Abel had been shot before. He’d been stabbed and knocked out, but he’d never been tasered, and that shit hurt like hell. He sat back in the chair in the darkened room waiting . . . Fucking waiting for Gator, or whatever the fuck his name was, to finish up in the other room.

When Abel had regained consciousness, and found Hope missing, he’d done the only thing he could, and the one thing he couldn’t afford: called Gator from the Blackwater Renegades MC. These were not men you wanted to be in debt with, but the panic in his chest and the fear in his heart led him into the lion’s den.

His leg bounced nervously under the table and he itched to palm his gun. Of course, that was the first thing he’d been forced to hand over once he walked into the clubhouse. Rough hands had patted him down, paying no regard to his injuries.

A door flew open and the sound of loud music and squealing women spilled into the room. Gator strolled in, leather pants, naked chest under his leather vest, and fucking barefoot. He glared at Abel as if he’d just pissed in his Cheerios. Common sense be damned, Abel didn’t have time for another macho-man stare-down. He needed to get to Hope.

“Well?” The word flew from him like a bark from a caged dog. “Did you find him?”

Gator lifted his lip in a snarl. His sharpened teeth glistened in the dark room, and the noise rumbling out of his chest reminded Abel that he was not in Kansas any longer. This was Renegade terrain, and submitting to the VP of the MC came with the territory.

Abel grudgingly lowered his tone. “My woman’s in trouble. I don’t have a lot of time. Tell me what you want in turn for the information I need, and it is yours.” Abel didn’t give a damn what they would ask of him, as long as it brought him to Hope. He’d failed to keep her safe. He’d been so busy wanting to touch her that he hadn’t noticed the headlights in the rearview mirror. Stupid.

Gator glared a moment longer before moving to the bar. “Need a drink?”

Abel gritted his teeth. I don’t want a fucking drink, asshole. “No, man. Just the info.”

Gator lifted the bottle and brought it over to the table. Placing a glass down in front of Abel, he poured slowly. Abel vowed if anything happened to Hope while they sat there drinking, he would burn the fucking clubhouse to the ground. He glanced at his watch. Hope had been missing a total of three hours. For one of those hours, Abel had been sitting here—waiting like a goddamned fool. Thinking better of wasting more time with Gator, he made to stand, but the man’s next words halted him in his tracks.

“We have your woman.” He said the words as if he were talking about finding Abel’s lost dog; unbothered by the fact Abel had sat here for an hour, thinking of ways to commit murder without ending up in jail.

His breath left him in a whoosh, and Abel wasn’t sure, but he thought he might puke. “And?” he asked, trying to hide his fury and concern.

Gator took a large swig from the bottle of liquor. “The info you gave me was useless. I knew about this man as soon as he crossed county lines. It’s my fucking job to know shit like that.”

Fuck it. Abel lifted the glass and downed the liquid. His throat burned and his gut protested the fiery shit, but he held it down.

“Where is she?” He stood, leaning over the table. In this moment, Abel didn’t give a damn about titles or authority. He wanted Hope, and he’d find a gun and shoot his way through this cesspool if he had to.

Gator smirked again. “Hanging with the whores.” He waved Abel’s concern away. “She’s fine. Scared, and a bit dinged up, but Doc says she’ll live.”

“Did he fucking touch her?” His thinly veiled anger broke the snarl coming from his throat, without concern for his own safety.

“Now, that’s something you’ll have to ask her.” Gator pulled his gun from his waistband and placed it on the table in front of him, muzzle pointed straight at Abel—the threat, clear and concise. “You are now in debt with the Blackwater Renegades. Do you agree?” His tone hardened and his finger found its way to the trigger.

Common sense reappeared, and Abel calmly sat back down. Sure, he fucking agreed. He knew this would be the outcome when he’d made the choice to walk through the doors of the MC.

“This ain’t something you get time to think about. It’s done. You agree, or you die. And that woman of yours? Well, she’ll have to take on your debt, and I don’t think that’s something you want.”

Abel lifted his chin. “I told you the second you walked in this room I was in your debt. I wasn’t aware those words needed repeating.” Okay, perhaps he didn’t have any damned sense today, but fuck threatening his woman had pushed him over the edge.

Offering a cheeky grin, Gator removed his finger from the trigger. “That’s one favor owed. And now to settle up this business with Edwin.” He waggled his eyebrows. “You don’t come into this town starting trouble, or you’ll end up in the dirt. An added favor I’ll be throwing you comes in the form of some quality alone time with him. If you get my drift.”

“Fuck yes!” The words were out of his mouth before he could even consider the consequences of owing another debt. There was information he needed before the MC did away with the man, because Abel had to tie Edwin to Mark in some concrete way.

“Well then, follow me.” Gator stood and led his way through the club and out of the back doors. Crossing a large field, Abel and Gator came to a dilapidated shed. The big guy glanced back at him, hand on the door. “This goes without saying, but if one cop comes back here off the word of a snitch,” black eyes bore into him, “I will kill you and the girl. Understand?”

“Loud and clear,” Abel replied just as Gator swung open the door.

The smell of the place was pungent—a mix of fear, sweat, and piss. A man sat bound to a chair, covered in blood, and sitting in a pool of his own urine. His bloodied face turned to the door slightly, blackened eyes swelling as he took in the sight of Abel.

Abel’s hands fisted at his sides, and his body moved forward before he’d given it the mental command. The first punch knocked blood and spit from the man’s mouth, the second punch stole a tooth. Without rational thought, Abel’s fist lifted and made contact with his face, again and again. His anger fueled his desire to kill the man.

