Nine

I woke to pain.

Not the sharp, immediate pain of being chased or attacked. This was different—a strong, bone-deep ache that told me my body had been through hell and was making me pay for it.

A sharp throbbing pulsed in my head, so intense I had a hard time opening my eyes. When I finally managed to pry them open, hot agony lanced through my skull.

There was a dull ache in my arms and a burning in my chest that reminded me I was still alive.

Thank goodness.

I sat up slowly, every movement sending fresh waves of pain through my body. My eyes adjusted to the light and the unfamiliar environment.

After I could finally see well, I knew I wasn't home.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. I'd never be home again.

I had no idea where I was right now.

The room was small and sparse, covered with concrete walls. A single bed with rough sheets. No windows—or at least none I could see in the dim light filtering under the door. The ceiling was different from my bedroom at home—rougher, older-looking.

I picked up a scent that made my nose wrinkle. Wild, earthy, musky. Like leather and motor oil and something primal underneath. Something that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

Where was this place?

What had happened after I escaped from the hunt by the werewolves from my pack?

I was trying to remember, but my memories were hazy.

But all I knew was that I was safe. For now.

The question was: for how long?

I looked down at my arms. They'd been bandaged—white gauze wrapped carefully around the worst of the claw marks. Someone had attended to them while I was unconscious.

It seemed someone had seen me helpless and saved my life.

I was grateful. Because I knew with my injuries from last night, I would have been dead even if I had escaped from the claws and fangs of the wolves.

I reached out and touched one of the bandages lightly, testing. Pain flared immediately, sharp enough to make me gasp and pull my hand back.

Whoever had patched me up had done a decent job. The bleeding had stopped, at least. But every movement sent fire shooting through my nerves.

How bad was I hurt? And why had they bothered to help me at all?

While I tried to process this, I did a mental inventory of my injuries:

Ribs: Probably cracked. Every breath hurt—a sharp stabbing sensation on my left side.

Arms: Clawed up, bandaged, burning with each movement.

Legs: One badly bruised, maybe sprained. The ankle felt swollen.

Head: Concussed? Probably. Everything felt fuzzy around the edges.

Just how the hell did I survive?

Then all of a sudden, I heard voices approaching the room. They were all masculine, and I could feel they seemed hostile.

My heart rate picked up immediately. I looked around frantically for a weapon. Anything.

Just something I could use to defend myself.

A lamp. A chair. A piece of broken furniture.

But I found nothing.

Damn it!

There was literally nothing. The room was deliberately sparse.

Leaving me with no way to defend myself.

The door creaked open, and two men walked in. They wore matching expressions—frowns that highlighted their rough, weathered faces. Tattoos snaked up their arms. Their eyes were cold, assessing.

Just with a glance, I could tell they were certainly not from my pack, and they stared at me like I was something they'd scraped off the bottom of their boots.

I could literally feel the hostility radiating off them without having to look directly at them.

"She's awake," one said in a flat, emotionless tone.

"We should have dumped her in the river."

I struggled to move back toward the edge of the wall.

My breath caught in my throat. I forced myself to stare at the ground, trying to look small. Harmless. Broken.

I had to act weak to make them lower their guard.

I remembered.

They were the Biker Rogue pack that I had seen before I fainted last night.

The sworn enemy of the Black Shadow Pack. My pack.

They knew I wasn't one of them. But did they know whose daughter I was?

Did they know I was Howard Quinn's castoff? His enemy's daughter?

If they did, I'd be dead before I could blink.

I tightened my fist and gave myself a mental note to make sure they never found out who I was.

"So this is her?" the first guy said and frowned deeply before continuing.

"She looks weak and fragile. Since when did we accept filth?" He bent down to take a good look at me, and I remained meek and scared.

An act that I thought would save me.

He grabbed my chin hard and glanced at me with golden eyes, then pushed my face away like I had no value.

But I was wrong. It did the opposite.

"Kill her," he said, and my eyes widened in shock.

What the fuck!!!

What did I do?

You just saved me, and now you want me dead?

Were they crazy!!!