Seth, Grady, and Levi stood in the middle of the upstairs room, embroiled in a low-voiced yet heated discussion about the next steps to take toward dealing with the Joker. Seth wanted to kill him, with his bare hands preferably, since every time he looked at the bastard’s face, all he could see was him yanking Nikki from the bed of that truck. Blood pounded through his veins and made his ears ring, hands tightened into fists.

This time, it was Grady who tried to calm Seth’s bloodlust. He was succeeding, too, but only just. Levi watched both of them with an expression akin to amusement, which Seth could tell neither of them appreciated.

“I can get information from him without killing him,” Grady insisted for the third time.

“And then what are we going to do with him?”

“Leave him in the middle of the desert to find his way back on foot, and with a warning to pass on to their prez,” Grady shrugged.

“Not good enough. I want—”

A loud clomping of boots up the wooden stairs interrupted the discussion. At the top landing, at least two people hurried across the hallway. Seconds later, three hard knocks on the door prompted Seth to snarl and yank it open.

“What?” he shouted.

Chops stood in the doorway, his large bulk partially hiding Shakespeare. They stared at Seth, then exchanged a glance with each other, eyes wide. Chops opened his mouth, closed it, and then gestured behind his shoulder. “She got away!” he stammered.

“Who got away?” Grady snapped.

“That girl, that woman that Sticks is hiding in his cabin! She took off in Padre’s car!”

Seth stared at Chops in disbelief before turning to Levi.

Levi slowly shook his head and rolled his eyes. “So, your innocent kidnap victim stole Padre’s car? What do you have to say about that, Sticks?”

His first reaction was to snap back. He did. “How the hell do I know?” He turned and glared at Chops. “When did this happen? Why wasn’t I—”

“Just a few minutes ago! Several of the guys are chasing after her!”

Seth pressed his hands against his thighs, forcing them not to roll into fists. Nikki stole a car. Took off. Again. Damn her! What the fuck was her problem? Why couldn’t she just stay put until they figured out how they could help her? He glanced at Grady and the smirk on his face. He scowled, his glare daring Grady to say something. He cursed and looked over at Levi, who gave him a nod.

To hell with this. Levi and Grady could deal with the Joker. He need to go after Nikki. He headed for the door, Chops and Shakespeare scrambling out of the way just in time. He pushed past them, his heart pounding and his temper roiling as he took the steps down two at a time, not sparing anyone left in the main room a glance as he strong-armed the door open and headed outside toward his bike.

He wanted to rage, to curse, to smack some sense into her, although his grandmother would have had his head if he ever lay his hand on a woman. She wouldn’t have needed to worry—God rest her soul—because Seth would take himself out before he ever hurt Nikki or anyone under his protection. But fuck, she’d aggravated the hell out of him, constantly putting herself in danger.

He climbed on his bike, shoving his hand deep in his jeans pocket for the key. Why the hell did he care so damn much? She’d been nothing but trouble since the moment he’d pulled her from the Joker’s clutches. Nothing but a pain in the ass. A thorn in his side. A difficult, stubborn, mouthy—

“You need any help catching the little lady, Sticks?”

He turned to glare at three other guys who had burst out of the main floor, their laughter echoing through the darkness. Great. Just what he needed, to be made a laughingstock by a woman he couldn’t keep under control. With a short shake of his head, he shoved the key into the ignition, toed the bike in gear, and then yanked back on the throttle. The bike shot forward, but he squeezed the brake, his back tire spinning, shooting bits of gravel at the guys standing there still laughing but now ducking and covering their heads.

He sped out of the dirt parking lot and bounced onto the asphalt. Shit, he hadn’t even asked Chops which way she’d gone. Seth sent up a Hail Mary and then turned the bike the same way she’d tried to escape the first time.

Heart pounding, he accelerated, the asphalt passing beneath his bike in a blur, the wind tugging at his hair. He cursed when something hard smacked into his forehead, and he swiped away the remnants of a bug. Damn it, fuck, and damn it! When he got his hands on her again, he’d—

He’d what? Kiss her? Shake her and then pull her to him? Fuck the living daylights out of her, not because he was angry, because he needed to keep her close to him, under his body, the memory of her writhing and moans triggering desire throughout him even now as he chased her down? Again.

Again. He should just let her go. He wasn’t her keeper. Still, the thought of letting her go, only to put herself in danger again . . . Admit it, you coward. His attraction to her was like nothing he’d ever felt before. He knew she felt attracted to him as well. Why fight it? Why not open himself up and see where things went?

Because, you stupid jerk, she’s not going to jump into a relationship with you when she’s frantic to find her sister.

