“We never made it to her sister’s. When we were nearly there, she decided she didn’t want to go there or to work,” he begins, unfazed by my spewed queries, “so we turned around to take her back to her apartment. She’d mentioned a headache when we picked her up. And of course, my guys are on her. Want to tell me what the hell is going on? Do we need backup?”
“It’s nothing.” My stomach is in knots, but even I know I’m probably overreacting. “She wasn’t answering her phone, and I … it’s fine. I’ll be in touch if I need anything more.”
“You have the tracking app on her phone,” he reminds me before we hang up.
I do, and just like I thought when I installed it, that’s not nearly enough. It should be on her person, so I could track her even if her cell wasn’t on her. And check on her vitals.
Still, I verify that her phone is at home, but it settles very little unease in me. If she has it, why won’t she answer?
In a blink, I’m in the parking lot, climbing into my Maserati GranTurismo, speeding toward her apartment, and calling her on repeat. I should have fucking moved her in this morning and visited Hunter later in the week. The vehicle’s Bluetoothconnects to my phone, and as the ring reverberates through the car, my mind flies back to the first time Tessa ever called me.
Cash, Jax, and I are at the bar in Magie Noire after a full day of Mardi Gras parades and crowds and some epic live music. We’ve got a group of ladies hanging on our every word, so the night is proving to be quieter, but by no means less exciting. Cash has the floor right now, detailing a story about the time he accidentally had a girlfriend. He has mastered the art of being an irresistible asshole.
Mid-story, when the ladies are really drooling and Jax and I are awaiting the savvy part that will make them putty in his hands, my phone buzzes.
I pull it out of my pocket and see the nameTessa Lockhartflash on it.
Her calling is either really good or really bad. All employees have our numbers in case they find themselves in a dicey situation, and we have all of theirs programmed into ours, so if a call gets cut short, we know who was trying to contact us. It’s a necessary precaution when our clientele wouldn’t think twice about using an employee for revenge or exploitation in a moment of desperation, even knowing it would result in their death.
But Tessa isn’t employed here anymore, so technically, those benefits don’t apply to her. Not that I’d deny her if she was in real trouble.
Still, fingers crossed, she’s calling for a better reason. Her mysteriousness always drew me in, but I kept my distance when she worked here because she was a woman I yearned to break the rules with. Impossible to ignore. Confident in her appeal. Fucking dangerous.
Gorgeous. Smart. Witty. Kinda pissy. Absolutely stunning.
Bad idea. Complicated.
Perfect.
So, now? I can’t help but hope she’s caught up in Mardi Gras antics and taking a chance on the guy who used to be off-limits.
I nod to my phone and step away to answer it. “Yeah?”
“Maddox?” she rasps, and it’s instantly clear that she’s in distress.
“I’m here,” I assure her as I jump into protocol and dash out of the club. “Location, level of emergency, and what you need.”
“I’m at my house,” she begins, her voice so detached that it has my chest tightening. “The address is on file. Level of emergency is one. And I need you. Only you.”
One? Much like a hospital, our emergency code is one to five. One is the most critical and generally means someone’s dead or about to die. Fuck.
“Are you hurt?” I ask, putting my earbud in and accessing the employee database to grab her address.
“No, but …” She seems to be searching for the right words. For a level one, that makes sense. There’s probably a lot she can’t say.
“It’s fine. Don’t tell me on the phone,” I instruct her as I sprint through the tunnels to the garage with our emergency vehicles. “But don’t hang up.”
“Okay. I …” She goes quiet again.
“You did so good, Tess.” I climb in the G-Wagon, astonished by how quickly I managed to get here. “I’ve got the address. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“There are crowds.” Again, she’s distant, a stifled sob caught in her throat. “We’re surrounded. I can hear them … close. And it’s a seven-minute drive on a good day.”
It occurs to me that whatever is happening, this is her soot. Her life going up in flames. And she reached out to me. She could’ve called any of my brothers or our security staff. But she called me.
And I answered.
I just need to reach her.
