Prologue
The steady rumble of motorcycles reverberated through the Iron Wolves’ clubhouse like a storm ready to break. I sat in the corner, my knees drawn up to my chest, listening to the heated voices of my father and his officers. I could feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating, like the calm before a storm.
“Steel Reapers are sniffin’ around our territory again,” my father growled, his voice rough like gravel. He slammed his fist on the table, making the beer bottles rattle. “They’ve been moving into more of our territory, and I don’t like it.”
My eyes flicked to my best friend, Lila, who leaned casually against the bar. But I knew her too well. Despite the facade of calm, Lila’s fingers tapped an anxious rhythm on her jeans.
“They’re probably just bluffing, boss,” one of the officers said, but even he didn’t sound convinced.
I wanted to believe it too, but the pit in my stomach told me otherwise. The Steel Reapers were vicious, unpredictable, and willing to cross any line. For weeks, rumors of their growing interest in human trafficking had circulated, but no one dared confirm it.
“Skye, come on,” Lila whispered, grabbing my hand. “Let’s get out of here. This is club business.”
Normally, I would argue—my dad’s rules didn’t extend to my curiosity about the MC world. But tonight, the weight in the air made me uneasy.
Walking outside, we hopped on our bikes and took off. We roared down the empty stretch of highway on our bikes, the wind tearing at our hair. Lila laughed as she overtook me, throwing a playful glance over her shoulder. For a moment, I felt free—like the club, my father, the tension—none of it could touch me.
But that freedom was fleeting.
The headlights came out of nowhere, blinding and fast. A black van screeched to a halt in front of us, and bikes blocked us in from behind cutting off our escape. I barely had time to fully stop before rough hands yanked me off my bike.
“Run, Lila!” I screamed, thrashing as a man in a Steel Reapers vest grabbed me by the arm. But Lila didn’t get far. She was tackled to the ground, her cries muffled by the chaos.
We were outnumbered and overpowered. The last thing I saw before a bag was yanked over my head was the Reapers insignia sewn onto the back of the vest of one of our captor—a leering skull surrounded by chains.
***
The room stank of mildew and despair. My wrists burned where the ropes had rubbed them raw. Beside me, Lila trembled, her face pale in the dim light of their prison.
“They’re not gonna kill us,” Lila whispered, her voice shaky. “Right? They just want ransom or something.”
I wanted to believe her, but the look in our captors’ eyes earlier told a different story. These men didn’t just want money.
Time blurred as we waited our fate. The Reapers taunted us, circling like vultures. Every door slam made us flinch. Every leering laugh made my rage burn hotter.
I tried to focus on the sound of engines in the distance, clinging to the hope that my father’s club would come for us.
The door to the dark room slammed open, making me flinch. Lila’s fingers dug into my arm, trembling as the harsh light from the hallway flooded in.
“Get up,” one of the Reapers barked, his voice cold and cruel. He was tall, his face a permanent scowl, and his patch—a skull wrapped in chains—gleamed in the light.
Neither of us moved fast enough. Another man stormed in, yanking Lila up by her arm so hard she yelped. I lunged at him, but a fist to my gut sent me crashing back against the wall.
“Skye!” Lila screamed, her voice cracking.
“I’m fine,” I gasped, clutching my stomach as I struggled to stand.
“Both of you, move,” the first man growled, motioning toward the door with his gun.
We stumbled down the narrow hall, the air thick with gasoline and sweat. My mind raced. They were moving us. That could only mean one thing—they were taking us somewhere worse.
I glanced at Lila, her pale face streaked with tears. I wanted to tell her it would be okay, but I couldn’t lie to her. Not now.
The warehouse parking lot was a hive of activity. Bikes roared to life, their engines drowning out the murmurs of the men. A black van sat idling near the gate, its back doors open. My heart sank.
“That one,” the man in charge said, pointing to the van.
“Please,” Lila begged, her voice small. “Don’t do this.”
“Shut her up,” someone snapped, shoving her forward.
I grabbed her arm, pulling her close. “Stay with me,” I whispered, though I had no idea how I’d keep that promise.
They pushed us toward the van, but before we reached it, a sound cut through the air—a low, familiar rumble. My heart skipped a beat.
Motorcycles.
The Reapers froze, their heads snapping toward the sound.
Then the first gunshot rang out.
Chaos erupted.
The Iron Wolves burst through the gate, a thunderstorm of roaring engines and gunfire. Men shouted, ducking for cover as bullets tore through the night.
“Get them in the van!” someone yelled.
A hand grabbed my arm, yanking me toward the vehicle. I fought back, kicking and clawing, but he was too strong.
“Let me go!” I screamed, twisting in his grip.
Lila was ahead of me, being dragged toward the open doors. Her wide eyes met mine, filled with terror.
