Page 62 of Queen of Blades

“No shit,” Paul barked as he marched farther into the house and past Sam to watch the monitors.

Thankfully, Sam had cued up the screens to the time he needed. Pressing the button on the keyboard, Paul watched stone-faced as the old silver Honda Accord with the blue fender pulled up the driveway. He ground his teeth when the two men exited the car.

“Where were you?” he demanded of his cousin.

“I told you.” Sam sighed. “I had a lunch appointment. You said I could come afterward.”

Shaking his head, Paul cursed himself for being overconfident about the security. He should’ve insisted and locked her in the storm cellar when he left. They never would’ve gotten to her in there.

The corners of his mouth turned up, and he couldn’t help but grin in pride as he witnessed Harper pounce on the bald guy and stab him in the gut.

“Good girl,” he whispered to himself. “That’s my queen. Queen of Blades.”

His cousin arched a brow and gazed at him with a perplexed expression.

Narrowing his eyes, Paul leaned closer to the screen as Harper ran around the bedroom.

“What did she do?” he asked after she leaped out the window.

“She wrote ‘bikers’ on the bedroom wall.”

Paul shifted his attention to his cousin. “Bikers?”

Sam shrugged.

“How the hell did they find her?”

From his pocket, Sam produced a circular disc. “It’s an AirTag.”

Paul furrowed his brow.

“I found it in this little purse thing in the bedroom.” Sam turned it this way and that in his hand. “I assume that’s how they found this place.”

God-fucking-dammit. How had he been so careless? He let her bring a purse. What the hell for? What was he thinking? He hadn’t been, and now look where it’d gotten him.

Turning away from the screen, Paul brought a clenched fist up to his face and pressed it against his lips. Two against one. Harper had to know that no matter how much she fought, she couldn’t win. Not when there was a gun involved. He needed to get her over her aversion to firearms. Knives were all well and good, but a gun was better.

So, she left a clue and told them who took her. Bikers. The only motorcycle monkeys in the area were the goddamn Roughneck Riders. Why would her father’s club want her? Their new president was the one who put the bounty on her head. What the fuck game was Diesel playing now?

Glaring at the monitors as the car pulled out with Harper inside, Paul’s nostrils flared. However, he didn’t even flinch when his father whistled as he walked through the front door. His dad crunched over broken glass and made his way through the house to the security room.

“You need to get yourself under control, Tony Stewart,” Joseph commented sternly, referencing a NASCAR driver.

Paul’s jaw twitched, but he didn’t answer. It was easy for him to say. Paul’s mother was safe at home with no one hunting her. She wasn’t taken by a bunch of drugged-out thugs. None of them could understand the all-consuming rage pulsing through Paul’s veins because they weren’t in his position.

His father stood beside him, crossed his arms over his chest, and stared at the screens.

“Where’s Eddie?” Paul asked.

Joseph had ridden with Paul’s brother to the meeting. How had he gotten here without him?

“He’s dealing with something.”

Paul dropped his fist and glared at his father. “Something?”

Joseph lifted his chin ever so slightly. Paul had just stepped out of line. He was far too mouthy. They were family, but also something completely different. There was a hierarchy that demanded respect. He needed to remember his place.

“What happened here?” his father asked as he pointed to the screens.

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