West. West from Vegas. That's California. Desert. Mountains. National forests. A thousand places to hide someone.
To cage someone.
To hurt someone.
"I'm going to kill him," I say, and my voice is dead calm now. Past the rage. Past the terror. Into something cold and focused and absolutely certain. "I'm going to kill him slowly. Make him suffer for every second she's scared. For every second she's been in his hands. For every bruise on her body. For every tear she's cried."
"Get in line," Phantom says, and his voice is just as cold, just as certain. Then he hangs up.
Banshee's looking at me, his expression unreadable in the dashboard lights.
"You good?" he asks.
"No. But I will be once she's safe."
"And once Flint's dead?"
"Then I'll be better."
I screech into the Reapers Rejects compound twelve minutes later, the truck's tires leaving black marks on the pavement.
The scene is pure madness.
Brothers everywhere, bikes scattered at odd angles like they were abandoned in a hurry. The prospect—Pope—sitting against the wall with Sakura kneeling beside him, wrapping his shoulder with gauze that's already soaked through with blood.
He's pale, sweating, but conscious. Alive.
Siren's pacing near the clubhouse entrance, phone to her ear, furious tears streaming down her face as she talks to someone—probably another Reapers charter, trying to get eyes on the roads.
And Charlie.
Grace's dog is going insane.
Barking frantically, running in circles despite the cone still strapped around her neck, the plastic bumping into everything.
She's looking for Grace.
Knows her person is gone.
Knows something is terribly wrong.
The sound of that dog's distress is like a knife to my chest.
I'm out of the truck before it fully stops, Banshee right behind me.
"Siren!" My voice cuts through the noise, through the chaos, through everything.
She turns, sees me, and her face crumbles. Fresh tears spill down her cheeks. "Shadow, I'm so sorry—we tried—there were so many of them—I had my gun on Flint but he put his gun to her head and I couldn't—I couldn't risk it?—"
I cross the distance between us in three strides and grab her shoulders.
Not rough, but firm.
Need her focused. Need information. Need to know everything so I can find my wife.
"Tell me everything," I say, keeping my voice level despite the hurricane inside me. "From the beginning. Every detail. I don't care how small. Tell me everything."
Siren takes a shuddering breath, wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, visibly pulling herself together.
