Karen approaches him. They embrace. Then she kisses him—not a peck, but a full, lingering mouth-to-mouth that speaks of familiarity. Intimacy.
Ice floods my veins.
"London's mother is involved with the cartel," Demon states flatly. "Has been since before her hospital stay, based on our timeline."
Karen has cartel connections?
According to London, her mother somehow knew she was staying here at the compound. She asked London to come home—begged, was the word London used. Her mother begged. Something’s not right about that.
And London left. Ten to one, she went back to her mom’s house.
“How long ago did London leave here?” My voice is surprisingly level for the amount of adrenaline being dumped into my system.
“Gate log says she left around an hour ago,” Fuzzy answers.
"If the cartel knows London's been with us—" I start.
Demon's jaw tightens. "They could use London as leverage against the club."
"Or—" Kayla's voice comes from behind me, thin and strained.
I turn. She's standing with the other ol' ladies, who were apparently all eavesdropping. Kayla’s face is drained of color.
"They also traffic women," she says.
The whiskey glass shatters against the wall. I don't register throwing it. I'm already moving—toward the door, toward the parking lot, toward my bike.
"Zeus!" Demon's on his feet, matching my stride. "You can't go in alone. Give me sixty seconds to grab?—"
“She might not have sixty seconds." I slam through the clubhouse door into daylight. My boots eat concrete on the way to my Harley.
Demon's hand clamps my shoulder, spinning me. "Weapons. Backup. Don't be a dead hero."
He's right. Charging in blind is how people get buried. And if I'm buried, who saves London?
"Sixty seconds," I grit out.
Demon disappears back inside.
Fifty-eight seconds later, Demon reappears with Fuzzy, both of them armed. Chaos and Fury are right behind.
"We ride together," Chaos says. Not a question.
Demon passes me a Glock. I check the magazine. Fifteen rounds. I rack the slide and tuck it into my waistband before mounting my bike.
The engine roars to life beneath me. My hands remain steady on the handlebars as every nerve in my body screams the same thing.
Hold on, sweetheart. I'm coming.
Chapter 15
London
The thug feints left. I throw myself right, my hand closing around a ceramic table lamp on the end table. I swing it with everything I have.
It connects with his forearm. The bulb shatters and he grunts—but doesn't stop. His free hand snakes out and catches my wrist, fingers clamping down with crushing force.
"Stop fighting, bitch.” His gold teeth glint. “You’re making it worse for yourself.”