I glance over to Roxy. She’s been ignoring us since the men left, her attention solely focused on the embroidery loom in her hand. My eyes shift to Foxy, curled up like a cat on the couch. She fell asleep an hour ago with both hands wrapped around her bump.
“Frankie?”
“Journey will tell you if he thinks you should know.”
“Did Bane tell you?”
She shrugs, never taking her eyes off her laptop.
Sighing, I glance back at the door. I can’t explain it, but deep down to my bones, I know this has something to do with what happened earlier.
The look on Tacoma’s face when he pulled Foxy out of the SUV wasn’t a man who planned on filing a police report.
My stomach twists, and I take another sip of my coffee that’s gone cold.
“What if they don’t come back?”
“They’ll come back,” City says, crossing his arms over his chest.
“You don’t know that.” He can’t know for sure. Anything could happen to them. The last twenty-four hours prove that. I mean… Jesus. What if those men do something to hurt them? What if they do something and end up in jail?
The thought slices through me like a blade, and I have to set the mug down because my hands won’t stop shaking.
“Relax, honey.” Roxy’s calm voice pulls me out of the spiral.
I glance over my shoulder.
She sets down her needlework and slides off her chair.
“Everything is going to be okay. You’ll see.” I don’t know how she can look so calm. I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my skin.
“How?” I ask, my voice strained. “How can I relax when I don’t even know where they went?”
Roxy’s face softens. “Because worrying won’t bring them home any faster, sweetheart.”
“Gotta trust your man, babe,” Frankie adds from beside me, her teeth working at her thumbnail. Her eyes, which have been glued to her laptop all night, are fixed on the door.
I take another sip of cold coffee and force it down.
“How can I trust someone who clearly doesn’t trust me?” I don’t think I can be the woman who lives in the dark, praying her man will make it home in one piece.
I press my palms flat against the bar and blow out a long breath.
“First time’s always the hardest,” Roxy says gently, and when I look over, she’s watching me with knowing eyes. “It doesn’t get easier, but you learn to breathe through it.”
The first time. Meaning she’s been through this more than once.
I’m not sure I want to learn how to breathe through nights like this. I’m not sure I’m built for it.
Just when I start to think I’m going to lose my damn mind, the lock turns.
My spine goes ramrod straight.
The front door finally swings open and Eagle strolls in first, looking tired but whole. Tacoma is next through the door, his expression carved from granite. Then, one by one, the others file through the door like soldiers coming home from war.
Holding my breath, I scan the lot of them, looking for my man.
Where is he?