Eighteen months earlier, Abel had found himself in this very situation, and it’d cost him a year and a half of freedom, along with his job. Now, he would sacrifice his life and his very freedom in order to keep Hope safe, as he’d failed to do earlier that night.

“Whoa, buddy.” Two meaty arms wrapped around him and pulled him away from his target.

Abel fought to catch his breath, to pull himself back into the here and now. Lifting his hands to meet his face, he reveled in the blood coating his hands. He balled them into fists once again, his sights set on his prey. He fought hard. Abel felt the strain in his muscles as he wrestled to get away. Another pair of hands held on to him, pulling him backward, until his face collided with a fist.

“Calm down, motherfucker!” Abel recognized Gator’s voice as the shit was knocked out of him.

“Get off me,” Abel growled, shoving away the hands still holding him.

When he was released, a man with a blue Mohawk and ice blue eyes patted him on the back and made his way to the corner. It was Blu, the biker who’d helped keep an eye on Hope. He leaned back against the wall, as if he hadn’t just stopped Abel from beating a man to death.

Slowly, Abel leaned over and propped his hands on his knees and worked to catch his breath—coming back from the rage that fought to consume him. He hadn’t even seen Hope yet; he didn’t know if this Edwin had raped her, or what Mark had paid him to do.

“My friend here has a few questions for you.” It was Gator who’d spoke. “And if you answer them, it’s a bullet to the head. Easy-peasy.” Reaching behind his back, he pulled out a sharp, gleaming hunting knife. “The other way, well that’s the hard way.” The knife glinted in his palm.

Edwin quivered in his chair, his swollen eyes following the knife Gator tossed between hands.

Abel straightened and made his way over to Edwin. “You better fucking answer.” He took in his face and realized that his earlier explosion might’ve actually worked against him.

Blu grunted in the corner. “Fucker might need a pen and paper after Muhammad Ali’s attack.” He lifted his chin in Abel’s direction, and the group broke into laughter.

Abel calmed himself down long enough to look around the room. A few men in leather cuts leaned against the wall, while a couple found seats on the dirty floor. All watched on in interest, a blood thirst in their eyes.

He took a knee in front of the man. “Who sent you after Hope?” His gut churned and his fist readied itself to pound into Edwin’s face if he even thought to lie. Edwin’s bottom lip lay shredded, one eye swollen shut, and the other well on its way.

Blood and spit fell from his lips as he spoke. “Don’t kill me.” He flinched when Gator aimed the deadly blade at him. “I-I’ll t-tell ya.”

Gator handed the blade to Abel. He took the heavy steel in hand. “Now’s the time for talkin’, my man.” Gator ambled behind Edwin’s chair and placed both hands on his shoulders. He rubbed, as if to be soothing, but the pain on Edwin’s face revealed otherwise. “No more bargaining or pleading.” Leaning in, Gator stated, “Your fate is set.” He emphasized his words with a hard punch to the back of his head. “And before you get all if I’m gonna die, I’ll die in silence, I can promise you death can come in many ways, and yours won’t be swift. You came onto Black Renegades’ land and tried to take one of our women.” His voice lowered and his next words had Abel gripping the blade tighter in his palm. “When my men found you, you were half-naked, and so was the chick. And I know for a fact she didn’t come to you willingly.” Gator squeezed Edwin’s shoulders tight and laughter fell from his lips. “Boy, that alone was gonna cost you your dick.”

Abel listened as Edwin begged and pleaded, blood-tinged slobber dripping from his lips. Abel didn’t care about his initial plan; his need for proof on Mark was superseded by his desire to cut the dick off the man before him. He hadn’t saved Hope from Mark, but he would save her from another.

Lifting the blade, Abel placed the sharp tip on Edwin’s thigh. “Talk, or it won’t be the easy death he’s promising you.” He slammed his hand down, controlling the downswing enough to wedge the blade halfway into his fleshy thigh. The scream the pain brought from Edwin’s lips reverberated in his skull, and Abel enjoyed it.

Had he made Hope scream? Had he made her sob and cry the way this fuckwit was currently doing? Abel prayed not.

“Her husband sent me to get her!” He paused long enough to puke and Abel had to jump backward to avoid the spray. “B-but then he ch-changed his mind.”

Abel reared back. What the fuck did he mean changed his mind?

“Changed his mind?” This was from Gator, who sounded genuinely confused. “Then why the fuck are you still here, you monkey motherfucker? You could have saved yourself a whole lotta trouble by just going home.” He slapped his thigh and whooped. The men standing around the room laughed as well, shaking their heads.

Edwin might have been safe from the MC, but he would have never been safe from Abel’s reach.

“If he changed his mind, why the hell are you still here?” Abel asked the question again, but Edwin continued his silence. However, he already knew the answer. With Edwin’s past record, he’d most likely wanted to take Hope for himself, hence the way Gator’s men had found them.

Through gritted teeth and red-tinged haze, Abel asked, “Did you rape her?” He lifted the hand gripping the handle of the knife. The subtle movement of the blade in his flesh caused Edwin to flinch, then scream. Swollen eyes flitted to Gator, then to a man at the back of the room. Abel followed his eyes to the large man wearing a White Snake T-shirt and tight leather pants. He stepped forward; a sneer lay across his lips and his hand at his gun.

“I didn’t, I swear,” Edwin cried out as the man stepped forward.

“Not that he didn’t try.” His Irish accent mangled a few of the words, but Abel got the gist of it.

Slowly, he turned back to Edwin, who simpered and cowered in his chair. “I may not have found you, I may not have stopped you from raping my woman, but I will more than make up for that now.”

Pulling the blade from Edwin’s skin, Abel smiled at the sound of his screams.