Risky... too public.
I want to be around once Leilani’s free, not rotting behind bars.
Besides, he can’t die yet,period.
He’s negotiating with Carter on Noretto’s behalf.
She needs to be alone when I take her... and that means I need surveillance.
I head into my office, fetching Ryder’s emergency duffel bag of equipment. He has one at Carter’s, and another at Broadway’s, just in case.
An hour later, I’m parked across from Hotel Vega, the neon sign flashing against the windshield. Rain streaks the glass, distorting the letters, the weather as grim as I am.
The tiny black camera I planted feeds grainy footage straight to my phone. Just a pinprick on the wall, invisible unless you know exactly where to look. The door of 514, the number engraved into its shiny brass plaque, fills the screen, but I keep checking the angle in case I miss something.
I shift in my seat for the hundredth time, rubbing a damp palm down my jeans as if that will ease the feeling of impending doom. Every creak of the leather seat, every barely audible tick of my wristwatch, every drop of rainwater sliding down the windshield drives me fucking insane.
I don’t even know what I’m hoping to see. Whether it’s better if I’m right or wrong. Both options have their merits. If Jaxishurting her, I can act: extract her from a bad situation and keep her away from the fucker. That option, however, means she’s hurt.
And that thought makes me nauseous.
On the other hand, if my gut feeling is wrong, if I’ve misread her behavior and she’s perfectly fine, there’s nothing here for me.
And that thought makes me nauseous.
My chest is tight, my leg bounces, restless energy with no outlet sings through my blood. I’m an animal locked in a cage, pacing, circling, waiting for the lock to snap.
My head hits the headrest, a half-amused, half-pained groan vibrating my chest. I’ve only seen hertwice.
How is she in my bloodstream like this?
How is she all I can focus on day in and day out?
If Carter, Broadway, or Ryder knew where I am they’d kick my ass, I’m sure. I should be at home. I should be dealing with shit while Carter and Ryder tend to their girls. I should be out there with Broadway, keeping busy instead ofthis.
But there’s nothing I can do about the gnawing unrest. Leilani lookedscaredinScarlett. She flinched when Jax got close.
I can’t ignore that.
Thanks to Blaze, we’ve seen too many girls held against their will. Too many girls being used. Violet’s a prime example. Just the thought of Leilani going through what Violet did pushes a nine-inch, rusty blade through my sternum.
I don’t know what it is about that girl or where my protective instincts come from, but I’m trusting them.
Broadway did and it paid off.
So I remain in full Ryder-mode, staring at the screen of my phone. He’s much better at stakeouts than I am, proven hours later when movement flashes across the grainy feed.
I’ve been so focused on the screen I missed Jax pulling up right outside my fucking windshield.
He appears in the fifth-floor corridor, dragging Leilani behind him like luggage. He’s holding her by her dainty wrist, and even though the picture quality is shit, the black-and-white static blurring their outlines, my brain fills in the blanks.
His grip is too tight.
I can practically feel the strain in her delicate bones from here but... she doesn’t fight him. Doesn’t look as scared or timid as she did inScarlett. She holds herself with poise. Chin high, shoulders squared back. Her hair falls forward, a dark curtain obscuring her face. It kills me that I can’t see her eyes.
Still,somethingis off. There’s tension in Jax’s posture. He rushes, fumbling with the key card, saying something I can’t hear. He shoves the door open, drags her inside, and the screen goes still again.
I crack my neck, and sit back, replaying every frame while taming the monster in my head.
