Page 240 of At the Edge of Surrender

That smile shifted a fraction when my attention landed on another image that sat farther in the back. I reached in and carefully pulled the frame out so I could study it better.

A flare of disquiet fluttered somewhere in the back of my mind.

I narrowed my eyes as I took it in.

Kane was with the rest of the guys. Theo, Cash, Otto, and River. They were older. Maybe in their early twenties. Their arms were slung around each other’s shoulders as they gawped at the camera.

A bottle of alcohol dangled from one of Theo’s hands and Otto was tossing a middle finger at whoever was taking the shot.

But it was what they wore that sent a cold slick of familiarity slithering through my veins.

An ice-cold dread that tightened my chest and soured my stomach.

All of them were in leather cuts. The kind that bikers wore. And it wouldn’t have been all that shocking except for the patch that sat on the upper left side of each of them.

It was the depiction of a vicious owl, its wings stretched wide and in full flight. In its claws was a skull.

Flashes of memories streaked through my mind, and in an instant, horror took me hostage.

The floor was cold and hard below her, her hands and feet bound. Fabric covered her eyes, tied tight around the back of her head, her sight obscured.

She was disoriented.

Sick.

Pain and fear heavy in her limbs.

She went in and out of consciousness, as if her spirit tried to float away. To rise above the torment that had been inflicted.

Raucous laughter hit her ears, pulling her from the reprieve of the stupor.

“Bro, you know how much they’re worth?”

“Don’t care…gonna get my piece.”

Another bark of laughter. A clapping of a shoulder. “Cutter’s gonna cut your dick off and feed it to the sharks.”

“Fuck Cutter.”

Her sister whimpered beside her while Jana wept.

The light was minimally brighter above her left eye, and Emery carefully shifted, her head angled in a way so she could peer around the edge of the blindfold. A bulb hung from the ceiling and poured jaundiced light against the brick walls, and two men stood facing each other.

The only thing she could make out was the one with his back to her.

Brown hair and he wore a black leather vest.

A design was embroidered on the back. An owl in full flight with a skull clutched in its claws. It was circled by an O with an I slashing through the middle.

And inscribed at the bottom was Iron Owls MC.

Sickness pooled in my stomach, and nausea rolled up my throat.

No.

I squinted at the picture, praying that I wasn’t seeing it right. That I was only making it up. Conjuring a nightmare that wasn’t really there.

But there would be no scrubbing that memory from my being. The emblem that would forever be emblazoned in my mind.

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