But why did she think she had to do this on her own? Like he had believed about Nikki, Seth was now sure that her sister had seen something she shouldn’t have, like a murder . . . or maybe she’d done something herself, like embezzle . . . or met the wrong person or . . . once you had the Jokers’ attention, it was bad news. They intimidated people. They threatened and took what they wanted when they wanted it. They terrorized entire neighborhoods. Maybe Stacey’s only crime was that she was pretty, like her sister. Maybe the Jokers just wanted her, and she’d had the audacity to say no. No one said no to the Jokers.

Stacey had worked at the auto shop. Surely she had known what was going on. She would have heard something. Seen drugs . . . guns, something. How could you not? Unless the boss had only recently moved operations there. He had no way of knowing. But it had to be more than a chop-shop scenario. Most likely drugs. A lot of drugs or other serious criminal activity—and a lot of money involved—to promote a kidnapping. But where the cartels were concerned, it was possible.

He couldn’t let Nikki escape. Seth cringed at the word. He didn’t want to keep her captive or hold her against her will. But he couldn’t just cut her loose. Not only because he was afraid what would happen if Jokers got to her again but because she had threatened to go to the cops, tell them what was going on at the compound. The guys didn’t need scrutiny or trouble. Most of them worked day jobs, just getting by. Some were on probation. One slip-up and they’d be back behind bars serving out their original sentences. They’d done nothing wrong. He had. This was his fault.

Maybe she would betray him and tell the cops that he had kidnapped her. Maybe she would tell them what was going on at the compound with the Jokers. He couldn’t have her do that. Once again, anger overrode concern, but then his emotions swung back again. He’d thought they were making some kind of connection, finally, that she trusted him. Shows how much he knew. He was letting his feelings toward her get in the way. There was much more to the story than she was telling him. The Joker could be lying. But if he was, why had Nikki run?

Seth revved the bike, speeding up again. He had to find Nikki before she did anything he couldn’t undo. Why couldn’t she realize she couldn’t do this alone? Why the hell did she think she had the wherewithal to take on the Jokers all by herself? Hadn’t he just told her that they would try to help her? Why couldn’t she be patient? Why couldn’t she trust him?

Trust. It was a tricky thing.

He took several curves in the road, refusing to slow down. He knew this road like the back of his hand, knew when the turns were coming, which were sharp, gentle, and arcing. She didn’t. It was dark out here, no streetlights, no buildings, no nothing except the endless high desert, the planes, and the rolling hills. A carpet of stars had appeared in the black sky above, but only dim light from a quarter moon shone down on the landscape that night. She wouldn’t be able to see farther than her headlights. Drivers around the clubhouse had to be careful, not only watch for the curves in the road, but animals. This was free range land. It wasn’t uncommon for cattle, deer, coyotes, or other animals to be standing in the middle of the road at night.

Worry and concern for her safety slowly trampled his anger. Within another mile, his heart thudded with more concern than rage. Maybe he should just let her go. What was he keeping her for, anyway? To save her? Save her from what? The Jokers? Or was it for himself? It was all the same to her, wasn’t it? And yet, he couldn’t deny his attraction to her, his desire . . . No, it was more than desire. It was a need. A need he couldn’t define. He needed her. He wanted her. It was more than just the sex. He’d never felt anything like this for anyone, and it confused the hell out of him. He didn’t know what to do with these feelings, but his gut instincts told him to go after her, to prevent her from—

There! Topping a rise, red taillights glinted in the distance, maybe a couple of miles away. They weren’t moving. Lights of several motorcycles moved then, approaching those stationary taillights. He twisted his hand, gave the bike more gas. He shot forward once more, taking the turns carelessly now, leaning with the bike, at one point placing the sole of his boot on the ground, keeping the bike from tipping, scuffing the sole, the ground speeding by dangerously close.

In less than a minute, he grew close enough to the red taillights blazing in the blackness to see what had happened. His heart leapt into his throat, and a cold chill raced down his spine as he pulled his bike up on the dirt shoulder beside the asphalt highway behind the others. They were sitting on their bikes, staring with dismay at the car, upside down, its wheels still spinning.

Seth kicked down the kickstand, turned off his bike, and swung his leg over the seat. “What the fuck are you guys doing!” he roared as he ran past them toward Padre’s car, on its roof, glass scattered and glinting dully in the dirt around it. The engine had died, but the radiator hissed hot steam while the headlights flickered, their cones picking up tendrils of dust still floating around the car.

“Nikki!” he shouted, voice cracking with panic. “Nikki!”

His voice propelled the others into action. Soon, three of his buddies appeared beside him, waiting for instructions. He didn’t look at them but got down on his hands and knees, peering into the dark interior of the vehicle. He couldn’t see her! Had she been thrown from the car?

