I nod, and a muscle in my jaw pulses repeatedly. Unfortunately, we have no time for further reassurances because the creaking of the door announces that Beavis and Butthead are back.
Suddenly, I’m overcome with panic and fear. I don’t want to stay alone in this room. Before I can even look at Marissa again, the hood is back on her head, and she’s led from my sight.
I feel like I can’t breathe. She’s gone.
Chapter 7
Slim
“Prez, I can’t find Marissa.”
“Why the fuck do I care?” he replies drunkenly.
“I last saw her an hour ago, and then she vanished into thin air. She’s not answering her phone, the car is still in the lot, and she’s nowhere in the clubhouse. This isn’t like her, Sly.”
Something about my tone seems to sober him up.
“Let’s ask Twitch if he saw her leave. I could use some air.”
Shit truly hits the fan when I step on Riss’s phone in front of the abandoned guard booth.
“Where is that stupid motherfucker?” Prez snarls.
Someone finds Twitch fucking one of the club girls in the bathroom, and I only manage to get a couple of hits in before the other brothers pull me off of him.
“Whoa, Slim, what the fuck?” He asks as he wipes the blood from his mouth.
“Why aren’t you at the gate?” Prez asks, stepping in front of me before I can charge at him again. “And put your dick away, man.”
Twitch gives him a sleazy smile. “I was just taking a break with Maya here. I’m going back right now.”
“I’ll have your patch for this, you fucking idiot. Slim’s ol' lady is missing! We found her phone on the ground by the unguarded entrance to our fucking clubhouse. You better pray that at least the cameras were working, because otherwise I’m taking your life too,” Prez spits at him as I run back out to look at the footage.
All the blood drains out of my limbs as we watch two masked men lead a hooded Marissa to an unmarked dark van.
Prez frowns. “This doesn't make any sense. Why would someone take her? You mostly deal with your shop, and besides, the club doesn't have any beefs going on right now. If anything, things are going really well.” He scratches his beard in confusion.
“What do we do? Do we call the cops?”
“Are you out of your mind? Do you want the fucking cartel to hear that we’re calling the cops for any reason whatsoever?" Sly snarls, then leans back in his chair and takes a few moments to think. "We wait.”
“For what?”
“A ransom call. Clues. Anything.”
“What the-” I start to argue, but he holds up his palm, letting me know he’s done.
“Go sober up for an hour, and then go get your kid.”
Fuck. I haven’t even thought of DJ.
“Oh my God,” I helplessly bury my face in my hands.
“Focus on what you can control right now, and that is taking care of your son. Go, man.”
*
Three days ago, I woke up in a warm, milk-smelling family bed that I was reluctant to leave. Today, I barely slept a wink due to Junior’s crying.
