

Rachel.

He kicked the bike to life, the engine snarling beneath him. Whatever it took, he would shred every last Wolverine to pieces to get her back.

The bike shot forward, a bullet racing toward its target. His brothers followed close behind, a thunder in his wake.

Rachel. Her name was a chant in his mind, a prayer on his lips. He’d burn the whole world down before he’d let them hurt her. She was his, and he would come for her.

Always.

Jaxon pulled up outside the Wolverines’ warehouse, gravel spraying under his tires. His brothers fanned out behind him, headlights cutting through the darkness.

He killed the engine and dismounted, the air heavy with the scent of smoke and gas. His men had done their job well. Flames licked up the side of the building, tendrils of fire dancing behind the windows.

Shouts and curses rose from inside, accompanied by the crackle of gunfire.

Jaxon strode toward the entrance, adrenaline and purpose steeling his nerves. He signaled his men forward and kicked in the door.

The interior was chaos. A dozen Wolverines scrambled to evacuate, coughing and swearing. Jaxon raised his gun and fired, the retort of the shot echoing off the metal walls.

A dark figure dropped to the ground, the others whirling with weapons drawn.

Jaxon’s men flooded in behind him, returning fire. He ducked behind a stack of crates, scanning the room. Where was she?

“Jaxon!” a familiar cry rang out. His head snapped up, gaze searching. There, on a catwalk above—Rachel. Her hands were bound, her face pale and terrified. Beside her stood Dom with a gun to her head.

Dread flooded Jaxon’s veins, cold and sharp. He straightened, raising his hands.

“That’s far enough, Jones,” he growled, “or the bitch gets a bullet in the brain.”

Jaxon’s heart slammed against his ribs. After everything, he couldn’t lose her, just like his sister.

“Let her go,” he said, voice low and steady. “This is between us.”

The man bared rotten teeth in a sneer. “I don’t think so.” He ground the muzzle of the gun into Rachel’s temple, and her eyes fluttered shut.

Jaxon’s world tilted on its axis. No. He wouldn’t—he couldn’t—

“Please,” he rasped. All his life, he’d never begged for anything. But for Rachel, he’d get on his knees.

He met her gaze, willing her to look at him. To stay with him.

“I’m here,” he said softly. “I’m right here.”

Her eyes opened, luminous in the firelight. A tear slipped down her cheek.

Jaxon held her gaze, his heart in his throat. They had come so far, survived so much. It couldn’t end like this.

He took a step forward, hands still raised. “Take me instead.”

The scarred man sneered. “How noble. But I think I’ll keep the girl.”

He yanked Rachel against him, pressing the gun to her head—

A shot rang out, and he crumpled, lifeless. Rachel tumbled forward.

Jaxon lunged to catch her as she fell, clutching her to his chest. She was shaking, sobbing into his neck. He smoothed her hair, murmuring in her ear.

“Shh, baby, it’s over. I’ve got you now. You’re safe.”

The fire raged around them, but in the circle of his arms, all was still. Rachel lifted her head, eyes shining.

“You came for me,” she whispered.

He brushed the tears from her cheeks. “Always.”

Stepping out, Jaxon stumbled upon the gruesome scene, his boots splashing in the puddles of crimson blood seeping into the cracked concrete. Dirk and Slick lay motionless, eyes glassy and unseeing, bullet holes marring their foreheads.

Daphne was huddled over Slick’s body, sobs wracking her petite frame. Her hands fluttered uselessly over his chest, as if she could will his heart to beat again through the sheer force of touch.

Jaxon’s stomach roiled at the sight, bile and rage churning into a toxic slurry. He’d known Dirk and Slick since they were kids running wild in the streets. They were family.

And now they were gone.

He dropped to his knees beside Daphne, pulling her into his arms. She clung to him, her tears soaking into his cut. “Shh, I got you,” he murmured. But his gaze remained fixed on Marcus’s pale, lifeless face.

The crunch of boots on gravel made him look up. Liam strode toward them, his face grim. As the new president of the Wolverines, he was the only one who could have pulled off something like this.

Jaxon gently extricated himself from Daphne’s hold and rose to his feet. Liam was the one who shot Dom. His own brother. “You better have a damn good explanation.”

Liam’s mouth twisted. “Dominic was never going to stop, and neither were you. You wanted him dead for murdering your sister. That’s done. Now, we need to move forward and put all the ambiguity between us in the past. Now that I’m the President, things will be done differently.”

Jaxon turned to Daphne. She was still huddled on the ground, her body wracked with sobs.

He reached down and grasped her elbow, pulling her to her feet. “Let’s get you home.”

She sagged against him, her tears soaking into his shirt. He held her close.

“We should get out of here.” He nodded at his bike. “Can you ride?”

Daphne nodded shakily. Jaxon helped her onto the back of Thatcher’s bike as the engine roared to life. “Let’s get you home.”