Chapter Five

Cutter: Soldier in the Loyal Rebels

The screen's glow is the only light in the room, casting shadows across Angus's face as he hunts and pecks like a man possessed. I stand behind him, my arms folded over my chest, watching his back hunch ever so slightly every time he exhales. He's been at this for hours, the digital breadcrumbs of the kidnappers leading us on a chase that feels like it's spiraling into nothingness.

"Anything?" I ask, my voice a low rumble that doesn't quite hide the undercurrent of urgency. "Wait," Angus mutters, not bothering to glance up. "I think… yeah, hold on."

I'm at the edge, teetering between hope and the void that threatens to swallow us if we don't find Beathan soon. Sweat prickles at the nape of my neck despite the chill in the air while the tension has got my insides twisted.

"Got an IP address," Angus finally says, triumph lacing his tone. It's a step, a damn good one, but it's not enough. Not yet.

"Keep digging," I tell him before I turn and stride out, the need to move, to act, clawing at me.

Logan is waiting outside, his silhouette lean and restless against the fading evening light. The boy has energy to spare, not that he's a boy anymore. Logan is twenty and a prospect in the Loyal Rebels. We exchange a nod, and without a word, we hit the streets.

Becca Falls isn't a big place, but it feels like a sprawling maze tonight. We walk with purpose, our boots pounding the pavement in a rhythmic beat that echoes the drumming in my chest. Houses loom like silent sentinels, windows dark or flickering with the mundane glow of television screens, unaware or uncaring of the drama unfolding in their midst.

"Keep your eyes peeled," I murmur to Logan. His sharp gaze sweeps the area, missing nothing.

"Always do, Cutter," he replies, a hint of his youthful bravado seeping through.

We prowl past closed shops and dimly lit bars, the neon signs casting lurid streaks across the asphalt. Every shadow and alleyway are a potential hiding spot. Every face that passes could be a friend or foe. Secrets fester in this town, breeding in the silence and the dark corners where nobody bothers to look.

A car cruises by slow, too slow, and both Logan and I tense. But it's just a couple of teens laughing behind fogged-up windows, oblivious to the world crumbling around them. I remember being that carefree, but the memory is dull, worn by years of loss and betrayal.

"Think they're still here? In Becca Falls?" Logan asks.

"Tyson's email said they were close," I reply, though I trust Tyson about as far as I can throw him. "They're here but not in town. They'll need somewhere to hide the kid and the van. I'm thinking a few miles out." I cast a glance around our small town. "But they'll have spies keeping an eye on us, and if we find them, we might find the ones who have Beathan."

I can feel Logan's anger, a mirrored reflection of my own. It fuels us and drives us forward even as each step feels heavier than the last. We keep searching, keep scanning, the night growing darker around us, swallowing the last scraps of daylight.

"Cutter?"

"Yeah?"

"We're gonna find him. No matter what."

His words are simple—a declaration, a promise. I clench my jaw, feeling the weight of responsibility settle like a mantle on my shoulders. We have to find him. There's no other option, no other end to this story that I can allow.

"Let's circle back," I suggest. "Check the side streets again."

"Got it."

We turn, retracing our steps, moving against the current of secrets that flow beneath the surface of Becca Falls. Every moment Beathan's out there is a moment too long. And as night falls like a shroud over the town, I swear to myself—we'll tear this place apart brick by brick if we have to, but we're bringing him home.

As I walk down a dirty alley, cell phone pressed to my ear, Logan's shadow merges with mine as we move in the dim lights of the streets. The chill in the air bites at our skin, but the uncertainty gnawing at me has got me feeling cold.

"Angus, talk to me," I say into the cell phone.

His voice crackles through, rapid and laced with the electricity of a breakthrough. "Got something," he breathes out. "Encrypted messages between the kidnappers. They're sloppy and left traces. I'm peeling back the layers now."

"Good. Keep at it," I urge, my heart hammering a rhythm against my ribs.

Angus is the key to this puzzle, his mind sharp as broken glass. One message could be the lifeline we need, the thread that leads us straight to Beathan.

I end the call and slide the phone back into my pocket. Logan watches me, his eyes two points of fierce determination in the dim light.

"Where to?" he asks, ready to follow me into hell if that's what it takes.

