The coordinates came in through static.
A warehouse on the south docks. No guards on the perimeter, no cameras in sight — too clean for Gabriel’s style. Which meant only one thing.
A trap.
Lena knew it. Jax knew it. But the image attached to the message killed any hesitation.
Helena. Bound to a chair, bruises blooming along her cheek, blood dark against the tape sealing her mouth.
The Dead Reapers rolled in hard, engines snarling against the damp night air. Tires hissed over wet asphalt as the bikes fanned out, flanking the cracked warehouse doors.
Jax’s hand closed over Lena’s wrist before she could move. “You know what this is, Lena. He wants you inside that building. And he’s betting you’ll go.”
“I’m not leaving her.” Her voice was steel, but inside, her chest felt like it was ca
