A seven-year-old girl had ridden a dog nearly two miles through freezing forest just to save her mother.

Ryder swallowed slowly.

“Where’s your house, Lily?”

“The old white farmhouse near Pine Hollow Creek.”

Ryder went still.

He knew that house.

He had known it once like a second home.

He forced himself to breathe evenly.

“What’s your mama’s name?”

“Emily Bennett.”

The name hit him like a punch.

Emily.

Eight years ago, she had been the only woman who ever made him imagine a life beyond engines and gun smoke. He had walked away from her because he believed his world was too dangerous.

He had told himself he was protecting her.

He had never known she was pregnant.

Slowly, Ryder looked back at the girl in his arms.

The stubborn curve of her chin.

The storm-gray eyes staring bravely up at him.

His chest tightened.

The battered little girl he was holding wasn’t just a stranger.

She was his daughter.

Ryder stood abruptly.

The room sensed the shift instantly.

“Mason,” he said, his voice suddenly cold as steel. “Stay with her. Guard this room.”

Mason nodded once.

“Call a vet for the dog,” Ryder added.

Shadow let out a quiet growl, as if approving the decision.

The rest of the Iron Vultures were already standing.

Helmets grabbed.

Engines waiting.

“We’re taking a ride,” Ryder said.

Rain had begun to fall by the time twelve motorcycles roared out of the clubhouse.

Thunder echoed through the forest roads as the Iron Vultures tore through the darkness toward Pine Hollow.

Ryder rode at the front.

Every mile hammered a single thought into his skull.

Please let her be alive.

The farmhouse appeared through the rain like a ghost.

They didn’t bother knocking.

Ryder kicked the door in with a single blow.

Wood splintered inward.

Inside—

Chaos.

Furniture overturned.

Glass shattered across the floor.

Beer bottles everywhere.

Three men stood in the kitchen laughing.

And on the living room floor—

Curled tightly on her side.

Not moving.

Trent turned toward the noise, irritation twisting his face.

“Who the hell—”

He never finished the sentence.

Ryder crossed the room in three strides.

The punch landed with a crack that echoed through the house.

Trent hit the floor hard.

But Ryder wasn’t done.

He hauled the man up by the collar and slammed him across the kitchen table. Wood splintered beneath their weight.

The other two men barely had time to react.

The Iron Vultures handled them.

It took thirty seconds.

Thirty seconds of violence that ended with zip ties snapping tight around wrists and three men groaning on the floor.

Ryder dropped to his knees beside Emily.

Her face was swollen.

Her breathing shallow.

“Emily,” he whispered.

Her eyelids fluttered.

Fear flashed in her eyes—