Her Possessive Bikers

33. Kyler

33

KYLER

M y hands shake as I stare at the map spread across the table, pins marking every possible location we've checked. Nothing. Fucking nothing. Six hours of searching and we're no closer to finding her. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, matching the static in my brain.

"There has to be something we missed," I mutter, running my fingers through my hair for the hundredth time. The man bun's long gone, hair falling loose around my face.

Tres leans over the table. "We've checked every known hideout, and any leads we may have gotten so far."

"Then check them again!" I slam my fist down, sending pins scattering across the floor. The rage builds until I can't contain it anymore. I grab the nearest chair and hurl it against the wall. It splinters with a satisfying crack.

"Jesus, Kyler," Jacoby says, stepping back. "Get it together, man."

"Get it together?" I laugh, the sound harsh and foreign. "Indy's out there somewhere, probably hurt, and you want me to get it together?" I sweep my arm across the table, sending papers flying.

Tres moves toward me, hands raised. "We're all worried about her Kyler."

"I have to find her." My voice cracks. "I fucking promised Brick I'd look after her."

Jacoby snorts. "Newsflash, we all did. But why are you coming so unhinged? You in love with her or something?"

The urge to say yes is strong, but she deserves to hear me say it first, not these two assholes.

"No, I-"

"Good," Jacoby cuts in with a smirk. "Cause I might be after the night she and I had..."

The words hit me like a physical blow. It's not like I didn't except something could happen between them, but hearing him confirm it is a whole other story. Before I can think, my fist connects with his jaw. The impact sends him stumbling backward into the wall.

"Shit!" Jacoby touches his split lip, eyes wide with surprise. "What the fuck Kyler?"

My knuckles throb, but the pain feels good. Right. I advance on him, ready for more, but Tres steps between us.

My head snaps up as Tres's voice cuts through the tension like a blade. "Both of you, back the fuck off. Now."

Blood drips from Jacoby's split lip onto his white shirt. The sight makes me want to hit him again. My knuckles ache for it.

"He started-" Jacoby begins, but Tres steps between us, his presence filling the room.

"Oh, you want to play that game?" Tres's laugh holds no humor. "If you two idiots want to throw hands with everyone who's been with Indy, you better include me in that list."

The words hit me like ice water. My stomach drops as I process what he's saying. "You..."

"Yeah." Tres's eyes narrow. "But if either of you fuckers are smart, you won't try it."

Jacoby wipes blood from his chin. "Son of a bitch."

I lean against the wall, suddenly exhausted. The room spins slightly as everything clicks into place - the lingering looks, the private conversations, how she always seemed to be wherever any of us were.

"This is fucking perfect," I mutter, sliding down to sit on the floor. "We're here fighting over her while she's out there somewhere, probably scared out of her mind."

"Or worse," Jacoby adds, earning dark looks from both Tres and me.

"Shut the fuck up, dumbass." Tres grates out.

I push myself up from the floor, my heart pounding against my ribs. "So what is she to you guys? Just another notch on your belts?" The words taste bitter in my mouth. "Because I actually care about her. Like, really care."

Jacoby drops into a chair, dabbing at his split lip. "You think you're the only one? Man, every time she smiles at me, it's like..." He trails off, shaking his head.

"Like what?" I press, needing to hear it.

"Like seeing the sun after weeks of rain," he finishes quietly.

Tres leans against the wall, arms crossed. The usual hardness in his eyes softens. "When she's around, I forget I'm supposed to be this tough-as-nails president. She makes me want things I haven't wanted in years."

"A real life," I whisper.

"Yeah." Tres runs a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. "A fucking normal life. With her."

"She's got us all wrapped around her finger," Jacoby laughs, but there's no humor in it. "And she probably doesn't even know it."

The silence that follows feels heavy with unspoken truths. We're three grown men, hardened bikers, all brought to our knees by one woman. If the situation wasn't so serious, it'd be almost funny.

"So what the fuck do we do?" I ask, voicing what we're all thinking.

"First," Tres pushes off the wall, "we find her. Then..." He shrugs. "We let her decide. If she even wants any of us."

Tres runs a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. "Get your shit together, both of you. We need to focus on finding her, not this dick-measuring contest. Are we clear?"

I nod, shame replacing anger. He's right - this isn't helping anyone, especially not Indy.

"Crystal," Jacoby says, though his tone suggests this isn't over.

I strap my gun into its holster, fingers trembling slightly as I check the clip for the third time. The weight of it against my ribs doesn't comfort me like it usually does. My kutte feels heavier tonight, like it's carrying all the promises I made to Brick about protecting his little girl.

"You good?" Tres asks, leaning against the doorframe of the armory.

"Yeah, I'll be better when we find her." I grab extra ammo, stuffing it in my pockets.

He nods. "Understood."

The silence stretches between us, filled with unspoken tension about Indy. I grab my knife, securing it to my ankle. "You think she's okay?"

"She's Indiana Cooper." Tres' voice carries more confidence than I feel. "Probably giving them hell right now."

I try to smile but it feels wrong. The image of her face, the way she looked below me that night, keeps flashing through my mind. "If they hurt her-"

"They're dead either way." Jacoby's voice cuts through the room as he strides in, already geared up. "But we do this smart. No heroics, no lone wolf bullshit. We have to work as a team or we don't work at all."

I nod, checking my boots are laced tight. "Whatever it takes to get her back."

"Whatever it takes," Jacoby echoes.

I pull my hair back into a tight bun, remembering how Indy once said it made me look less "pretty boy" and more "warrior." The memory makes my chest ache. "Let's go get our girl."