"Old contact of mine might know something." I jerk my head down an adjacent street, and we're moving again, boots silent on the cracked pavement.

The bar's neon sign flickers—a dying beacon in the heart of Becca Falls. Inside, it's a den of whispers and sidelong glances, the kind of place where secrets are currency. I find him in the back, shrouded in shadows and smoke, a man who knows too much and says too little.

"Rafe," I greet, sliding into the booth across from him.

"Cutter," he nods, eyeing Logan warily. "He one of yours?"

"Brother," I confirm, and Rafe's expression softens just a fraction.

Ties to the MC mean something to the underbelly of this town. The Loyal Rebels keep the town safe and support more than a few of the local families with legitimate and not-so-legitimate work.

We lean in, voices low as we trade cautious words. Rafe squints at me, measuring the depth of my desperation before he speaks.

"Word is there's a place," he murmurs. "Abandoned farm, east side. It's a good thirty miles out of town. Might want to give it a look."

"Kidnappers?" Logan's question is sharp, cutting through the haze.

"Could be," Rafe concedes with a shrug that doesn't quite reach his wary eyes.

Logan and I exchange a glance, communicating without words. It's all we have—the thinnest of threads, but it's enough.

"Thanks," I say, my voice gravelly with the promise of retribution that looms over us. If they've touched a hair on Beathan's head…

"Be careful, Cutter," Rafe warns, a glimmer of genuine concern breaking through his hardened exterior. "They're not playing games."

"Neither are we," Logan replies, and there's steel in his voice.

We slip out of the bar and back into the night's embrace. Our path is set, a course charted by whispers and the hope of Beathan's safe return. When we are far enough away from the bar, Logan slows to a stop.

"They must have someone in town."

Scrubbing a hand down my face, I nod. "Yeah."

"So, if we head out, they'll know."

Logan is Lola's son. Lola belongs to Kyle, my president. We've become close over the years. Logan is like me. He has a demon inside him, a darkness. We know how to get things done in the shadows.

We are the things that go bump in the night.

"Just us, not the whole MC. You and I know how to hide in plain sight."

Logan smiles, and with a nod, we continue back to the clubhouse.

The cursor blinks, a silent rhythm against the glow of the screen. I watch Angus's fingers dance across the keys with a fervor that only desperation can fuel.

"Gotcha," he mutters under his breath, a spark igniting in his words.

The room is still, save for the hum of the computer and the distant roar of traffic outside. He spins around in his chair, eyes alight with a fire that's been missing since Beathan's disappearance.

"Email address. It's sloppy work. They didn't bother to cover their tracks properly." Angus's eyes are two sharp points in a face set with determination. "Traced the IP. It's local, narrowed down to a few blocks."

"Where?" My voice sounds eager.

"West side. Near the warehouses by the river." His fingers resume their frantic ballet, painting a map of possibilities on the screen.

"Where are the others?" I ask.

Angus rises. "Kyle is out back. The women are with Annette in the infirmary."

I place a hand on Angus's chest. "Keep it from the women."

He frowns. "Tula is as good, if not a better hacker than me. There's no keeping it from them for long."

Tula is Angus's wife and the mother of his twins.

"Let's talk to Kyle first. I have a plan."

Angus raises his eyebrows and nods. "Come on, let's go find Kyle."

We move through the clubhouse. Outside, they've got a bonfire going, and I see the MacKenny brothers in a circle, voices low as they are undoubtedly talking about the boy. The conversation stops as we draw near.

"What have you found?" Kyle asks.

"An IP address that leads to a place on the west side," Angus answers.

"Let's ride," Sean says.

Holding up a hand, I lock eyes with Kyle. "I think it's best if Logan and I go in alone."

"Like fuck you are." Sean's hands go into fists, and he cracks his neck from side to side.

"Why?" Kyle asks.

"If we're being watched, things could go south quickly." I glance at Sean. "For the boy."

The anger in Sean's face drains slightly, and he nods. "Fuck." He steps away from us and stares out into the night. "He's right."

"You can't be serious? Kyle, you can't just send Cutter after them." Jamie waves a hand in my direction.

"I'm not. He'll take Logan with him."

Jamie scoffs. "The boy?"

