The first address we pull up to is nothing but a dilapidated shack. Looking around, it’s obvious that nobody has been here for years. Fish opens the passenger door and takes a look around, on foot anyway. We don’t want to assume anything or leave any stone unturned.

He makes his way back to us as he shakes his head. “Nothin’,” he mutters.

Looking up the second address, I enter it into my GPS on my phone and we take off. We decided not to bring our bikes, knowing that they would assuredly tip-off Lucifer. We’re in Ginger’s Jeep, which is a normal vehicle for this area, inconspicuous, and nothing out of the ordinary.

“We’re finding this fucker today, no more hanging around with our dicks in our hands like sitting ducks,” Motorhead growls.

I lift my chin in agreement, I want him taken care of, and I want to be the one who makes him suffer—the sick motherfucker.

The second property is way out in the country, surrounded by nothing but trees and rocks. I don’t barrel down the single lane dirt drive. Instead, I park, and search Google maps for a second entrance to the area.

This one feels, right.

“He’s here,” Fish announces.

Glancing over at him, I watch as he reaches behind his back and takes out his handgun. “You feel it too?” I ask.

“Fuck yeah,” he and Motorhead announce at once.

I find what I’m looking for, a second more rugged entrance to the property. I continue down the road, finding an unmarked path a few miles down. Shifting the Jeep into four-wheel drive, I make my way through the fucking woods.

The side of the cabin comes into view and I turn my headlights off, throwing the Jeep into park. There’s a bike parked off to the side, but the rest of the place is dark.

Glancing at my clock, I check the time. It’s after four in the morning and I know that it won’t stay pitch black much longer. The sun will start to rise, and our time limit is short.

Quietly, we slip out of the Jeep and start to walk toward the cabin. There are only two doors. A front and a back entrance. The windows all appear to be closed, so Fish takes the back and I take the front. Motorhead is my backup, and together we’ll enter the home.

Lucifer isn’t as paranoid as I had anticipated, not only is the front door unlocked but so is the back. We walk into the home with ease. Lifting my gun, I notice something moves in the corner of the room. Fish flips a light on in the kitchen and a pair of black eyes look up at me from the floor.

Curled into a ball is a small girl. Her dark hair hangs limply in front of her face, her dirty face. Her eyes are hollow and sunken in. Those sunken in eyes widen and she opens her mouth.

Fish is in front of her and he puts his hand over her mouth to keep her quiet. I lift my chin toward the back door and he gives me a nod. A few seconds later he’s dragging a dirty, scraggly, gangly girl out of the house.

“Fuck,” Motorhead hisses behind me.

I feel the same fucking way. My stomach churns as I walk past the area she was curled up into a ball in. That was probably where the sick fucker made her sleep.

We make our way into the bedroom and with the moonlight shining in through the windows, I see Lucifer. He’s face down, his big naked body on display but his back isn’t moving with his breath.

Moving forward I lift my leg and I kick his side. He doesn’t make a noise, he doesn’t wake up. Nothing happens, except his body moves with my kicking. “I think the fucker’s dead,” I mutter.

Motorhead walks over to the other side of the bed, grabs ahold of his shoulder, and yanks him over onto his back while I keep my gun trained on his body. Lucifer’s face is blue, he’s most definitely dead and it pisses me off.

“Body’s still a little warm, he hasn’t been dead for long,” Motorhead murmurs.

Walking over to the wall, I flip the light on. The room is messy, there are fast food wrappers everywhere, and clothes strewn all over the place. There’s a gun on the nightstand, along with a knife.

“Get Fish and the girl back in here,” I order.

Motorhead lifts his chin and walks out of the room. Lucifer is buck-ass naked, and I grab a blanket from the corner of the room and cover his dick up.

I’m disappointed.

I wanted to kill and torture this fucker myself. I wanted to watch him cry and beg for his life. I wanted Hayden to see him suffer. Honestly, it just straight pisses me off that he’s already dead.

A loud sob takes me out of my thoughts. I turn around to look at the dirty girl behind me. Fish is guarding the doorway so she can’t leave. Her eyes bounce from Lucifer’s body to me, and then back and forth a few times, as her own body begins to tremble. She lets out another loud sob, her torso jerking with it as if she had tried to keep it inside, but it couldn’t be contained.

“When did he die?” I ask.

She shakes her head, her eyes meeting mine, filling with wetness. “Yesterday,” she whispers.

