Chapter Four

Sean: VP in the Loyal Rebels

"Gotcha," I exclaim as I sweep aside the living room curtain and scoop Beathan up into my arms.

His giggles vibrate against my chest, a sound that's become welcomed in Beth's and my home. In the short time since Beathan and Annette moved to town, seeing them almost every day has been a blessing, and it makes me want to marry Beth yesterday and start a family of our own.

"Uncle Sean, you're too good at this!" he squeals, his bright green eyes dancing with laughter.

The warmth of the moment squeezes my heart, reminding me just how much light this kid brings into our lives.

"All right, your turn to find me," I say, setting him down gently.

He nods, his mop of brown hair bouncing as he covers his eyes with his small hands and starts to count. "One… two… three…"

I tiptoe away with no small amount of effort because of my size. I cast one last glance at his concentrated face. And that's when it happens—the sound of breaking glass violently invades the sanctuary of my home.

The world shifts into slow motion. My heart hammers against my ribcage—not with the adrenaline rush from our playful game, but with cold, numbing dread.

Instincts honed from years in the military snap me into action. I whirl around, my eyes scanning for the source of the noise, every sense heightened. The front window is shattered, and boots are crunching over the broken shards.

"Nine… ten. Ready or not, here I come!"

"Beathan, stay there!" I command, my voice low and urgent, hoping to God he listens. But I know he won't—curiosity is part of his DNA.

"Uncle Sean?" His voice trembles slightly, the first hint of fear seeping through his usual excitement.

"Stay where you are, B." My words are a shield as I step in front of him, my body coiled tight, ready to protect him from whatever or whoever comes through that broken window.

There's no time for strategy, no time for anything but raw, primal defense. My hands are clenched into fists at my sides, tattoos stretching over my taut skin.

"Who's there?" I call out.

I'm used to combat, to facing enemies head-on. But this is different. This isn't some far-off battlefield but our home and safe haven, now breached by an invisible threat.

"Uncle Sean, I'm scared," Beathan whispers from behind me, his words cutting sharper than any knife. They slice through the fear, igniting a fierce, protective rage within me.

"Nothing's going to happen to you, I promise," I speak with more conviction than I feel because that's what you do when you love someone—you give them hope, even when yours is hanging by a thread.

Then they're inside.

Shadows turn solid, threats become flesh as they enter the room.

Time to act.

The world tilts into chaos, and my heart beats a drum in my ears. Men, faces obscured by masks, crash through our violated threshold, all sense of safety splintering like the shattered glass on the floor. Beathan's small hand is wrenched from mine, his cry piercing the air, a raw sound that brands itself into my memory.

"Uncle Sean!" he screams, terror lacing his voice.

"Beathan!" I roar, lunging forward, but one of the intruders barrels into me, his bulk a temporary wall between my nephew and me.

They're dragging him away, his bright green eyes wide with fear, seeking me out as if my gaze alone could anchor him to safety. Instinct and training mesh into a single force within me. I shove the man hard against the wall, feeling the impact reverberate up my arms, but he's just one obstacle. There are more, too many, and they're moving fast, efficient in their cruelty.

"Let him go!" My voice is a command, lost in the maelstrom as I dodge another assailant, my mind racing.

I need a plan. Options flash through my thoughts—the exits, the telephone in the kitchen, my brother, Jamie, next door who might have heard the commotion—but there's no time for any of that. Not when Beathan is being pulled to the door, and every second stretches out, each one a possibility of harm to come to him.

"Please, he's just a kid!" But my plea falls on deaf ears, or perhaps they're simply indifferent to the desperation in my tone.

With grim resolve, I fix my steely blue gaze on the nearest kidnapper, calculating the distance, the risk. I can take one down, maybe two. But Beathan—the fear in his eyes tells a story of trust teetering on the edge. He believes in me and thinks I'll keep him safe.

"Stay strong, B," I call out to him, my voice steady despite the storm inside me. "I'm right here."

I make a split-second decision, aiming for the leader, the one holding Beathan. If I can get to him, create an opening…

"Uncle Sean, help!" Beathan's plea is like a knife twisting in my gut.

