He doesn’t bother answering, just pushing past me and striding back toward the bar’s front room. I hurry to follow him.
Dom stomps into the bar like a man who is ready to pick a fight with anyone who looks at him sideways.
“Last call!” His voice cuts through the music playing over the speaker. “Drink up and get out. We’re closing early.”
The protest that rises from a cluster of locals near the pool table dies when Dom turns the full force of his murderous expression on them.
Atticus has already wrapped up his set and is chatting with Judah who is still behind the bar.
They both look up when Dom approaches. Dom leans close as he speaks to them, voice soft enough that I can’t hear him over the din of the crowd. But the looks on their faces are enough to gather that he is filling them in on what we saw on the camera feed.
Atticus goes very still. His glass stops halfway to his mouth.
Judah’s reaction is different. No stillness. The color drains from his face in the span of a single breath, jaw clamped shut so hard I can see the muscle jump from several feet away.
“—and the patches are a match,” Dom is finishing as I reach the bar. “I’d bet my life on it.”
Atticus sets his glass down with a deliberateclick. “If this is just about ransom money, I only need to know two things. How much do they want and how do we get it to them?”
Dom’s expression somehow turns even more grim. “I’m not sure Aaron wants money. Even if he asks for it.”
Atticus’s face goes hard. “What does that mean?”
“It means Aaron Keenan doesn’t do anything to put his business at risk without a damn good reason. If all he wanted was money then there are easier ways to get it. We all saw the way he looked at Phoenix. She isn’t safe within a hundred miles of him.”
Atticus opens his mouth. Closes it. Something moves behind his eyes, and then his expression settles into something cold and very, very focused. “We need to get her back.”
“That’s going to be hard when Dom doesn’t even want to call the police,” I grind out.
The heat of Atticus’s glare could outshine the surface of the sun. “You’re not calling the police?”
“Not yet. The Sinners practically have the sheriff on their payroll.”
“I don’t care about small-town corruption.” Atticus slides off the stool and stands to his full height, and whatever charm he usually carries has been stripped clean, leaving something underneath that is genuinely formidable. “Call the state police, call the FBI, call the goddamn National Guard. Phoenix is out there with these people right now and we’re standing here doingabsolutely nothing?—“
“The FBI would love to hear from us,” Dom says with a controlled patience that costs him something. His knuckles are white against the bartop. “And then what? They open a file. They make calls. They establish jurisdiction. They brief a task force.” He meets Atticus’s stare without flinching. “In four to six hours, they’ll be ready to begin preliminary steps. By which point Aaron has had time to hide Phoenix somewhere we’ll never find her.”
Atticus stares at Dom. Dom stares back. Judah is gripping the edge of the bar hard enough that I’m genuinely worried about the structural integrity of the wood.
“You said you might know where she is,” I say.
Dom’s gaze cuts to mine, sharp and immediate, checking the room. The last two locals are pulling on their jackets near the door, apparently oblivious to the crisis unfolding at the bar. He waits until they’ve pushed through the exit and the door swings shut behind them before he answers.
“There’s an old salvage yard the Sinners have used for storage. Maybe two miles east of the docks.” Dom’s voice is very quiet. “Off-grid. No neighbors. The kind of place you’d take someone if you didn’t want anyone to hear them.”
Judah exhales through his nose, a sound that’s barely controlled.
“And how the fuck do you know that?” Atticus snaps.
With a sigh, Judah pushes himself off the bar. “You should just tell them everything, Dom. I think they deserve to know. I’mgoing to make sure there aren’t any more customers and lock up.”
I’m equally confused. “Tell us what?”
Dom’s hands still on the bartop. He doesn’t move for a long moment, just stares at the space between them like he’s weighing something.
“I ran with the Sinners when I was a kid.” The words land flat and simple. “I never became a full member, but it was a close thing.”
Atticus’s eyebrows climb. I say nothing, waiting.