“We ain’t here to hurt you. Came to save you,” Motorhead grunts.

Her eyes snap over to his and her body visibly trembles. Taking my phone out of my pocket I send out a group text to the brothers asking for a van and a few men to come out here before dropping them the address. Lifting my chin toward the door, the four of us walk into the living room. The girl makes her way to the sofa and slowly sits down.

“How old are you? And where’d he get you from?” I ask.

Her bottom lip starts to tremble and I’m sure that we’re terrifying to her. However, we need to know these things and I don’t want to wait.

We already got one underage girl in our possession, and if she’s got a family, I need to get her back to them. If not, she may be better off in the system.

“I’m twenty,” she whispers. Christ, she looks about thirteen. She’s so fuckin’ tiny. “I just went to a party with my girlfriends. I never made it out,” she whimpers as tears fill her eyes.

“Fuck,” I curse. “You got any family you want me to call?” I ask, trying to keep my voice calm.

She shakes her head almost violently. “Raised by my dad, but I haven’t seen him since I was eighteen. I was just a waitress in town, nobody special, no man, and not many friends. I don’t have anything to go back to,” she states.

I hear something break and lift my eyes to see Motorhead has grabbed the lamp on the nightstand and thrown it across the room. It smashes into a million pieces and he snarls at me, daring me to say something. I don’t.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

She clears her throat, her haunted eyes meeting mine. “Esme,” she whispers. “What happens to me now?”

“We take care of you,” Motorhead announces. I look up to him again, shock assuredly marring my features.

“You do?” she asks turning to him.

He leans down, his face looking almost violent, but I can tell that he’s just pissed the fuck off. “Yeah, babe, we fuckin’ do,” he growls. “That motherfucker is dead, and he did you wrong. We are not him, and we will do right by you. Not the first woman we’ve taken in, and you probably won’t be the last,” he states.

I have to admit, hearing him say those words, it makes me proud to call him my brother. He ain’t wrong, and I had been thinking the same thing.

“We got a bar, and it always needs good waitresses. You show up on time, work hard, and stay off drugs, you got a job,” I state.

Esme’s head swivels back to me and I watch as a small smile tugs on her lips. “I’ve never done drugs, and I used to be a badass waitress, I could work at a bar,” she offers.

The front door bursts open and I watch as five more members of the club walk into the small cabin. Esme shrinks back into the sofa, obvious fear crossing her features.

I turn to her to assure her that everything is okay, except Motorhead is already crouched down in front of her. I can’t hear what he’s saying, he’s whispering something and it’s fascinating. I’ve never seen the man act this way before.

Turning back to the new members of our gathering, I explain the situation. “Fucking Lucifer, the sick fucker,” one of them growls. I nod my head in agreement.

“Take care of his body and clean his shit out of this place. I have to call, Crooner and Hayden,” I state.

“Hayden?” Esme calls out. Shifting my gaze back to her, I wait for her to continue. “He would rant about her. He would hit me because I didn’t look like her, or because I didn’t act like her. He said he hated me because I wasn’t her. You know where she is?”

“He brought you here because we’re protecting her,” I announce.

She lets out a breath before she whispers. “I was so afraid he would find her, then he would kill me like he promised. I didn’t want to be his slave or his property, but I didn’t want to die either,” she whimpers as tears fill her eyes.

What a fucking piece of work. I glance back to the bedroom, angry that I can’t revive that fucker and kill him the way I had planned to.

“You’re safe now,” Motorhead mutters.

I watch as he reaches up and wraps his hand around the side of her neck, giving her a squeeze.

Shaking my head, I turn toward my brothers and finish giving them instructions. It’s going to be a long day today, but I can’t deny that I’m feeling at ease for the first time in weeks.

Granted, I didn’t get to make him suffer the way that I wanted to, but the motherfucker is still dead, and in all honesty, that’s all that really matters.

I wake up alone, which doesn’t surprise me. Prescott is an early riser, and this baby has kept me exhausted more days than not. I make my way toward the bathroom and decide to dress for the day. I need to start putting away all of the things that Free and I picked up yesterday.

A smile tips my lips as I think about Evalyn making her debut into the world. I’m scared and nervous, but I’m also extremely excited. I can’t wait to hold her.

Once I’m dressed, wearing a pair of black leggings and long sleeve tunic top, I slip my feet into a pair of moccasins and sigh at how comfortable my feet feel inside of them. Making my way downstairs, I’m not surprised to see Free sitting on the sofa, a mug of coffee in his hand, and his phone in the other.

