Page 2 of July 27

By his fifth year in prison, he had enough prisoners protecting him. He could stay away from fighting and making his sentence longer. Good behavior was the only reason he received early release after serving eighteen years.

Footsteps above alerted him to someone coming. He leaned against the wall and put his hands behind his back. He wrapped the loose chain around his left hand, then held it completely still.

He wasn't going to jeopardize his right hand. He'd need it to get Rachel out of here.

But he'd sacrifice his left hand. With the chain, he could do a lot more damage.

The door at the top of the stairs opened.

Ruger closed his eyes, feigning sleep. He wanted to make sure whoever entered got as close to him as possible. One miss. One error. They'd kill him and Rachel before he could get to his feet.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Heavy boots fell on the concrete of the basement. Ruger slowed his breathing. There was only one way to get Rachel out of the handcuffs.

There were four men. He had yet to learn which one held the key.

They were men who had three square meals a day. Men who fought and killed. Men who were not afraid of Ruger's size because they'd weakened him.

He couldn't remember when he'd had food last. Maybe yesterday or the day before. It was some dry beans he could barely swallow. He was dehydrated. It wouldn't be long, and he'd lose all his stored energy.

The man kicked Ruger's boot. He willed himself to stay loose, hoping the man would try to rouse him again and leave Rachel alone.

"Wake up." The man's voice came closer.

Instead of firing off rapid Spanish like the other men, the man spoke English. Ruger slowed his breathing, barely letting his chest rise and fall.

Footsteps shuffled. An exhale sent a wave of humid air toward him, covering his face. Ruger never hesitated. He lunged forward, knocking his captor onto his back in surprise. Before the man could yell out a warning, Ruger pressed the chain against his kidnapper's throat.

All his strength centered on his hands, holding, pressing, tightening.

The man fought, kicking out and violently attempting to get his hands underneath the chain to remove it from his neck, but Ruger wasn't budging. He watched the veins pop in the man's eyes until they were only two red orbs, swollen in their sockets.

At that instance, he had all the strength in the world. There was no fucking way he was going to die.

He had to get home. His daughter needed him.

There was only one person he lived his life for, and that was Katrina. He'd spent too much time away from her. Now, she was all grown up, and he refused to lose her again.

The man's hands fell off the chain. His body stopped moving.

Ruger held him down, pinned by the chain around his neck until he was positive there was no coming back. As he eased his hands off him, his strength left him. There were still three more men he had to deal with.

Three more men he had to kill.

Chapter One

Loud banging followed by a deep shout penetrated the Havlin Motorcycle Club clubhouse bedroom door. Ruger rubbed the rag over the oil filter while watching Rachel sit cross-legged on the bed.

For the last couple of months, after escaping Los Li, he'd let Rachel stay in the clubhouse with him. She had no one at home because her brother was incarcerated at the state prison, and she needed time to heal from all the injuries she obtained at the hands of Los Li.

He rarely left the room and joined his MC brothers because Rachel panicked whenever he stepped into the hallway or went outside to smoke. It was easier to stay inside. When it was only the two of them, she relaxed and played games on his phone.

She seemed to know how to use the device, which was more than he could do with it. He knew how to make calls by finding names and could swipe to answer a call, but all the other things on the screen were foreign and went unused.

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