Chaos Bound (Sinner's Tribe Motorcycle Club #4)(67)

Reality hit him in a rush. He was free. In a hotel. And vengeance was close at hand.

He reached for Naiya, felt the empty bed beside him, the cool sheets, pillow barely dented.

“Naiya.” He pushed himself up, looked around the room. Waited. Called again. His skin prickled, and he left the bed to search. First the giant marble bathroom, then the living area, the balcony, and finally the hall. Her shoes were missing. And her bag. And her new sweater was gone.

A black hole opened in his chest, sucking the air from his lungs. Had she left him? Had he been too rough? Too hard? Had he done something wrong? Was she still angry he’d left her behind?

He pulled on his clothes, reached for his weapons. On the table beside his gun and holster, he found her note.

Gone for a walk? At midnight? With Viper and the ATF hunting her? What if she was hurt? Lost? What if they found her? What if she needed him?

Too agitated to wait for the elevator, he took the stairs two at a time down to the lobby. He checked with the night clerk and yes, she’d seen Naiya leaving about an hour ago, but no, she didn’t know where she’d gone.

Holt ran out the door and into the darkened street. A taxi driver waved to him, but he shook his head. Where would she go? Why the f*ck would she walk around alone at night? Panic gripped him hard and he staggered against the wall. He couldn’t lose her. She was the only person who knew him when he didn’t even know himself, accepted him for the way he was now, not knowing how he was then. She was the only woman he had ever truly wanted—a woman he couldn’t imagine himself without.

She was Tank’s type of woman—small and beautiful, deeply passionate, quirky and funny—and yet she made Holt feel things he’d never felt before; she made him feel whole again, and he couldn’t go on if a piece of him was missing.

He looked left down the street, wondering if she would have headed toward the city. Or would she have gone right toward the residential area of town? He took a step to the left and he heard a sound. A voice. Laughter. Low and deep. So familiar. His heart skipped a beat, and then he saw them.

And in that moment his entire world imploded.

Tank. He would have known him anywhere. The same walk, the same set of his shoulders, the flash of the tattoo that matched Holt’s own. And Naiya. His once best friend with his girl. Laughing as if they’d known each other forever.

Maybe they had.

Maybe the joke was on him.

He slipped into the nearest alley, pressed his back up against the wall and took a deep breath. Tucked into his belt, he had a Glock 17 and a SIG P226. He’d holstered a Ruger P Series across his chest, along with a .22 on his left leg and an assortment of blades.

Vengeance would be his tonight.

He waited for the footsteps, the lilt of Naiya’s voice, Tank’s loud murmur. And yet vengeance was not his first thought as he stepped out of the alley, the Glock pointed at Tank’s chest. “Get away from her.”

Tank froze mid-step. The night air stilled around them. Time stopped. Holt looked into the eyes of the man he had called brother and saw himself. Walking dead.

“T-Rex.” Tank let out a ragged breath. “Fuck. I almost didn’t believe her. It’s so good to see you, brother. So f*cking good.”

Holt’s mouth opened and closed again as emotion balled in his chest. Memories assailed him. He and Tank trawling the bars, polishing bikes, riding through the mountains, watching TV, playing vids, covering each other in shoot-outs, backing each other in fights, fishing, talking, laughing … so many memories. So much pain.

“Into the alley.”

Tank lifted his hands, palms forward. “Don’t shoot, brother. We were coming to see you. To explain.”

“Move.” He gestured them both into the dark alley with his gun, and checked the street for witnesses. When he was certain the coast was clear, he backed them up to the brick wall, fighting a wave of nausea from the heavy stench of decay coming from the garbage cans behind him.

“So was this all a set-up?” His gaze flicked to Naiya. “You knew him?”

“No.” Her face softened. “You said the Sinners hung out at Rider’s Bar, so I went there and asked for Tank. He’s come to explain what happened. They didn’t leave you behind, Holt. Just hear him out.”

Holt’s hand trembled, his finger on the trigger, his muscles tight, ready to fire. This was it. This was what he had lived for in the dungeon. Revenge. Justice. Payback. And yet Tank did nothing to defend himself. There was no fear in Tank’s eyes, just relief, joy, and goddamned tears.

“We came for you,” Tank said, his voice wavering. “From the moment Viper took you, all we did was to try to get you back. And you know who was out there every f*cking day doing recon? Zane. He staked out the Black Jack clubhouse, shot hundreds of pictures and videos, brought it back so we knew everything … the timing of the guards, the layout of the compound, where you were and how to get to you. He pulled in every mark he had. Disobeyed Jagger and took a f*cking beating for it.”

“Zane?” Holt couldn’t believe Zane gave a rat’s ass about him. The Sinner VP kept to himself, and never socialized with the brothers. Holt didn’t think Zane had ever said more than two words to him in the entire time he’d been at the club.

“Yeah, man.” Tank took a step forward. “He’s mellowed now that he’s got a kid. You saved Evie, brought their family together. Zane said he owed you a life debt. He even gave a speech at your funeral.”