I grab it, more for comfort than anything else, and stagger toward the phone.
Diego bursts through the back door just as I’m punching Sawyer’s number.
His boots skid to a stop on the tile, eyes wide when he sees me.
“Angie!Holy hell, what happened?”
“They—they took her,” I manage, choking on the words.“Those goddamn bikers—three of them.One called himself Roach.”
He swears, loud and vicious, already reaching for his radio.
“Alex, come here quick!Angie’s hurt and Bit’s been taken!”
I take it off speaker and press the phone to my ear.
It rings once.Twice.
Then Sawyer’s voice, low and steady, answers on the other end.
“Angie?”
The sound of him almost undoes me.He’s such a good man.Caring, kind.A good boss.
When I think of how he tried to save John, our son who served alongside Sawyer and gave his life for this country, my heart squeezes.
We’ve known this man a long time, Diego and I.And I care for him like he is our own.
Now, I have to tell him news no one should ever have to hear.
I swallow hard, try to steady my breathing.
“Sawyer, it’s Angie,” I say, and my voice trembles despite everything.“You need to get back here.It’s Bit—they took her.”
Silence.
Then, sharp and deadly, “What do you meantook her?Who?”
“Bikers.Hellbound Heathens.Three of them.Roach was one.They forced their way in.She—she went with them so they wouldn’t shoot me.She saved my life.I’m so sorry!”
A curse explodes through the phone.
Metal clangs on his end, maybe the sound of him hitting something.
“No, don’t do that.I’m glad you’re okay, Angie, but did they?Is she hurt?”he demands.
“I don’t know.Diego’s here.We’re locking down the ranch.Should we call the sheriff?Sawyer?”I trail off, my throat thick.
“No, don’t call the sheriff.We’re almost back.Where did they go?Did you see?”
“They went west.Toward Route 80 West.Diego saw the dust trail.”
“Good,” he says, his voice cold steel now.“Okay, keep everyone inside.Lock every door.Don’t move until I get there.”
“Sawyer—”
“Angie,” he cuts in, quiet but lethal, “I’m bringing her home.”
The line goes dead.