"The boy isn't a boy anymore," I state. "He's more than capable."

Kyle's mouth goes into a hard line. He's seen the darkness in me and recognizes it in Logan.

"They aren't going to have Beathan at this address. But whoever is at this address can give us the exact location. At least that's our hope." I cross my arms over my chest. "If we all roll out together, they could tip off the kidnappers, and then we may never find the boy."

Jamie puts a hand on Kyle's arm. "Brother, this feels like a mistake."

Jamie has had the least to do with the MC out of all the MacKenny brothers. He's a farmer and has never accepted the club. I'm not surprised that out of all of them, he'd be the one to disagree with me.

"I can wear an earpiece. Angus will know everything we know, and if there's trouble, he can tell you."

Kyle looks at me, then at his brother's hand on his arm, and nods. "Cutter and Logan will go in alone. There's less chance of them getting caught, and maybe they can take whoever this is by surprise. We'll wait for their signal."

Jamie releases his brother as though he's touched something foul, shakes his head, and steps back. "If anything happens to Beathan, it's on your head."

Sean shakes his head. "No, brother, that's on me."

"Let's roll," Logan says, already halfway out the door.

We ride through Becca Falls, a town too quiet for comfort, the rumble of our bikes slicing through the silence like a warning. The streets are empty, the night air thick with the weight of unspoken fears. We know these roads—every pothole and blind corner—but tonight they feel alien and hostile.

To be safe, we do a drive-by of the house. It's rundown and sits on the edge of the industrial estate. The buildings around it are scarred with graffiti, making me think it looks like a war zone. The front window has its curtains drawn, but you can see light behind it. Someone is home. We kill the engines a block away, the sudden quiet heavy on our shoulders.

"Stay sharp," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

Logan nods, his green eyes scanning the shadows for danger. We're brothers, not by blood, but by choice—a bond forged in the fires of adversity and loss.

We approach the house, each step deliberate and measured. My heart thumps against my ribs, a drumbeat echoing the cadence of our boots on gravel. My hand rests on the cold grip of my concealed weapon. We reach the door. Its paint is peeling, and the bottom of it looks swollen from too much rain. Beyond it lies either our deepest fears or our greatest triumph. With a nod, I signal Logan to go around the back. His eyes look bright in the dim light. He smiles and disappears around the side of the house. It's not our first time working as a team—Logan knows what we need to do.

"Time to get some answers," I say as I try the door handle.

The knob won't budge, but the whistle signals Logan is inside. I step back and kick the door open. It slams against the wall, bounces back, and shuts. I step into the abyss.

The air feels thick here, heavy with the stench of dog and mildew. Each step forward peels back another layer of the unknown. Somewhere in this labyrinth lies the person who will give us answers.

Advancing into the belly of the house, shadows cling to the walls like cobwebs, making every corner suspect and every crevice a potential hiding spot. My heart keeps time with the pulsing fear that courses through my veins, but it's tempered by the fire of determination that burns just as fiercely. Whoever is in this house must have heard me enter, but it's quiet.

I navigate cautiously, my senses on high alert, searching for any sign of Beathan or the ones who took him from us. An empty soda can lies crushed underfoot, the noise startling in the silence.

Silently, I swear. There's no room for error in this grim game of hide and seek.

A noise—a faint scuffling—stops me cold. Every muscle is tense for action. Logan appears at the end of the hall. I signal with my hand, three fingers, then two, then one. On ‘one,' we pivot, taking separate paths, closing in on the source of the sound.

"Clear," Logan breathes out, and I echo the sentiment.

The only sign of life is a rat, scurrying among the ruins of human neglect.

"Damn," I mutter under my breath. For a second, hope had surged, a cruel tease that left my adrenaline spiking.

"Stay focused," Logan says, a verbal nudge I don't need but appreciate all the same.

He knows where my head is at—always a few steps ahead and wrapped around what could go wrong.

Logan and I creep throughout the house, searching each room, but there's no one here.

"Angus, can you hear me?"

"Affirmative."

"There's nothing here."

"Nothing?"

"No one is home."

I hear his sharp intake of breath, and then he relays the information back to those waiting at the clubhouse.

Logan puts his gun away and returns to the room at the front of the house with the light on. It's as though no one has been here for a long time. The place reeks, but there is nothing to suggest anyone lives here now.

