“In this?” Mantis said, gesturing outside as he joined them. The halo of light from the house illuminated the blustery, snowy night. Visibility was less than twenty feet, but leaving was more about getting out than truly believing he’d find her while driving around.
“I’ll be fine,” he said, tugging on the hat he’d tucked into his back pocket earlier.
“I’m going with you,” Callie said.
“No!” he and Philly replied in unison.
“She’s my sister,” she snapped, the Callie they all knew reemerging from her shock.
“And I’m the reason she’s in this mess to begin with,” he countered. He might be pissed at her, and he definitely didn’t want to ride around in an enclosed space with her, but he couldn’t let her takeallthe blame.
“I need to do something,” she insisted.
“So do I, but I need to do it alone,” he replied.
“You need to do it without me, you mean,” Callie said.
He wouldn’t lie to her. “Yes.”
Callie winced, and Philly stepped between them.
Lovell met his brother’s gaze. “I understand how she feels, but it’s not my job to make her feel better.”
“You don’t have to make her feel worse,” Philly replied.
He took a breath, then dug out his gloves. “Don’t push me on this, Philly. Just let me go. Whatever she needs to do to feel useful, you two figure that out.”
Mantis came to his side, catching Philly’s attention. “Let him go,” he said.
Philly held Mantis’s eyes for a long, tense beat, then, with an angry glare, he stepped back.
Without wasting more time, he pulled on his gloves. “I’ll keep in touch,” he said, heading toward the door. A swirl of white wrapped around him as he stepped out. He couldn’t see for shit, but that wouldn’t stop him. He’d gotten Daphne into this mess, and he’d sure as hell get her out.
CHAPTER NINE
Daphne feigned unconsciousness when Weeks and Beeks pulled her from the back of the station wagon. Weeks flung her into a fireman’s hold, and she fought not to tense up as her stomach collided with his shoulder. It didn’t get easier when her body proceeded to bounce up and down as he made his way toward what she assumed was their lair.
Cracking an eye open to check her surroundings, she opened both fully when she heard Beeks leading the way. Without moving her head, she scanned the area. Not precisely rural, a proper road seemed to wind up the hill under a layer of snow.
After turning off Swiss Incline Lane, they’d stayed on Lucerne Street for close to five minutes—although in this weather, that could have been less than a half mile—before making one more left. She hadn’t seen a sign, but she also hadn’t seen any other roads, so she guessed they were on Bennett Lane. A dead-end road that, as the crow flies, was about three miles from the Falcons’ clubhouse. The “as the crow flies” was the tricky part, though. Traipsing over the mountains and through the woods on a clear night would be hazardous. During a blizzard? Not smart at all. But neither was sticking to the roads. Her winter coat was white, which would help her blend in, butonce she escaped, she didn’t want to risk getting caught again. And the chances of that increased significantly if she used the roads.
“She’s awake,” Weeks said as he climbed the stairs to a front porch. She’d sucked in a quick breath and braced her stomach muscles at the unexpected jolt of the steps.
“I’m…I’m awake,” she said, making her voice sound more confused and groggy than she felt. “Where are we?”
Neither man answered as they pushed through a door that creaked loud enough to raise a response from a bird tucked into one of the nearby trees.
Wide-plank hardwood floors came into view, then a colorful rag carpet. They’d left the heat on when they’d come for her, and warmth seeped through her jeans. Weeks crossed the room, kicked open another door, then dumped her on a bed. She bounced twice, the movement sending shock waves of pain through her head, then settled.
“Jesus, you’re heavy,” he said, his face red with exertion.
She shrugged. “I’m nearly six feet tall. What did you expect?”
Beeks knelt at her feet and pulled out another zip tie. If she could break out of the one around her wrists without drawing attention to herself, getting out of the one around her ankles wouldn’t be a problem. She pretended otherwise, though, and fought him, catching him in the thigh with her heel. Two inches to the left and she would have felt much better about her aim.
Raising her knee, she tried for another go, only Weeks grabbed her wrists and wrenched her arms up. Pain arrowed through her shoulders, taking her breath away and ripping her attention back to her own body. She was still blinking back tears when Beeks finished the job.
“That ought to keep you,” Weeks said, looking down at their handiwork. She lay on the bed, hands and feet bound. As a woman, she couldn’t help but feel a particular kind ofvulnerability. Her stomach flipped, then flopped, then flipped again as the men didn’t move.
