Page 30 of Her Savior Biker
“Eight hours,” Mason repeats, heading for the door. “And gentlemen? I’d strongly advise against trying to leave. I have resources you can’t imagine.”
The door swings shut behind him, leaving a silence that feels like the aftermath of an explosion.
Shannon’s legs give out, and she sinks into the nearest chair. “He found us. God, he actually found us.”
“How?” Tank asks, but a sick feeling in my gut already knows the answer.
“Surveillance,” I say. “Military grade. He’s been watching, building a case.”
Tank nods grimly. “Question is, what do we do about it?”
I look at Shannon—my Shannon—sitting there lost and terrified, and something inside me hardens into steel. Mason thinks he can waltz in here and take what’s mine? Thinks he can threaten the woman I love and walk away?
He’s about to learn exactly why they call me Savior. And why crossing the Savage Kings is the last mistake he’ll ever make.
“We fight,” I say, my voice carrying to every corner of the bar. “We fucking fight.”
Tank catches his coin and pockets it, decision made. “Church. Now. Everyone.”
As the brothers file toward the back, I meet Shannon’s eye. She’s scared, broken, but there’s still fire there. Still fight. Good. She’s going to need it because this war is just getting started.
The church is thick with tension when I walk in five minutes later. Every seat around the scarred wooden table is filled—Grizz sprawled in his chair, Hawk cleans his nails with a switchblade, Diesel cracks his knuckles. Viper leans against the back wall, his ink-black eyes missing nothing.
Tank sits at the head of the table, his silver coin dancing between his fingers. When the door closes behind me, the coin stops.
“Brothers,” Tank begins, his voice carrying the weight of fifteen years leading this club. “We got a problem.”
“Federal problem,” Hawk adds, not looking up. “Worst kind.”
Tank nods. “Captain Mason Holt, military police. Claims Shannon Cole kidnapped her own kid. He’s got surveillance photos, federal backing, and a hard-on for making our lives difficult.”
“So we cut her loose,” Diesel says immediately. “Not our problem.”
“The hell we do,” I growl. "Hell, the fuck, no."
“Easy, Savior.” Grizz holds up a massive hand. “Let Tank finish.”
“Holt’s given us eight hours to produce Shannon, or he comes back with warrants. Child endangerment, kidnapping, the works.” Tank’s coin starts moving again. “But that’s not the worst part. He’s threatening to dig into Savior’s background. Military discharge, arrest records. He’ll destroy you, brother. And once he starts on you, how long before he starts on all of us?”
“Torrino deal,” Viper says quietly from the wall. “Federal heat kills it dead.”
The Louisiana expansion. Three months of negotiations, and Holt could blow it apart with a single phone call.
“So what’s the play?” Hawk asks, pocketing his knife.
Tank leans back. “We could cut Shannon loose. Tell Holt she was never here. Problem solved.”
My chair scrapes against concrete as I surge to my feet. “Over my dead body.”
“Savior—”
“No.” I plant my hands on the table, leaning forward. “You want to know what the play is?” Silence. “We’re going to ask ourselves which one of us is willing to take a knife and cut out their own heart. Because that’s what you’re asking me to do. Cut out my fucking heart and hand it to some uniform-wearing piece of shit who likes to break three-year-olds’ arms.”
Diesel shifts uncomfortably. Hawk’s expression goes neutral. But none of them look away.
“She’s changed you,” Grizz says quietly. “We’ve all seen it. Seen you come alive for the first time.”
“She has.” I don’t hide it. “Shannon and her boy—they’re everything I never knew I needed. Everything I never thought I’d have.”