Logan's lips turn down, and he walks back into the hallway. His hands are on his hips, and he looks up at the ceiling. He tilts his head to the side and pulls his gun back out. Without looking at me, he points up, holding a finger to his lips.

Quietly, I position myself next to him, noticing the attic door above us outlined by a faint line of light. A dangling cord hints at access, but any attempt to open it risks alerting whoever might be hiding inside. If they're armed, our chances are slim once we expose ourselves. I touch Logan's arm and motion toward the rear of the house. He keeps watch on the ceiling as we silently retreat.

"What's our move?" he whispers urgently.

"They know we're here," I murmur, weighing our options. The element of surprise is gone. With a resigned sigh, I signal him to hold position and head down the hallway.

"I know you're up there!" I shout, aiming my gun upward and firing into the ceiling. Plaster rains down, scattering over the grimy carpet in a cloud of white powder.

"I'm coming up. Shoot me, and my partner will make you regret it," I declare loudly.

Logan grins, his eyes alight with anticipation. I reach for the cord and pull down, revealing the attic stairs. Slowly, cautiously, I ascend. Before popping my head above the opening, I glance back at Logan, nodding in silent encouragement.

I peer into the attic and quickly withdraw, relieved not to be met with gunfire. Reassured, I climb further. In the corner stands a woman, hands raised in surrender, eyes wide with fear as she awaits my approach.

With my gun trained on her, I scan the attic. It's neat and smells a hell of a lot better than downstairs.

"Do you know who I am?" I ask.

"Y-Yes."

"Do you know why I am here?"

"The boy."

Logan joins us, and I holster my gun. "Sit," I command.

She moves to a chair in front of a computer. Logan circles her, then sits down next to her, his gun aimed at her.

"This is Logan. Everything you've heard about me is true, but the man next to you… he's far more dangerous than I'll ever be. Who are you?"

She scowls and clears her throat. "Elaine."

"Did you tell whoever you're working for that we are here, Elaine?"

"I didn't know the boy was going to be kidnapped. I swear."

Logan leans in and smiles. Elaine cringes and shuffles slightly away.

"That's not what he asked you."

"No. I was hoping you'd leave."

"If you're lying to us, Elaine, we will find out, and it will be ten times worse for you." I move around the attic, picking up her things and studying them. This space is a self-contained home—a bed, a small table with a microwave, and even an area for a bathroom. "How long have you been here?"

"Always."

Frowning, I drag another chair over and sit on her other side.

"This was my parents' home," she explains. "When they died, I inherited it. But I lived up here long before that."

Logan picks up a lock of her hair, twirling it around the barrel of his gun. "It's clean," he remarks.

She flinches, a sob escaping her lips.

"Where do I know you from?" I ask, scrutinizing her face.

A tear trickles down her cheek. "We met at one of the MC parties about a year ago. We…" She looks down at her hands. "We hooked up."

I lean in closer, studying her features. She's around twenty-five, with pretty brown eyes and long brown hair. My gaze travels down to her skirt, and I lift it slightly, revealing mottled skin on her left leg as though it's been burned.

"I remember you now," I say.

Elaine quickly snatches the fabric from my hands, pushing the skirt back down. "Don't!" she snaps.

Logan chuckles while Elaine pulls her feet onto the chair, wrapping her arms around her legs protectively.

"You left before I woke up, and I couldn't find you anywhere."

Her eyes meet mine. "You looked for me?"

"Yeah." Sucking in a breath, I let it out slowly. "Do you know where they are keeping the boy?"

"No."

Logan tugs on her hair, puts his gun away, and pulls out a knife. He waves it in front of Elaine, and she buries her head onto her knees and puts her hands over her head.

"I swear I don't. But I do know how to contact them."

"Why did you do this?" I ask in a soft tone.

"They paid me to give them information on the MC. I didn't know they were going after the boy."

"When did they first approach you?"

Elaine lifts her head and looks directly at me. "The day before the party. I've been feeding them information on all of you since then."

My earpiece crackles, and Angus says, "Bring her and her computer to the clubhouse."

"Will do."

Elaine tilts her head to the side in confusion.

I stand as does Logan.

"We are to take her and her computer to the clubhouse."

