Nothing.
Scrolled back.I was missing something.There—motion flagged around two in the morning.My heart slammed against my ribs.
I replayed it.
The angle was wrong.The camera caught only the edge of the frame, but I could see movement.A shadow.A door opening that shouldn’t have been opening.
Then her.
Barefoot.Coat thrown on hastily.Someone behind her—blurred, masked.
The image shook.
I froze the frame, jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
“Fuck.”
The phone trembled in my hand—not fear, not grief.
Rage.
Cold.Focused.Controlled.
Someone had taken her.I didn’t waste time calling the police.Not yet.I needed answers first.I needed names.Faces.Patterns.And I needed them fast.
I hit Gonzo first.
He picked up on the second ring.“What’s wrong?”
“They took her,” I said flatly.
A pause.Then his voice hardened.“Where?”
“DC.From her apartment.”
“Who?”
“That’s what we’re gonna find out.”
“Say the word.”
“Clubhouse.Now.”
I hung up and called Tower.Then Jester.Then Peanut.Then Dippy.
No explanations.Just urgency.
“Clubhouse.Now.”
They didn’t ask questions.They didn’t need them.By the time I pulled into the lot, the sun was just starting to rise, washing everything in pale light that felt wrong for what was happening inside me.My bike skidded to a stop, gravel spraying as I dismounted.
They were already there.
Gonzo stood by the door, arms crossed, expression carved from stone.Tower leaned against a post, jaw tight, eyes sharp.Jester paced.Peanut smoked without tasting it.Dippy had his laptop open, fingers already moving.
I walked in and shut the door behind me.
“She’s been taken,” I said.“Two, maybe three a.m.Masked male.Gun.”
