The entire NICU fell silent when a massive tattooed biker asked to hold the newborn no one had ever visited. But after he remained in the same chair for 12 hours, the nurses noticed something on his wrist that revealed a devastating secret.

The chaos that erupted inside The Rust Bucket was instantaneous. Shouts rang out, glasses smashed as men scrambled for their gear, and Marcus Vance unleashed a roar of fury that echoed through the room.

"Get him!" Marcus screamed, pointing a shaking finger at Wade. "Don't let him leave this parking lot!"

Wade grabbed my wrist with a grip like a vise and yanked me out the door just as a heavy glass mug shattered against the doorframe right where my head had been a second earlier. We burst out into the pouring rain.

"My car!" I gasped, trying to keep my footing on the slick gravel.

"No time! Get on!" Wade yelled, throwing his leg over the heavy Harley. He didn't wait for my hesitation. He reached down, grabbed me by the belt of my raincoat, and hoisted me onto the pillion seat behind him with terrifying ease. "Hold onto my waist and don't let go!"

I slammed my arms around his massive torso just as three Iron Scars charged out the front doors, drawing handguns. Wade kicked the starter, the engine roared like a wild beast, and he dumped the clutch. The rear tire kicked up a wall of mud and gravel, blinding the pursuers as the motorcycle shot out onto the main road.

Wind and freezing rain whipped across my face as we wove through the dark streets of Pine Valley. Behind us, two sets of headlights popped out from the gravel lot—a pair of high-powered sports bikes ridden by Marcus’s top enforcers.

"They're following us!" I screamed into the back of Wade's leather vest.

"I know!" Wade shouted back. "They know where Shelby is! They don't care about the police raid right now—Marcus knows if he gets the boy, he has a bargaining chip with the District Attorney!"

Wade slammed the motorcycle into a hard lean, taking a sharp turn onto a narrow, unlit access road that led toward the abandoned industrial docks along the river. The engine whined in protest as he pushed the machine to its absolute limit.

"We aren't going to Shelby's?!" I yelled.

"If we go to Shelby's now, we lead them straight to her!" Wade yelled over the roar of the wind. "We end it here!"

He slammed on the brakes, sending the bike into a controlled skid across a wet concrete apron outside a towering, rusted warehouse. We came to a halt under the shadow of a decaying gantry crane. Wade cut the engine, throwing the kickstand down.

"Get inside the warehouse," Wade commanded, pulling a heavy iron tire iron from his saddlebag. "Lock the side door behind you."

"Wade, no! There's two of them and they might have guns!"

"They won't shoot," Wade said, his voice chillingly absolute. "Gunshots attract the harbor patrol. They want to beat me to death and take my phone to find Shelby's location. Now move, Sarah!"

I scrambled off the bike, my legs trembling so violently I almost collapsed onto the wet pavement. I ran for the rusted metal pedestrian door of the warehouse, forcing it open just as the two bikes roared into the dock area, their high beams pinning Wade in twin glaring spotlights.

I squeezed through the door, but I couldn't close it. I couldn't leave him. I peered through the narrow crack, my heart pounding against my ribs like a trapped bird.

Two large men dismounted. One held an iron chain wrapped around his knuckles; the other drew a massive hunting knife that gleamed in the rain.

"End of the line, old man," the one with the knife growled. "Tell us where Shelby put the kid, or we cut your throat and go search her mother's house block by block."

Wade didn't step back. He lowered his head, his thick white beard dripping with water, his knuckles white around the tire iron.

"You boys were still in diapers when I ran these docks," Wade said softly. "You think Marcus built this empire? He built it on the bones of men better than you."

The man with the chain lunged forward, swinging the heavy metal links in a wide, lethal arc aimed straight for Wade's temple.

Wade didn't flinch. With speed that defied his massive size, he stepped into the arc, taking the blow on his heavily padded shoulder, and brought the tire iron down with sickening force against the attacker's knee. A hideous crack echoed through the rainy night, followed by a high-pitched scream as the man collapsed into the puddle.

The second attacker with the knife lunged, slicing wild and deep. Wade dodged back, but the blade caught his forearm, slashing through the leather sleeve. Blood, bright red and heavy, mixed instantly with the rain pouring down his sleeve.

"Wade!" I shrieked from the doorway.

Wade ignored the wound. He ducked under a second slash, wrapped his massive scarred arm around the attacker's neck, and slammed him face-first against the heavy steel frame of the motorcycle. The man went instantly limp, dropping into the mud like a sack of stones.

Wade stood alone in the rain, chest heaving, blood pouring from his arm, surrounded by the groaning bodies of his enemies. He looked down at the tire iron in his hand, then at the blood on his skin.

A look of profound, heart-wrenching horror swept across his face. He dropped the iron. It clattered loudly against the wet concrete.

"No..." Wade whispered, looking at his blood-soaked hands—the same hands that had held tiny, fragile infants in room nine just hours ago. "Not again... God, please, not again..."

Before I could run out to him, a third car—a sleek silver sedan—screeched to a halt at the edge of the dock. The driver's door flew open.