Holley.
Tiffany.
Gone.
My breathing shatters apart. The room feels too small, too hot, too tight.
Smoke steps in my path. “Look—hate me all you want. Hell, I deserve it. But Tiffany matters to us both.”
I whirl on him. “You don’t get to say her name like she’s yours.”
“Like hell I don’t,” he fires back. “I loved her from the moment I met her. I fuck up all the time, but don’t ever say I don’t fuckin’ care. She’s mine too, old man.”
My fist flies before I think. It connects with his jaw in a crack that echoes through the garage.
Smoke stumbles, spits blood, straightens.
“Feel better?” he growls. “Because this isn’t helping shit.”
“No,” I say. “But it was necessary.”
He swipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Then get the rest out so we can find our women.”
The word women nearly breaks me.
Holley.
Soft and strong and scared.
Tiffany. Honey
Tough as steel, stubborn as hell.
Both out there.
Both missing.
Both unsure and we have lost hours.
I step toward Smoke again, but not to hit him this time.
I grab the front of his cut.
“Who took them?”
He shakes his head. “Don’t know yet. Got a brother looking into cameras and seeing what we can sort.”
I release him with a shove. “We’re finding out.” My gut tells me Holley was right in her feelings about being watched after all.
He straightens, wiping the last smear of blood. “Agreed.”
We look at each other, not as enemies now, but as two wolves circling the same prey.
“Tony,” he says, voice steady, “we gotta work together, dammit.”
My throat is tight. “Yeah. We do.”
“Then let’s get your boys.”
