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Chapter 112

Nikolai

King doesn’t take my offer of letting me help him calm down. Instead, he just destroys the meeting room. I watch in tensess silence, swirling a glass of whiskey, the sound of his fists slamining against the walls ringing in my ears.

Fuck. Every second we’re in here while Alyssa’s out there with him feels like a thousand knives twisting in my gut. But King! He’s on a rampage, tearing through the room like the fucking Holk, Gray was right–King would’ve ended up arrested or killed out there, and I can’t lose him. The only reason I’m okay leting the woman I love be out there without us is because I know Gray and War aren’t going to let anything happen to her.

I cringe as King destroys Gray’s chair. Yeah, Gray’s not gonna love that, but it’s better than King pummeling Isaac like this in front of the cops.

We already know King’s never been one to have control over his emotions, but when it comes to Alyssa? It’s a hundred times

worse.

Each punch King throws is an explosion, a burst of anger and frustration he’s choking on. I know it’s not just about Isaac. It’s about feeling helpless. Helpless about keeping her safe, helpless about not being able to protect her from everything that could harm her or our children.

Once everything in the room is in pieces, King slumps against the wall, chest heaving, fists trembling as blood drips down his knuckles. The sight of him like this–vulnerable and bleeding–makes something in my chest ache.

For a fleeting second, I imagine wrapping both of his hands in gauze, kissing them to soothe the sting. But I know better King needs this pain, this release to ground him.

I let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head. Like he would let me do that anyway.

Raising my eyebrows, I ask quietly, “Feeling better now?”

King scrubs a hand over his face, a low growl vibrating from deep in his chest. “No. But hand me a fucking drink.”

I pour him a glass of whiskey, my fingers brushing his as I pass it over. I’m hoping this glass doesn’t end up against the wall in a few seconds. We already have enough to clean up and pay Gray back for

King takes a swig, his jaw still working angrily. “We can’t touch him now, Niko,” he mutters, his voice rough. “Unless we’re ready to go to fucking prison.

I exhale slowly, knowing exactly what he means. If we go after Isaac, we’ll be the prime suspects. And boom, there goes the rest of our lives. “He’s not invincible just because he has some dirty cops in his pocket. We just have to find another way to get to him.”

King glares at the empty space ahead, his thoughts clearly running a mile a minute. “My only solution was to exterminate him once and for all. But now? That motherfucker pulls this shit, and I don’t know what the hell to do. How can we keep them safe now?”

I lean back in the only chair that survived King’s wrath. ‘Look, we have one of the best lawyers in the country. Marina will figure something out.”

Marina’s the reason we’re not all in prison right now. Yeah, we’re careful with the illegal side of the MC, but every months, the police try to pin some bullshit on us. Marina always finds a way to get the cases thrown out, especially since they never have any real evidence.

I trust her with anything, and I’m sure she can handle Alyssa’s case.

Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door. When I open it, Luther’s standing in the doorway, his gaze flickering nervously over

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the wreckage like he’s debating whether he wants to step in or ne. His face is tight, and by the way his hand drifts to the back of his neck, he’s nervous as hell, I can tell whatever he’s about to say might make King lose it again.

I quickly shift into vice president mode. “What’s going on, Luther?

He cautiously steps into the room, his eyes trained on King like ‘s approaching a wild animal. His throat bobs as he swallows, “King, he starts, his voice low but urgent, “your of lady’s gone.”

Gone??? My jaw clenches hard as I snatch the glass from King’s hand just before he can crush it. A boulder forms in my gut. but both of us can’t spiral right now.

“What the fuck do you mean, she’s gone?” King

in his eyes

snarls, his ange flaring again as he stands to his full height, a dangerous fire

“Gray got arrested for punching Alyssa’s husband in the face, he blurts out. “Alyssa took the car with Christine and War- Logan…. or whoever the hell he was at the time, and left. Nina and Thunder are following them as we speak.”

What the fuck? I’m reeling, trying to process the chaos.

I immediately pull my phone out, dialing Alyssa’s number. First of all, what the fuck, Gray? He went on a whole rant about self–control, about maintaining the club’s reputation, and then he punches Isaac right in front of the cops? And I get Logan (I know it wasn’t War, she hates him too much), but Christine? What the hell is she doing?

I already don’t trust her at all, and I’m starting to grow more suspicious of Logan. Did she go willingly, or is she being held hostage somehow? If she is, I’m prepared to kill them both.

Why didn’t she come get us?” King growls, staring down at my phone as it rings.

Luther scratches his beard. I’m sure she had a good reason. I mean, she was in a hurry.

King and I share a look. He’s not at all convinced by that, and neither am 1.

Fuck. I swear, this woman is going to turn our fucking hair grey prematurely.

“Where the fuck is Isaac?” I grind out, my teeth clenched.

“He left right after Gray broke his nose. Refused to press charges after Gray blasted that video of him loud enough for everyone to hear, but the cops arrested Gray anyway,” Luther explains.

My hand tightens around my phone. We’ve missed something big. Something that needs fixing, fast.

Alyssa’s phone rings all the way to voicemail. I’ve never left one before in my life, but I’m damn sure doing it today. “Hey, sweet girl, I murmur, forcing my voice to stay calm. “We’re gonna need you to answer your phone before King and I lose our shit. Pick up the phone. Now,”

1 hang up and try again, frustration building with every second that passes without hearing her voice.

King growls under his breath, pulling out his own phone. “She’s heading to the jail,” he mutters, glaring at the screen.

He’s tracking her? How?

My brows knit together as I catch a glimpse of a moving red dot, Fuck, King. Did you put a tracker in her or something?” “In her? Nah,” he says, his voice flat. “But that’s not a bad idea. For now, it’s just her phone and the car.”

Of course he did. As insane as his methods are, right now, I can’t say anything. I’m just fucking relieved to have eyes on her.

We head straight for the elevator, the tension between us so thick I can practically taste it. I don’t know exactly what happened, but we’re about to find out. And one thing’s for sure: our sweet girl’s getting punished hard when we get our

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hands on her.

There’s no way I’m letting her off easy this time. Besides, what lesson would she learn if I did?

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As we ride the elevator, I fire off a text to Mason: Heading to the jail. Alyssa’s in big fucking trouble. I’ll call you when I can.

I pause, debating whether to add more. For some reason, the urge to end it with “love you” or some shit crosses my mind. Mason’s probably dealing with his own version of hell right now, stuck with both Chelsea and Ashley. They talk a lot. Definitely too much for Mason’s patience to handle. I can just picture him rubbing his temples, trying not to lose it while they talk his cars off.

Still, he’s with them for the girls. For us.

He’s going to want in on this when he hears. And when that happens, Alyssa better brace herself–because by the time we’re done, her ass will be so sore she won’t be able to sit down for weeks.