I launch myself at the kidnapper with everything I am—a protector, a soldier, a desperate uncle trying to save his world encapsulated in a five-year-old boy.

There's no going back now. This is the moment where love and loss collide, where secrets kept in the dark must come to light. And I'll be damned if I let betrayal write the ending to this story.

Surging forward, my muscles coiled and ready to spring, I only get two steps closer when the butt of a shotgun slams into my forehead. Stars swim in my vision, but I can't lose consciousness. I have to keep it together for Beathan.

My voice slices through the chaos, strong and commanding. "What do you want? Why are you taking him?"

The ringleader, a man with cold eyes turns to face me. He holds Beathan close, an insurance policy against my advance. The boy's whimpers claw at my insides.

"Let him go," I demand, my words edged with a lethal calm. "He's just a child." Something warm trickles down my face, stinging my eyes. I swipe at it, and my hand comes away covered in blood.

"Maybe to you," the leader retorts, his voice a venomous drawl. "But to others, he's leverage."

"To who? He's just a kid."

The man laughs. "Yeah, Tyson Reed's kid. He's worth a fortune."

Shaking my head from side to side, I say, "Listen to me," I start, taking a measured step closer. The kidnappers tense, but I keep my hands visible, unthreatening. "Beathan is not Tyson Reed's son. You've got the wrong kid."

He scoffs. "Do we look like idiots?" His grip on Beathan tightens, and I imagine my nephew's small frame trying to shrink away from the iron hold.

"Tyson doesn't have any children," I insist, every sinew in my body screaming to lunge, to fight, to reclaim Beathan from this nightmare. But I can't risk it, not yet. "You're barking up the wrong tree."

The man's lips curl into a sneer. "He's valuable to someone, and that's enough."

"Please," I say, the word scraping against my pride. It's not in my nature to beg, but for Beathan, I'll grovel before the devil himself. "He's scared. Let him go. Take me instead."

Laughter, harsh and mocking, fills the room. "You think you can bargain with us? You have no idea what's at stake here, MacKenny."

"Then enlighten me," I challenge, my gaze never wavering from the man's. "Because right now, all I see are cowards hiding behind masks, threatening a child."

"Careful now," another warns, stepping closer. "Your hero complex might just get everyone hurt."

My heart stutters, then hammers against my rib cage. Beth. The thought of her in danger scorches through me like wildfire. I can handle being a target, but not her, never her.

"Uncle Sean," Beathan's voice is a quiet sob, barely audible over the pounding in my ears. "I'm scared."

"Everything's going to be okay," I promise, though the assurance tastes like ash in my mouth. "Just stay brave for me, okay?"

One of the men chuckles darkly, the sound devoid of any real mirth. "Nice try, VP, but we're not idiots. You want the kid, you pay up, or maybe we hurt Beth."

Beth is pushed into the room by another. There are too many of them. Even if I could reach my weapons, I could lose one or both of them.

The room spins, and for a moment, I'm back in the desert—sand, heat, and impossible choices. But this is different. This is personal. Beth's wide, fear-filled eyes lock onto mine, and the weight of her trust pins me in place. One of them has a shotgun at the back of her head. I can't risk losing her. Beth is my life.

"Okay," I breathe out, the word heavy, laden with defeat but edged with a silent promise. "Just don't hurt them."

"Smart man." They back toward the door, taking Beathan with them.

"Hey, B." My voice cracks as I force the lie out, trying to infuse it with confidence I don't feel. "Everything's going to be okay."

"Uncle Sean…" His small hand reaches out, grasping at the empty air between us.

I watch, powerless, as they bundle him into a nondescript white van, its engine rumbling like some great slumbering beast. As the vehicle pulls away, dust kicking up behind it, a void opens inside me—a gaping chasm where my nephew's laughter used to echo.

Beth is up and across the room, throwing herself into my arms. "Are you okay?" Tears stream down her face. "Who were they? Why did they take Beathan?"

Cupping her face in my hands, I stare into her eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Y-Yes."

"They think he's Tyson Reed's son."

