Can't breathe.
Can't think.
Just this roaring in my head—Grace, they took Grace, they have my wife, Flint has her, the cage?—
Phantom grabs my arm, his grip like iron. "What happened? Shadow, what the fuck happened?"
I can barely get the words out past the rage, the terror, the absolute certainty that I'm about to burn the world down to get her back.
"Copperhead Kings took Grace." My voice is raw, broken. "From the compound. Flint has her."
Phantom goes white.
I watch the color drain from his face, watch his eyes go wide with shock, then narrow with fury.
Then red.
Then absolutely, lethally deadly.
"When?" His voice is pure ice. Pure command. The Prez voice that makes brothers snap to attention.
I look at my phone, at the time stamp on the call. The call came in at 9:17. Grace was taken before that. "Twenty minutes ago. Maybe twenty-five."
Damon's already moving, shouting orders that echo across the empty lot. "Everyone mount up! We're heading back to the compound! Now!"
Brothers scramble for their bikes, chaos ensuing around me.
Engines roar to life, headlights flaring.
Phantom's still staring at me, and I see it in his eyes—the same terror I'm feeling.
The same rage.
The same desperate need to find her, save her, kill everyone who touched her.
His daughter. His baby girl.
"This was a diversion," Phantom says, his voice shaking. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles white. "They sent us here—got us away from the compound—while Flint took her."
"I should've been there." The words rip out of me, tearing my throat. "I should've fucking been there. I should've stayed. Should've left more brothers. Should've?—"
"Get in the truck," Phantom orders, cutting me off. "Drive. Fast. We need to get back. NOW."
I'm already moving, Banshee scrambling into the passenger seat behind me.
I drive like a man possessed.
Eighty. Ninety. A hundred miles per hour through Vegas streets.
The truck's engine screaming, the speedometer buried, the world outside blurring into streaks of light and shadow.
Running red lights. Swerving around cars. Laying on the horn. Not caring about anything except getting back to that compound.
To Grace.
Who isn't there anymore.
Who's with Flint.