“Nikki!” He spared a glance to the others, gesturing wildly. “Don’t just fucking stand there! Go look for her! She could’ve been thrown from the car when it flipped!”

He barely heard their footsteps scattering on gravel, his heart thundering hard in his ears, a sick feeling roiling in his stomach. Padre’s car was old, made before airbags were mandated, and broken glass everywhere told him that the car had flipped more than once. The crushed frame, the dents, and the battered, broken steering wheel prompted a surge of nearly overwhelming dread. He crawled halfway inside the driver-side window, his hands groping the seats, the scent of oil, grease, and fried electrical wiring wafting through his nostrils. He heard gasping breaths, and his hopes soared until he realized they belonged to him.

“Nikki,” he groaned, hands groping, fingers searching the seat, the dashboard, and then reaching over the bench seat toward the back. There! What was that? His fingers quickly explored, his mind racing. A shoe, and in the shoe he felt an ankle. “Nikki!” He turned and shouted out the door, scrambling back out of the driver’s side of the car and scrambling to the rear passenger side. “Guys! Over here! Help me!”

He yanked on the door but couldn’t open it. Jammed. Other hands reached in, grabbing the sides of the broken out window, tugging, pulling, and rocking the car in their effort to get the back door open. Finally, with a grunt of protest, it gave a little. Pulling with all their might, they finally yanked it open with a loud, metallic screech.

One of the guys bent down to grab Nikki’s shoulders. Her body lay crumpled on the back seat, arms tucked beneath her, hair splayed, blood smeared on what he could see of the side of her face.

“No!” Seth snapped. “Wait a minute!”

He pushed the man away, not even sparing a moment to look to see which one of his buddies it was, frantic to determine how seriously injured Nikki was. Maybe she was . . . No, he couldn’t even think it. He wished Doc was here to assess her injuries. She could have seriously broken bones, internal bleeding, or brain—

He placed his fingers on her throat, cursing when he couldn’t feel anything. He adjusted the placement his fingertips and then heaved an audible sigh of relief when he felt the throb of a pulse beneath them. Thank God for that! Carefully, he tried to assess injuries, but he was no doctor. Damn it!

“You better hurry up, Sticks,” one of the guys said. “There’s flames coming from underneath the hood.”

To verify his words, Seth caught the scent of smoke . . . black smoke oozing from beneath the floor, licking upward, seeking any space from beneath the car and into the cab. The stench of burning rubber, electrical wiring, and oil reached his nostrils. He glanced down at Nikki, assessing. Did he dare? What if he ended up hurting her worse than she already was? What if he ended up paralyzing her? What if—

“Hurry up, Sticks! The flames!”

He risked a glance toward the front of the car. The flames were growing larger by the second, feeding on the oil, and then he smelled gas. The fuel line must be leaking. Any second now, the car could explode and blow them all to bloody smithereens. No second-guessing. No hesitation. He quickly grabbed Nikki from under her shoulders, latching his forearms over her chest and interlacing his fingers. He tugged. Heart pounding, his breath catching in his throat, resisting the cough that erupted with the stench, he pulled her backward. One of the guys grabbed her legs as Seth pulled her out. Stumbling, all of them trying to balance Nikki as carefully as they could in their arms, they ran away from the car, toward the motorcycles, maybe thirty feet away. One of the guys stumbled over scrub brush, and they almost dropped her.

“For God’s sake, watch where you’re going! We can’t drop—”

An ominous whoosh erupted from the vehicle and they all paused and turned to stare at the car as a ball of flame erupted from inside. A massive roar rocked the air and a hot blast of wind shoved them to the ground. Seth cursed, shouting his denial as Nikki fell to the ground as they lost their footing, the blast knocking them down like pins in a bowling alley. At the last second, he threw his body over hers as the car exploded into a giant fireball in the night. He felt something hard brush over his back and glanced up in time to see the tire rolling down the shoulder of the road before it finally came to a stop, twirling precariously for several rotations before it ran out of momentum and dropped on its side. Bits of metal, pieces of the interior, and engine parts landed around them. He tried to cover Nikki as best he could, felt something hot and burning in his left thigh. The others shouted, covering their heads and necks as best they could. Seconds later, only the crackle of flames and the stench of the black smoke rolled over them.

His ears rang, his leg burned, and his back felt like it was on fire. He ignored every one of his own emotions, his own pain as he pushed himself onto his hands and knees, straddling Nikki, staring down into her still, surprisingly calm features. Dark eyelashes rested against her cheekbones, her mouth slightly open, her face smeared with blood.

“Nikki, you hang on,” he ordered her. “You’re going to be all right.”