Page 37 of Contracted to the Bikers

Seconds later we’re in the room where we hold church, the door slamming shut behind us, muffling the chaos outside just enough to think.

Sloane doesn’t sit. Without hesitation, she opens her laptop and dumps a stack of files onto the table, spreading them out with quick, precise movements.

“We can assume that Briggs is the one who took her,” she says. “This isn’t random or simply revenge,” she adds, already pulling up documents, maps, diagrams.

Rook comes to stand beside her, and Cruz moves in on her other side. “The kidnapping seemed planned, organized.”

Sloane nods, as if this confirmed what she already suspected. “I know how men like him think,” she replies. “It’s all about power, control, assets, and money. Emotions don’t factor into their decisions.” Her fingers fly over the keyboard. “Jessy is leverage,” she continues. “Not a target. He’s taken her because he wants something from me. If he…” she breaks off for a moment and gets herself under control again. “If he wanted her dead, he would have killed her there and then. The fact that he didn’t means he wants to negotiate.”

“So why hasn’t he called?” I ask.

Sloane shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe by visiting his office I forced his hand and he hasn’t decided his next move yet?”

My jaw tightens. “So where would he take her?”

She doesn’t answer right away, engrossed in cross-referencing, pulling up maps, property records, and acquisition logs, reading them quicker than I can take them in, only needing to glance at the familiar documents to find what she’s looking for.

“She’s not far,” she says finally. “Briggs wouldn’t risk moving her too far, not yet. It would be too risky. I know you asked the school to hold off calling the cops, but they will. A child went missing while in their care, they can’t not call in law enforcement. He’s relying on us to stay quiet and wait by the phone for a ransom call. He knows we won’t trust the cops, that we’d rather settle this ourselves. But he’s not expecting us to come to him.”

She zooms in on a map and points. “Here,” she says, tapping the screen.

It shows a warehouse, approximately ten miles out. He owns it through a shell company, one he no doubt thought wouldn’t be traced back to him.

Rook leans in, brow furrowed as he studies the map. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.” There’s no doubt in her voice. She can’t allow room for doubt, not when the stakes are so high. “She’s there,” Sloane says, jaw firm with determination. “She has to be.”

“We roll now,” Rook says without hesitation.

Sloane shoots him a look of pleased surprise that he’s trusted her without question. A week ago, they’d have been at each other’s throats, arguing over the best course of action, but things have changed, and they’re on the same team now. They both know there’s no time for indecision or disagreement.

Everyone shifts at once, listening closely as Rook barks his orders, articulating a plan in seconds, letting everyone know their positions. Once they’re up to speed, he dismisses them, and Cruz leaves with them to pass on the orders to the rest.

“You’re staying here,” Rook adds, turning to Sloane.

She looks up, her eyes steely with determination. “No,” she says, her voice cold and blunt.

“It’s not safe. This could be a trap designed for you. Briggs already tried to kill you more than once. You’re not walking into a firefight—”

“You need me on comms,” she cuts in, voice sharp enough to slice through steel. “And she’s my daughter.”

Rook steps closer. He tries to hide his concern for her, but it’s clear to me that he’s terrified of losing her, that he just wants to keep her safe. “This isn’t—”

“I’m not staying behind,” she says. Her voice is not loud or emotional, just certain and unwavering. Her expression is fierce and unmovable, a lioness protecting her cub. We couldn’t stop her coming even if we tried.

Rook sees it, and for once, he doesn’t argue or push the point. “Fine,” he grunts. He doesn’t like it, but by now he knows Sloane is too stubborn to listen, and arguing would only waste time.

Everything moves quickly after that. The men mobilize, the mood shifting from chaotic to purposeful as the engines roar to life. Sloane sets up in the truck, laptop open, headset on, already pulling schematics as the door slides shut. Hogg drives the van, and we flank it on all sides as we ride to the warehouse.

The journey isn’t long, but time seems to stretch out endlessly until I start to worry we’ve taken a wrong turn and missed it. But then the warehouse looms ahead, materializing on the horizon. It’s quiet, seemingly empty, suspiciously so.

“I’ve got the building blueprints,” Sloane says as we pull up a safe distance away, out of sight, her voice steady through the comms. “Main entrance, two side exits. Office section on the north side.”

The silence is loud as we cut our engines. The warehouse is in a remote area. There’s no reason why anyone would be out here. The only sound is the distant hum of traffic on the nearby freeway, visible just in the distance.

Over the comms, I hear Sloane’s voice. “It’s Briggs, he’s calling to make his demands.”

We freeze, wondering if he’s somehow seen us arrive. Sloane keeps the line open as she talks to him. “Where is my daughter?”