"But he's not!"

I stand there, rooted to the spot by the enormity of what's just happened. Loss claws at me, tears at the fabric of my soul, while betrayal coils around my heart like a snake.

"I need to call Kyle. Can you ring Angus?"

Beth nods. "I'll get the first-aid kit. Does it hurt?"

For a moment, I'm confused. Beth touches my forehead, and blood coats her fingers.

"It's only a scratch."

Shaking her head, Beth moves past me into the kitchen. She throws a dishcloth at me. "It's going to need stitches or at least glue."

Pulling my cell phone out of my pocket, I dial Kyle as I hold the cloth to my head.

"Hey, brother," he answers.

"Kyle, a white van could be headed through town. They've taken Beathan."

"What? Who?"

"They think he's Tyson Reed's son."

" Fuck ."

I hear muffled voices in the background as Kyle issues orders to the MC, then he's back on the line.

"How many? How long ago?"

"Just now, and at least six men. All trained. In and out. They…" my voice catches.

"They what?"

"They threatened Beth."

"Is she hurt?" Kyle demands to know.

"No. But I failed, brother. They were going to hurt her, I couldn't…"

"Don't. Now is not the time to think about what-ifs. We'll get him back. Right now, you and Beth need to come to the clubhouse. Get Jamie too. I'll go to Annette."

Beth comes back into the room. I hold up my arm, and she wraps herself around me. "No. It has to be me. Annette trusted me. I have to be the one to tell her." Kyle is silent. "Brother?"

"This wasn't your fault. If I had to choose between Lola and Beathan, I probably would have made the same choice. This isn't on you."

Nothing he or anyone else can say will change my mind. I failed.

"Come to the clubhouse. I'll get Mad to get Annette."

"No—"

"Brother, get yourself and Beth into town. We don't need anyone else to get hurt or worse. Do it, that's an order." Kyle ends the call, and I look down at Beth.

"Let's get you patched up."

"No time."

Beth moves out of my embrace. "I'll use glue. Sit. It'll take all of a minute."

Beth opens the first-aid kit with shaking hands and pulls out the wound glue. Using a swab, she cleans the area and then applies the glue and butterfly band-aids.

"See, we're done. It's not great, but at least you won't be bleeding everywhere. I'll go grab our go bags. You go get armed."

In this moment of crisis, even though I know she's falling apart inside, Beth is in control and keeping me focused. She kisses my lips, pulls back, and looks into my eyes, then nods.

"We'll get him back."

The clubhouse is a fortress of solemn faces, everyone perched on the edge of seats or standing with backs straight as sentinels. My brothers and cousins, their spouses, are all here.

"Could be because of Tyson's business dealings," murmurs Cherie, Maddock's wife, her brow furrowed in thought. "They'd think snatching Beathan would hit him where it hurts."

"Annette and the kid should've had protection," Cutter interjects, a hard edge to his voice. He glares at an invisible enemy, his hands clenched into fists.

"None of that matters now. What matters is getting Beathan back safely." I crack my neck from side to side.

"Sean's right," Beth says, her voice barely above a whisper. "We can't change what's already happened. We have to focus on what we do next."

I stand, my body coiled tight with purpose. "We're not paying any ransom." My words are a declaration, a vow etched in steel.

"Sean, they have Beathan," Beth replies, her eyes brimming with tears. "What if—"

"If we give them what they want, we open a door we can never close again," I cut in, my tone leaving no room for argument. "I won't bargain with my nephew's life. We need another way."

Maddock walks through the door with Annette close behind.

She falters as she takes in all of us gathered in one place, her eyes searching each of us until they land on me. "Where is Beathan?"

Tyson bursts through the door behind her and wraps her in his arms. "Are you okay?"

"Why are you here? I thought you were in New York?" Annette pushes out of his embrace.

"I was on my way back when Sean called. Do we know anything?"

Annette moves out of his arms and looks at me. "What the hell is going on? Where is my son!" Her voice rises to a yell.

Holding out my hands in front of me, I say, "He's been taken." The color drains out of her face. "We called Tyson as they think Beathan is his."

