Her Possessive Bikers

31. Kyler

31

KYLER

I head to my room, and toss my kutte on a nearby chair. It's hot as hell out today. But I don't mind. The hotter the day, the shorter Indy's short's seem to get. The clubhouse feels different with her here - livelier somehow, despite all the shit going down. Her presence reminds me of Brick, of better times.

My fingers trace a fresh scar on my side where she stitched me up. The memory of her gentle touch makes my skin tingle.

"Fuck," I mutter, running my fingers through my tangled hair.

My mind drifts to the Dos Banditos. Three of their guys bleeding out in that alley sent a pretty clear message. They've backed off since then, but for how long? The quiet makes me more nervous than the fighting.

I grab a fresh white t-shirt and head back down to the garage. Jacoby has suckered me into some shit today. I don't have anything better to do.

While I'm dicking off, rearranging my tools, I catch a glimpse of Indy through the window as she coordinates with the construction crew. Her dark hair catches the sunlight as she gestures at blueprints, explaining exactly how she wants her father's house restored.

My fingers itch to run through those silky strands again. That night we spent together plays on repeat in my mind, but between club business and the reconstruction, we've barely had time to talk.

"Earth to Kyler." Jacoby calls from the doorway. "You gonna help me with this transmission today or just stare at Indy?"

I grunt and grab a wrench. "Just thinking."

"About what?" He wipes grease on his already-stained shirt.

"Drop it." But I notice how his eyes follow her too, the way they linger. Even Tres watches her when he thinks no one's looking, prowling around her like some silver-maned lion.

The garage door creaks and Indy walks in, combat boots clicking on concrete. "Hey boys. Mind if I grab some tools? Door frames aren't going to hang themselves."

"Take whatever you need, darlin'." Jacoby flashes that cocky grin of his.

She rolls her eyes but smiles, heading for the toolbox. When she bends over to search through it, I have to force myself to look away. She leaves just as quickly as she came.

"Tomorrow," I whisper to myself, tightening my man bun. "I'll ask her tomorrow."

Tomorrow morning would be perfect - cool enough for a long ride before the Texas heat kicks in. I know this sweet spot overlooking the river where the sunrise paints everything gold. Brick showed it to me years ago, said it was where he used to take Indy's mom.

Jacoby's still yakking about the transmission, but I'm barely listening. In my head, I'm already mapping the route, planning each turn. Maybe we could stop at that old diner he loved, the one with the apple pie he always raved about.

My stomach knots thinking about asking her. What if she says no? What if she's already got plans with Tres or Jacoby? But fuck it - I've spent too much time being the quiet one, the safe choice. Brick always told me to grab life by the handlebars.

I watch as Indy stretches to reach a high shelf, her shirt riding up just enough to show a sliver of skin. My mouth goes dry. Yeah, tomorrow morning - before I lose my nerve.

"Pass me that socket wrench?" Jacoby's voice breaks through my planning.

I toss it his way, already rehearsing what I'll say to her. Keep it casual, but clear. No room for misunderstanding. A real date, not just another clubhouse hangout.

The sun barely peeks through my window when I jump out of bed, not bothering to fix my hair into its usual bun. My heart pounds with anticipation as I head to Indy's room, rehearsing what I'll say about the sunrise ride.

I knock on her door. Nothing.

"Indy?" My knuckles rap harder against the wood. "It's Kyler."

The silence stretches too long. Wrong. Something feels wrong.

"Indy, if you're changing, just say so." My palm flattens against the door. Still nothing.

Blood rushes in my ears as I step back, muscles tensing. One solid kick near the handle splinters the wood. Another, and the door flies open.

"Fuck. No, no, no."

The room's destroyed. Dresser drawers hang open, clothes scattered across the floor. The bed's stripped bare, sheets tangled and trailing toward the window. A lamp lies shattered by the nightstand.

Her leather jacket - the one she always wears - is crumpled in the corner. Indy would never leave without it.

"Jacoby!" My voice cracks as I shout down the hallway. "Get your ass in here!"

Footsteps thunder up the stairs, and Jacoby appears in the doorway, still wiping sleep from his eyes. "What's with all the—" He stops mid-sentence, taking in the chaos.

"Have you seen Indy?" My hands shake as I pick up her leather jacket. The leather's still warm. "Tell me you've seen her."

"Not since last night." Jacoby steps over the broken lamp, his usual playful demeanor gone. "God damnit."

"Check the bathroom." I toss him the jacket and move to the window. The screen's been cut clean through, edges bent outward. Professional job.

"Empty." Jacoby returns, face pale. "Her toothbrush is still here. Phone's on the nightstand."

"Fuck!" I slam my fist into the wall. Pain shoots through my knuckles but I barely feel it. "The Dos Banditos. They got past security somehow."

"That's impossible. We've had guys watching—" Jacoby freezes, staring at something on the floor.

I follow his gaze. A playing card lies half-hidden under the bed - the Queen of Hearts, corner singed black. The Banditos' calling card.

"We gotta wake Tres." Jacoby's already pulling out his phone. "Lock down the clubhouse. Nobody leaves until?—"

"They're long gone." My voice sounds strange, distant. "They planned this. Waited until we got comfortable." I pick up Indy's phone, screen still showing a text she never finished typing: 'Someone's at the win...'

"Kyler, breathe." Jacoby grabs my shoulder. "We'll find her."

But all I can think about is how I should've been here. Should've noticed something, heard something.

Jacoby and I thunder down the hallway, boots pounding against the worn floorboards. My heart races as we reach Tres's door. No time for knocking - I slam it open with my shoulder.

"Jesus fucking—" A bottle topples from the nightstand as Tres jerks upright. Some bleach-blonde croweater squeals, clutching sheets to her chest.

"Indy's gone." The words rip from my throat. "Someone took her."

Tres shoves the woman aside nearly knocking her off the bed, already reaching for his jeans. "What the fuck do you mean gone?"

"Room's trashed." Jacoby steps forward, holding out Indy's jacket and the singed playing card. "Dos Banditos left their calling card."

"Get the fuck out, Tish" Tres growls at the woman, who's trying to gather her clothes. She opens her mouth to protest but one look at his face changes her mind.

"This is bullshit," she mutters, stumbling past us. "I was almost?—"

"Shut it. I was pretending you were someone else the whole fucking time anyway," Tres yanks on his shirt, muscles coiled tight with tension. His eyes lock onto the Queen of Hearts in Jacoby's hand. "How long?"

"Can't be more than an hour." I run fingers through my loose hair, wishing I could think clearer. "Her phone's still warm."

"Jacoby." Tres's voice carries that edge that means someone's about to bleed. "Get every brother in the meeting room. Now. Kyler, show me her room."

"Already on it." Jacoby disappears down the hall, shouting for the prospects to sound the alarm.

Tres grabs his kutte, face dark with barely contained rage. "Nobody touches anything else in her room until I see it. And somebody find out which of our security detail fell asleep on their fucking watch."