The technician’s fingers flew across the keyboard. The screen flickered, showing Isabella lounging by the pool with the other women. I watched everyone look around, then Mila and Nina walking toward one of the exits, signaling to the others to stay seated.
As soon as Mila and Nina disappeared through the gate, it closed, locking them out, and six armed men appeared, surrounding the women. The women resisted—Shorty positioning herself protectively in front of the others. Shit, couldn’t she for once just protect herself instead of everybody else?
The point man raised his weapon, and the resistance faltered.
I curled my hands into fists as I watched them drag Isabella away, her struggles growing weaker as they moved out of the camera’s range.
“Follow them,” I ordered, my voice barely recognizable.
Anton switched feeds, tracking their movement through the compound toward Grey’s private villa. The timestamp showed they’d taken her almost half an hour ago.
“Show me Grey’s villa.”
Anton hesitated.
The technician behind us stepped forward. “Sir, those feeds are restricted?—”
“Override it,” I growled. “Now.”
He swallowed visibly before entering a series of commands. The screen remained blank for several seconds before flickering to life, showing the exterior of Grey’s Mediterranean-style villa. No movement visible.
“Interior feeds?”
“There are none, sir. Mr. Grey had all the cameras removed last month.”
Of course he did. My vision literally reddened at the edges as rage surged through me. Grey had deliberately created a blind spot in our security system—a place where he could operate without oversight. And now, Isabella was there.
Heavy footsteps approached from behind. I turned to see Vince entering with Cristo close behind.
“Alex, Matt, and Dom are checking on the other women,” Vince announced, his voice clipped. “Nina’s gone with them.” His eyes locked on the security feed. “Where is my sister?”
I pointed to Grey’s villa on the screen. “In there. And we don’t have eyes inside.”
“Then we go there,” Vince said, already turning toward the door.
For once, we were in perfect agreement. I fell into step beside him, with Cristo and Anton following close behind. I instinctively checked my weapon as we moved through the compound, my mind calculating the quickest route to Grey’s villa.
We were halfway there when I spotted them—two men of Grey’s security detail, supporting a stumbling figure between them.
Isabella. Her head lolled against one guard’s shoulder, her movements uncoordinated as they half carried her along the path.
I broke into a run, reaching them in seconds. “Stop,” I commanded, my voice deadly quiet.
The guards halted, looking uncertain.
Isabella’s head lifted at the sound of my voice, her eyes struggling to focus on my face. When she finally recognized me, a flicker of something—relief? trust?—crossed her features.
“Do not faint,” she mumbled, then giggled deliriously, the sound so at odds with her usual sharp wit that it sent ice through my veins.
I stepped closer, examining her carefully. Her pupils were dilated unnaturally, her skin flushed. A thin trickle of blood had dried at the corner of her mouth as if she’d bitten her lip. Her pulse was racing, but what made my blood freeze were the marks on her neck—the telltale puncture wounds of injection sites, surrounded by fresh bruising.
I cupped her cheek, kept her head from flopping to the side. “What happened?” I demanded though I already knew the answer.
The taller guard cleared his throat. “She had a bad reaction to something she must’ve eaten. Mr. Grey instructed us to return her to her room to rest.”
“A bad reaction,” I repeated, my voice flat with disbelief, “to something she ate?”
The guard nodded, not meeting my eyes. “Yes, sir.”