“Skye!” she cried, reaching out for me.
“I’m coming!” I shouted, adrenaline surging as I tried to break free.
Gunfire cracked around us, the sound deafening. One of the Reapers carrying Lila dropped her, clutching his side as blood spread across his shirt. She scrambled to her feet, but another man grabbed her before she could run.
I was thrown to the ground, my knees scraping against the gravel. The world spun as I struggled to get up, but when I looked up, the van doors were slamming shut.
“No!” I screamed, sprinting after it as the tires screeched and the van sped toward the gate.
Bullets ricocheted off the metal frame, but it didn’t stop. I ran as fast as I could, my legs burning, my lungs on fire.
“Lila!”
She was inside, pounding on the back window, her face a blur through the tinted glass.
I didn’t stop running, even as the van gained distance. My feet hit the ground hard, gravel tearing at my boots. My heart felt like it might burst, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t lose her.
Then the explosion happened.
The Reapers set off something—a makeshift barricade that sent flames and debris flying. The force of the blast knocked me off my feet, the heat searing my skin as I hit the ground hard.
Pain shot through my shoulder, and I cried out, clutching it as the world blurred around me. My ears rang, drowning out the gunfire and shouting.
I tried to get up, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. The van was gone, its taillights fading into the night. And with it, Lila.
“Lila,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face. “I’m sorry...”
The next thing I knew, rough hands were on me, turning me over.
“Skye!” a voice shouted, frantic. It was one of my dad’s men—Mack, the club’s Sergeant-at-Arms. His face was bloodied, his expression desperate.
“She’s hurt!” he called out, waving another man over.
“I’m fine,” I lied, trying to push myself up. Pain flared through my shoulder, and I cried out.
“You’re not fine,” Mack said firmly, his voice softer now. “We’ve got you. You’re safe.”
Safe. The word felt hollow. How could I be safe when Lila wasn’t?
They carried me back toward the bikes, the firefight still raging behind us. My father’s men were relentless, but the Reapers were slipping away, retreating into the shadows like the cowards they were.
As they loaded me onto the back of Mack’s bike, I looked back one last time, my vision blurred by tears and smoke.
I’d survived. Barely.
But Lila was gone.
And something inside me broke that night. Something I knew I’d never get back.
***
The clubhouse was quieter than I expected when Mack carried me inside. The usual chaos—laughter, music, the clink of bottles—was absent, replaced by a heavy, suffocating tension. Every pair of eyes turned toward me, some filled with pity, others with guilt. I hated them all in that moment.
The VP, Lila’s father, Dean, stood near the bar. His rugged face, weathered by years of the MC life, was drawn tight with worry. His usually sharp blue eyes were dulled, rimmed red like he hadn’t slept in days. When he saw me, his body stiffened, and he pushed off the bar, his boots pounding the floor as he stormed toward me.
Mack barely had time to set me on the worn leather couch before Dean grabbed my arm.
“Where’s Lila?” he demanded, his voice rough and desperate. “Where’s my daughter?”
I flinched at his grip, the pain in my shoulder flaring. “I—I tried,” I stammered, the lump in my throat threatening to choke me. “They took her. I couldn’t stop them.”
“Bullshit!” Dean roared, his face inches from mine. “You were with her! You’re supposed to look out for each other! How could you let them take her?”
“Dean, enough!” my father’s voice boomed from the doorway. He stepped in, his face hard as stone. “This isn’t on her.”
“Like hell it isn’t!” Dean shot back, his grip tightening before Mack pulled him away from me. “She came back, and my little girl didn’t. I want answers!”
I curled into myself on the couch, my body trembling as the weight of his words crushed me. He was right. I had come back, and Lila hadn’t.
“She chased the van,” Mack interjected, his voice calm but firm. “Nearly got herself killed trying to stop them. She did everything she could, Dean.”
Dean’s chest heaved as he looked at me again, the anger in his eyes giving way to something deeper—grief. He ran a hand through his graying hair and turned away, pacing like a caged animal.
“Where’s Jamie?” Dean asked suddenly, his voice quieter but no less sharp.
Jamie, Lila’s older brother and a club prospect, appeared from the hallway, his face pale and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He was three years older than us but looked like a kid in that moment, his usual cocky demeanor nowhere to be found.
“Dad,” he said, his voice cracking.
Dean pointed a finger at him. “You were supposed to have her back too. You knew the Reapers were sniffing around, and you let them take her!”
Jamie flinched but didn’t argue. “I wasn’t there when it happened,” he said quietly. “I was scouting with the others like you told me to.”
“Scouting,” Dean repeated bitterly, shaking his head. “While my daughter was being taken, you were off playing soldier.”