"No!" cries Elaine.

"Did they say alive or dead?" Logan asks.

Smiling, I say, "They didn't specify."

Elaine glances from Logan to me, her eyes wide with fear. I smile at her, but it's the predatory kind, cold and calculating. Whatever she sees in us makes her tremble, her head shaking from side to side in silent dread.

"You can either come willingly and alive, or dead and wrapped in a blanket… makes no difference to me," I tell her, even though this isn't true.

I remember her from the party. She was cute, in jeans and a tight tank top. Elaine chatted with Charlotte. Everyone knows I look out for Charlotte. She has the mental age of a teenager, and sometimes people take advantage of that.

But she wasn't making fun of Charlotte. They were deep in conversation, and when I approached, Charlotte excitedly told me she was her new best friend. I remember thinking she was different. And I guess she was. She used Charlotte to get to me.

Elaine stands as more tears fall. "I can help you get him back." She stands frozen, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths, fingers tightly entwined. Her knuckles blanched white as she wrings her hands, the motion frantic and continuous, like she was trying to squeeze the fear out through her skin. "I can help you get him back," she says again, her voice trembling.

Without hesitation, I grab her by the arm and drag her toward the stairs. "Get her computer," I order Logan. Then, leaning in close to Elaine, I whisper, "You're damn right you're going to help. And after that, you and I are going to have a nice long chat."

Elaine shivers and bites on her lower lip, eyes wide with fear.

The streets bleed into each other, a maze of shadows and silence. We ride hard, the night air cold against our faces, with Elaine on the back of my bike. We dismount, and the silence is deafening. The clubhouse normally has music or loud voices pouring out of it, but tonight, we are all on edge.

Walking into the clubhouse, all eyes seem to land on us with the same questioning look on their faces that turn hard when their gazes land on Elaine. She hangs her head, letting her hair cover most of her face. With my hand wrapped around her upper arm, I walk her into the club's meeting room.

Angus is hunched over his laptop, tapping away on his keyboard. He looks up as we enter, a frown on his face, holding his hand out for the laptop Logan is carrying.

I roughly push Elaine into a chair and let go of her. She whimpers but says nothing.

"Who is she?" Kyle asks.

"Elaine. She's been spying on us for the better part of a year. She claims she doesn't know where Beathan or the kidnappers are."

"I swear, I don't," Elaine says pleadingly.

Angus holds up a hand. "What's your password?"

Elaine looks at him, then back down at the table. "Cutter."

Angus barks out a laugh. "Capital C?"

She nods.

"Seems you made an impression," Logan says with a smirk.

Staring down at Elaine, I almost feel sorry for her. But anyone who betrays the MC is as good as dead. Kyle gave me a home when most would have abandoned me. I owe him everything. He gave me a place to belong, a mission. Whatever he asks me to do to this woman, I will do it. No questions, no doubts.

Kyle places his knuckles on the opposite side of the table, leaning over it as he fixes his gaze on Elaine. "What did you tell them?" he demands.

"It was all stuff they could have found online. I told them who the heads of the MC are and your women."

"Beathan?"

"All I told them was that Annette had moved back to town with her son and that she had dated Lochlan MacKenny."

"Why do they think Beathan is Tyson Reed's?" Kyle asks.

"Because he is? She's been living with him in New York."

"He's not. He's Lochlan's son. Annette came home to give Beathan a better life, and you offered him up on a silver platter," Kyle's voice drips with venom as he speaks to Elaine. "If anything happens to him…"

Elaine shifts back into the chair and shakes her head. "They paid me money to give them intel on all of you. They didn't even seem that interested in Annette and the boy. You have my laptop. You can see all of our interactions."

Kyle stares at Angus.

"She's telling the truth." Angus leans back in his chair. "And I think I might know where they are."

"What are we waiting for?" Logan asks.

Angus ignores him and asks Elaine. "Would it be unusual for you to send them a message?"

"No."

"Doesn't matter what time of day?"

"No."

Angus looks up at Kyle. "I can pinpoint their location if they respond. The question is… what do we tell them to get them to respond?"

"You tell them Tyson Reed has their money, and he's at the clubhouse," Tyson answers as he walks into the room.

Angus nods. "Yep, that should do it."