“Hey,” I call out with a wave.

I watch as his head pops up and a smirk appears on his lips. His phone chimes with a notification and I freeze on the stairs at the look that crosses over his face.

His eyes lift, meeting mine and he looks indescribable. There is a mixture of anxiety, worry, relief, and something else in his eyes. It’s too many emotions for me to read on him at once.

“Get your purse, we gotta go,” he snaps.

My back straightens, and I grip my phone in my hand tightly as I hurry down the rest of the stairs. My purse is on the kitchen counter, so I snatch it up. I reach for my keys, but they’re not there. I frown and look around the counter. Free walks up next to me and places his hand on my forearm.

“Snake took your Jeep, he left me his truck keys, let’s go.”

I nod and quickly follow him. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m nervous—extremely nervous, about what’s to come. With everything that’s happened the past few weeks, I have no doubt that this is something big. I hope that it’s the end of our worries though, at least for now—and for a while.

The ride to the clubhouse is in complete silence. Free’s brows are knit together as he drives, and there’s a frown on his face. I’m not getting a good vibe from him, and it makes me clench my phone even harder. I’m scared and worried. I need to know what’s happening, and right now, all I feel is dread seeping throughout my entire body.

Once we pull up to the clubhouse gate, the prospect opens it without delay and we drive on through. There are motorcycles parked everywhere and men walking around. I don’t see my Jeep or Prescott though and my heart beats twice as fast inside of my chest with anxious worry.

“Is he okay?” I breathe, turning to Free as he shifts the pickup into park.

His head turns toward me and he lifts his chin. “He’s perfectly fine. Should be here any second,” he mutters.

I let out a heavy breath. I know there’s something happening, but as long as he’s okay, then I don’t care what it is, we’ll figure it out and get through it.

Sliding out of the pickup, I decide to stay outside and wait for him. There’s no sense in me going inside just to pace by the door.

I need to see that Prescott is okay, I need to hold him and then I’m going to demand he tell me what in the hell is going on.

Leaning against the tailgate of the pickup, I watch the entrance road to the clubhouse. It doesn’t take long for me to see a white van, followed by my Jeep coming up the dirt road.

Free leans against the bed of the truck next to me and lets out a sigh. It’s obvious that he’s been pretty worried too. I don’t blame him, he’s used to being in on all of the action, but he’s been stuck being my babysitter instead.

The van bypasses us and turns toward their large metal building. I ignore it, turning my head back to Prescott who is almost to me, the van is of little consequence to me anyway, I really don’t want to know what’s inside or why.

Motorhead is the first to exit, but he’s carrying something. He walks toward us, and I gasp at the bundle in his arms. It’s a girl with long black hair that hangs off of his arm as he carries her like a groom would his bride. I take a step toward them as he approaches but his eyes meet mine and he shakes his head once.

“Doc here yet?” he asks, his eyes focused on Free.

Free shakes his head once. “Any minute,” he grunts.

“Send him to my room,” Motorhead grunts and then he walks away.

“Shit,” Prescott hisses.

My head whips around to face him and he looks exhausted. I open my mouth to ask him what the hell is going on, but he only shakes his head. “Head to my office. I’ll tell you everything as soon as I talk to Crooner and Hayden,” he says.

“Maybe I should just—”

Prescott pins me with a narrowed gaze and I snap my mouth closed. “Maybe you should go to my fucking office, and I’ll be there in a minute,” he barks.

I lift my chin, shrinking back slightly at his tone. He doesn’t skip a beat or look back at me. Instead, he just walks away. Free reaches out for my arm, but I pull it away from his touch. “Shit went down,” he whispers.

“So fucking what,” I snap.

I walk away from all of them, but I don’t go to Prescott’s office like he demanded. I walk around to the back of the clubhouse instead. There are picnic benches and tables set up there and I head toward them. All of these men, their secrets, and their short tempers can go fuck themselves I decide.

Sitting down on the bench, I look out at the trees that outline the property. Evalyn does a flip in my stomach. My hand automatically flies to my belly, so that I can feel her from the inside and the outside.

Inhaling deeply, I try not to be too angry at Prescott. It’s hard because I want to lash out at his sharp words. However, I don’t know what happened, so I decide to just close my eyes and take in deep breaths.