Annette stands frozen. "Taken." She clutches at the air as though she's desperate for something solid to hold on to, something to ground her in this nightmare. Her breath comes in ragged gasps.

Everything around Annette blurs, people move and talk, but their voices are a distant murmur, indistinct and meaningless to me. I watch as her hands and body tremble as if she's trying to shake off this terrible reality.

"Beathan?" Her son's name trembles on her lips, a whispered prayer, a desperate plea. Unshed tears are in her eyes, but she blinks them away as though she is refusing to give in to the flood of emotion threatening to drown her.

I can barely meet her eyes. The look on her face is something I will never forget—a mixture of disbelief, horror, and pain so raw it feels like a physical blow. I feel sick, and my stomach churns with guilt and shame.

My heart races, each beat a reminder of my failure.

How could I have let this happen?

I was responsible. I was supposed to protect him. The excuses I've rehearsed in my head sound hollow and meaningless now, dwarfed by the enormity of what's happened. I want to offer comfort, but I know nothing I say or do can ever make this right.

Annette stands there, trembling, her eyes pleading for an answer, a solution, something to cling to. I struggle to find words, but everything sounds inadequate. My hands shake, and I feel a cold sweat break out on my skin. I want to turn back time to fix this, to do anything to take away the agony I've caused. I'm overwhelmed by a sense of helplessness, a paralyzing fear that we might never find him, that this moment will define the rest of our lives.

I force myself to stay composed and focus on what needs to be done next, but inside, I'm falling apart. The weight of my responsibility crushes me. Each second that passes is a reminder of my failure. For her sake and his, I cannot afford to let despair take over. I have to believe that we will bring him back.

I have to.

"Annette, they will demand a ransom, but we can't pay it."

Her eyes go wide as she stares at me. " We will ."

"If we pay it, we may never see Beathan again."

She stares at me, disbelief flashing across her face before giving way to a fierce, almost animalistic rage. "What do you mean you won't pay?" she demands, her voice rising, cracking with the weight of her anguish. Her eyes are wide, wild, and filled with terror. "He's my son, and I'll move heaven and fucking Earth to get him back!"

Her body trembles, a violent shaking she can't control. Her hands clench into fists, nails digging into her palms. She looks around, desperately seeking anyone to contradict the words she just heard, to tell her there's another way.

"You can't do this!" Annette cries, her voice breaking, tears streaming down her face. "You can't just leave him! He's my son!" The raw agony in her voice is a palpable force, a pain so profound it seems to fill the room, suffocating everyone in its grasp. "Please, please, he's just a child. We have to do something." Her voice softens, a broken whisper, "Please, I'll do anything." The last words are a choked sob, her body heaving with the force of her sorrow.

Tyson wraps his arms around her as I stand distant.

This is my fault.

"What's your plan?" Tyson's voice cuts through the tension like a cold blade. All eyes turn to him, the outsider in our midst, yet bound to the boy who has stolen all our hearts.

"We've got Angus here. He's the best hacker on the planet. Once they've made contact, and they will, we'll find them and get Beathan back," I assure him, though my mind races through a thousand scenarios, each as uncertain as the last.

"Annette." Beth steps toward me, her hand finding mine as she looks at her. "We're with you, whatever it takes." Then she looks up at me. "But please be careful."

I squeeze her hand, grateful beyond words for her support.

"Let's start with what we know," suggests Jamie. "How many were there?"

"At least six."

"How did they know where Beathan was?" Jamie asks.

"They must have been watching him," I offer, then shake my head. "One of them called me VP."

"An inside man." Maddock nods, catching on. "Someone they don't know is one of ours."

"Maybe?"

"Or they've been watching Beathan and us for a while," Cutter says.

With his arm still wrapped around Annette, Tyson clears his throat. He's calm and collected, but his eyes betray a flicker of urgency that mirrors mine.

"Sean, we can't just barge in guns blazing," he says, his voice low and steady. "If you're adamant we shouldn't pay, what's the plan?"

I clench my fists. "If we give them what they want, there's no guarantee they'll keep their word," I shoot back.

