And now, they had one.
Asher yanks the laptop’s hard drive out, disconnecting it from the power source. “We’re taking this back. Maybe I can pull something from it.”
I nod, but my mind is already racing ahead. My head is spinning, my pulse hammering in my throat. They didn’t leave. They were taken.
Jason has them. Mia. The girls.
I grip the edge of the surveillance desk so hard, my fingers go numb. My chest feels hollow, like someone scooped out my insides and replaced them with ice.
Where did he take them? What does he plan on doing?
I don’t need to ask why. Jason is obsessed. Possessive. He’s been playing the long game, waiting for the right moment to strike. And now, he’s got her. Them.
I exhale sharply, forcing my mind to focus.Think, Zane. Think.
Jason isn’t the type to just vanish without a trace. He’s arrogant. He leaves breadcrumbs, even when he doesn’t mean to.
But that sick feeling in my gut says he’s had this planned for a long time.
A low curse from Asher snaps me back. He’s pacing now, rolling his shoulders like he’s ready to tear someone apart. “Weneed to move,” he says, voice dark with frustration. “Every second we waste?—”
“I know.” My voice comes out rough. My eyes drop to the laptop, the feeds of Mia and the girls still frozen on the screen.
I never got to tell her.
That this isn’t just attraction, but more. That she’s not just a client, not just another mission.
I should have told her the first night she let me touch her. Should have told her the moment she started looking at me like maybe—just maybe—she felt it, too.
Rage crashes through me like a goddamn wrecking ball. Mia. The twins. Jason has them.
I don’t think, I just react. My fist slams into the surveillance desk, then again. The brittle crunch of plastic splitting under my knuckles barely registers. The buzzing hum of the jammer is still going, feeding the static that’s been drowning us since this nightmare started.
Fuck this.
I grab the device and rip it from its base, throwing it to the floor. It sparks on impact, its metal casing crumpling like cheap tin. Not good enough. I stomp down hard, twisting my boot until the circuits crush beneath the pressure. The hum dies instantly, and the silence that follows is deafening.
Asher yanks his phone out of his pocket, thumbs flying over the screen. A heartbeat later, signal bars flicker to life. We’re back online.
“Call Damon,” I say.
Asher nods and dials his number.
“Boss?” His voice is clipped, urgent. “Jason’s been watching us. Mia’s gone?—”
He stops abruptly, eyes catching on something just outside the deer blind. I follow his line of sight, and my blood turns to ice.
A small scrap of fabric sits in the mud, tangled in the underbrush. Pink. Frayed edges. A tiny unicorn stitched into the corner.
Emma’s hair ribbon. The one she’d been wearing at dinner.
I move before I can think, crouching down to pick it up. The mud stains smear against my fingers as I turn it over, my breath catching in my chest. She fought.
Jason might have taken them, but she fought.
Asher is still on the phone, relaying details to Damon, but I barely hear him over the sound of my own pulse roaring in my ears.
Inside me, something breaks.