“That’s enough,” my dad said, stepping between them. His tone left no room for argument. “You think we don’t all feel the weight of this? You think Skye doesn’t?”
Dean glared at him but didn’t respond. Instead, he turned back to me, his eyes searching mine. “You saw her, didn’t you?”
I nodded, my throat too tight to speak.
“Was she...” He hesitated, swallowing hard. “Was she okay?”
Tears blurred my vision as I thought of Lila’s face, pale and terrified, as the van pulled away. “She was scared,” I whispered. “But she was alive.”
Dean’s shoulders sagged, and for the first time, he looked small, defeated. He nodded, his jaw clenched as he turned away from me.
Jamie approached me cautiously, his brown eyes filled with guilt. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, sitting on the edge of the couch. “If I’d been there, maybe—”
“Don’t,” I said sharply, cutting him off. “It wouldn’t have made a difference.”
He nodded, staring down at his hands. “We’ll find her,” he said, more to himself than to me. “We have to.”
I didn’t respond. I wanted to believe him, wanted to hold onto the hope that Lila was out there somewhere, waiting for us to rescue her. But the weight of what had happened was too heavy, the guilt too consuming.
Jamie stayed by my side as Dean retreated to the corner of the room, his head in his hands. My father stood silently, his face unreadable.
The Iron Wolves were supposed to protect their own. But tonight, we had failed.
I sat in my father’s office days later, my body bandaged but my soul shattered.
“They took her from us,” he spat, his fists clenched. “And we’ll get her back and we’ll make them pay.”
My father paced the office, his boots scuffing the floor with each heavy step. His rage was palpable, but I was too angry to care.
“This is on you!” I snapped, my voice trembling with fury and grief. “You and your damned club! You didn’t protect us!”
Dad froze mid-step, his eyes locking onto mine. They were cold and hard, like steel, but I didn’t back down. Not this time.
“Don’t you dare,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t you put this on me, Skye. I did everything I could—”
“Everything you could?” I cut him off, my voice rising. “You knew the Reapers were a threat! You knew they were waiting for an opportunity, and you did nothing! You let us walk right into their trap!”
His face twisted in anger, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. “You think I wanted this? You think I don’t blame myself every damn second for what happened to you? To Lila?”
“Don’t you say her name!” I screamed, my vision blurring with tears. “You didn’t save her! You didn’t save me! You’re supposed to protect us, but all this club does is destroy everything it touches!”
The words were out before I could stop them, but I meant every one.
Dad’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he was going to yell back. Instead, he just shook his head, his shoulders sagging like the weight of the world had finally broken him.
“You don’t understand,” he said quietly. “This life... it’s all I’ve ever known. It’s all I can give you.”
“I don’t want it,” I spat. “I don’t want your club. I don’t want this life. I want out.”
The room fell silent. His expression hardened again, a wall slamming down between us.
“Out?” he repeated, his voice cold. “There is no out, Skye. You’re my daughter. You’re Iron Wolves, whether you like it or not.”
“Watch me,” I said, my voice trembling but resolute.
The days that followed were a blur. I barely ate, barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Lila’s face, heard her screams. The guilt was suffocating, and the anger burned hotter with each passing moment.
I started pushing everyone away. I picked fights with the club members, lashed out at anyone who tried to talk to me. I didn’t care anymore. About the club, about my dad, about anything.
The bottle became my escape. Whiskey burned going down, but it numbed the ache in my chest. I spent most nights at the bar, drinking until the world blurred and the pain dulled.
“You’re spiraling, Skye,” my dad said one night, his voice weary. “You think this is what Lila would’ve wanted for you?”
His words were a slap to the face. “Don’t you dare talk about what Lila would’ve wanted,” I snarled, slamming my glass down on the counter. “You didn’t know her like I did.”
“I know she wouldn’t want you to destroy yourself.”
I laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. “What does it matter? She’s gone. And it’s your fault.”
His face fell, and for a brief moment, I thought I saw a flicker of something—pain, maybe regret. But it wasn’t enough to make me stay.
That night, I packed a bag. Just the essentials—a change of clothes, some cash, my knife. My heart pounded as I crept through the clubhouse, past the sleeping members and the dim glow of the bar lights.
I paused outside my dad’s office, the door slightly ajar. He was slumped over his desk, an empty bottle of whiskey by his hand. For a fleeting moment, guilt tugged at my chest. But I shoved it aside.
This wasn’t my home anymore.
I slipped outside, the cool night air biting at my skin. My bike waited for me, its familiar weight beneath me as I climbed on.
I didn’t look back as I sped down the road, the wind whipping away the tears that streaked my face.
The Iron Wolves were my past, but I was done living in their shadow. I didn’t know where I was going, but I knew one thing for certain.
I’d never feel powerless again.
And someday, the Steel Reapers would pay.