"Your military tactics are solid, Sean, but this… this is delicate." His suit seems out of place among the MC and my family's anxious faces. "We can't risk provoking them."

"Then what? We pay up and hope for mercy?" My voice rises, edged with frustration.

Tyson's gaze doesn't waver. "It buys us time." He pauses, considering his words. "Time to plan a more strategic extraction without putting Beathan directly in the line of fire."

"Time," I echo, the word hollow. Time is a luxury we may not have. I rake a hand through my hair, feeling the pressure build inside my chest. "Tyson, Beathan is a pawn right now, and they probably won't hurt him. He's valuable."

" Sean ." Tyson looks down at Annette, whose sobs have become louder.

With effort, I force myself to walk across the room and place a hand on her shoulder. "We will get him back. I promise you, we will." Turning, I look at Beth, and without saying a word, she stands next to me.

"Come on, Annette, let's get you something strong to drink and eat."

"No. I need to be here."

Beth's face softens. "Honey, we aren't going anywhere, but let's just take a minute. Give the men a chance to talk, and then we can all sit down and discuss what we're going to do." Beth looks at me. "Because at the end of the day, Beathan is your son, and we will do what you want."

This is my woman's way of letting me know what she thinks should happen, but this isn't the first time I've tangled with the wrong side of the law, and I'm trained for this.

Beth guides Annette toward our room in the clubhouse with Cherie following close behind. Lola, Kyle's woman, looks to Kyle, who indicates she should follow them. Lola's lips turn down, but she also leaves.

"Let's make a list of pros and cons," I suggest, grasping for control. "We need to see every angle."

"Agreed." Tyson straightens, the businessman reasserting himself. "Should we call in the authorities?"

"No," Cutter replies. "We can get things done that they can't. We will find the kid."

"Will you find him alive?" Tyson asks.

A wave of remorse washes through me, and I pull out a chair and sit down. "If we pay the ransom, they have no reason to return Beathan, but if we make it so there's an exchange instead of a drop-off, we have a chance."

"Let's prepare the ransom," Tyson says. "If they have an inside person, they'll know if I'm moving money around. How much do they want?"

"They didn't say. It hasn't even been an hour." I lock eyes with Angus. "I guess we wait for them to call."

Angus moves toward Tyson. "I'll need your phone." He holds out his hand.

Tyson stares at it for a moment before he reaches into his pocket and hands it over. "You better be as good as they say you are."

My little brother, ever the smart-ass, smiles. "I'm better."

As Tyson stares at his cell phone in Angus's hand, it suddenly buzzes. He quickly snatches it back, his eyes narrowing as he focuses on the screen. His thumb hovers over the display for a moment, then he swipes to open the message. The screen reveals a photograph of a crumpled note with hastily scrawled words—a ransom demand. His jaw tightens, and he scrolls down to take in the details. "Sean," he begins as he holds up the picture for me to see. "There's been a development."

The words hang in the air, heavy with implication. Tyson's eyes hold mine, and the world tilts precariously on its axis. A chill crawls up my spine as I brace myself for the unknown.

"Let me get a closer look," I demand, my heart pounding in my ears. Without waiting for a response, I take the phone from Tyson's hand.

Tyson takes a deep breath. "The kidnappers have contacted my firm in New York. A letter was delivered to Carlotta Vaughn, my lawyer."

"Do you trust her?"

Without hesitation, Tyson nods. "Carlotta has been with me for over ten years."

Time doesn't mean shit, actions speak louder than words, but if Tyson trusts this woman, I suppose I need to as well.

Angus holds up a hand. "Get it couriered to us here so I can get it analyzed for fingerprints and DNA."

"You can do that?" Tyson asks.

Angus grins. "I've got friends in low places. What are their demands?"

"They've sent details for a money drop, and I'm to go alone."

Barking out a laugh, I shake my head. "No."

Tyson's brow creases in a frown. "At least let me prepare the money so it looks like I'm doing as I'm told."

Taking a deep breath, I nod. But whoever these people are, I'm going to make them bleed.