Aria’s head throbbed in rhythm with the van’s tires chewing gravel. Zip ties bit into her wrists, drawing blood with every jolt. Emma lay limp against her, breathing shallow but steady under the coarse tarp. The darkness in the cargo hold was absolute except for faint moonlight slicing through door seams. Her father’s voice—impossibly alive—drifted from the front like smoke from the warehouse they’d left burning.
“You always fought dirty, Elena. Even as a girl.” A chuckle, low and satisfied. “Your mother learned the hard way. Blood wins.”
Aria’s stomach twisted. The meaningful core struggle clawed at her: the father who sold her versus the biker who chose her. Rogue had become her anchor in a sea of betrayal. “How?” she rasped.
“Simple theater. Loyal body double in the warehouse. You an
