“Wasn’t easy.” He held my gaze, his expression serious. “I asked around the club. We got lucky. One of the girls had a client the other night who liked to talk.” He paused. “It’s happening Friday.”
I blinked, certain I’d misheard him. “This Friday?”
He nodded. “This Friday night.”
That gave us... no time at all. Barely enough to finalize a plan, get our inside man in position, and coordinate the rescue. “Fuck,” I muttered.
“Don’t worry,” Raine assured, clapping me on the back. “You’ll ride in on your white horse and save the girl.”
I snorted bitterly. “Don’t paint me like a hero, Raine. She’s in this mess because of me. Because I couldn’t keep her safe, because I let her slip away, because I?—”
“No.” He cut me off. “She’s in this mess because ofus. All of us. We’re all responsible for the choices that led to this moment.”
“Honestly? This whole fucking nightmare goes beyond us. Our parents made this mess, fueled the hatred between our crews.” My father, the man who was supposed to protect his family, who’d raised us to believe in loyalty and honor and all the other bullshit values that apparently didn’t apply when there was money to be made. “Asshole,” I muttered under my breath.
Raine’s lips twitched, knowing exactly who I was referring to. “That he is.”
We both knew the same fundamental truth. We didn’t have time to waste on family drama or personal guilt or anything else that didn’t directly contribute to bringing Kaylor home.
The countdown had begun.
7
KAYLOR
God, what is taking Kreed so long?
Each hour, each day that passed, my restlessness grew. I started to doubt my belief in Kreed. Was I putting too much faith in him? Maybe none of what we experienced was real, at least for him. What if he didn’t care about finding me?
Was this what Kenny felt when she was here, thinking each day might be the day someone came to break her out? Only to wonder if anyone would actually show?
Those ugly doubts kept coming, piling one on top of the other, and I could see how someone could easily be broken in a place like this. Perhaps the isolation tactic was a means to break my spirit, to get me to second-guess whether I could be saved or was worth saving.
I needed to talk to Kreed. To Brock. To someone in the outside world or I’d go fucking crazy just waiting. I hardly had patience on a good day, but on a bad…forget it. Those traits were toast.
It became clear that I had to get my hands on a phone or a computer, some kind of device where I could send a message. The one Rusty sent to Kreed might not have been enough, assuming Rusty sent it at all. It could have just been a mindfuck game for me,making me think there was a sliver of hope, only to extinguish it and crush my soul.
My only real chance was to get close to the guards. If they worked for Rusty, there was a good chance they could be Vipers or associated with my father’s crew, which meant they would know me. I needed to use this to my advantage. I needed to stop thinking like a victim, like a damsel in distress, and start thinking like a survivor.
I’d been watching him for hours through the crack beneath my door, memorizing the rhythm of his footsteps. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, having my head plastered to the hard floor, my eyes straining to keep him in sight. I nearly went cross-eyed after thirty minutes, but I endured, forcing myself to keep track of his movements.
The guard had shaggy blond hair and a rather thin build. My awkward angle made it difficult to get a clear picture of him. Not that it mattered. It was his phone I cared about. The device lit up every few minutes, making him stop mid-stride, his thumb swiping across the screen.
I pressed my ear to the floor, waiting for the perfect moment. Something seemed to be happening for his phone to be going off so much more than usual. “Hey,” the guard at the bottom of the stairs hollered up at his partner, the shaggy blond. Holding my breath, I strained to hear what he would say. “I’m needed at the gate.”
“Is everything okay?” the blond guard at the top of the stairs asked.
“I’m sure it’s nothing. Stay here. No one comes or goes.”
Blondie hooked his fingers into his belt loops. “I got it.”
This was it. The opportunity I’d been waiting for. Staying put a full minute to give the other guard ample time to leave his post, I stood and lifted my hand, rapping against the inside of the door, three knocks loud enough to get the guard’s attention. Hopefully. This could very well backfire, and I should be scared, and I was, but anger also lived in my veins, making me braver than I should be.
“Hello?” I called, letting my voice crack slightly, adding just theright tremor of distress. “I-I think something’s wrong. Hello!” I called again, louder this time, my fist pounding on the door in another series of raps. I waited a beat, listening.
The guard grumbled under his breath as his boots shuffled against the floor, keys jingling as he fumbled for the right one. I stepped back, and the door swung open. Blondie stepped onto the threshold, acute hazel eyes narrowing as he scanned the room. “I don’t see anything. What’s the matter?” The words came out flat, bored, as if I’d interrupted him doing something meaningful.
I kept my eyes downcast but not completely closed, shoulders slumped in defeated submission, lips parted just slightly in a soft, helpless way. “I just...” I trailed off, wrapping my arms around my midsection and bending slightly forward. “I feel sick. Really sick. Can you get someone? A doctor, maybe? Or at least let me out for some fresh air?”
