Page 68 of The Bratva’s Stalked Pregnant Bride

“Vodka’s in the other room,” I said, but stopped him from going to get it. “I don’t want any. I need to have my wits about me when we find her.”

If that asshole found her first…

I checked my phone. No new messages, and the time was still passing, faster than it should. If only we could find Rand, but the weasel was still underground. Luk settled in with a laptop showing endless hours of camera footage from all over the city, and I tried to concentrate on anything around the area where we knew she’d used the ATM.

It was like she disappeared into thin air. What was the use of living in a world with so many cameras if people could still end up lost?

Every minute that ticked by, she might have been another mile further away, or if Rand’s people—my own enemies—had found her, she might have been undergoing more torture. When my phone rang, it sounded shrill and made me jolt out of the almost hypnotized stare I was giving my computer screen. So many people and none of them Laurel.

“Fuck, that’s loud,” Luk said.

I had turned my phone up to maximum volume so I wouldn’t miss a call. It wasn’t Laurel, but CJ, and I answered with almost as much hope as if it was my wife asking me to come save her.

“Her phone just turned back on,” she said triumphantly. “I’ve got an address for you in Santa Barbara. It’s still on and holding steady in the same place.”

The next voice I heard was Mat’s. “If someone’s got her, they could be sick of waiting for you to find her,” he said. “This might be a trap. Be careful.”

I’d be careful, but what I wouldn’t do was wait around while my cousins assembled a team. I took off with Luk following me with a few of my security guys. If everyone else wanted to join the party, they could hurry to catch up, but I had an address now. If Laurel needed me, that’s where I was going to be.

Thanks to one of Aleks’s guys who was tagging along in the other car, knowing every alternate route in the city, we avoided most of the traffic and made good time getting to the neighborhood where Laurel’s phone last pinged. It was still a hell of a long drive when my imagination was running wild.

CJ was able to get me an address, and before we went in with guns blazing, I called her once more to make sure she was still there.

“The phone is still there,” she said, having come around to Mat’s line of thinking. “Just please be careful. Even if Rand isn’t working with Drugov’s crew, he’s still dangerous.”

I promised to stay alive, and directed my men to circle the house. It was still broad daylight, so we moved fast, keeping our guns hidden. The last thing we needed was for the cops to think they were needed.

All the windows were locked, and the shades pulled down so that not even a sliver of any of the inside of the house could be seen. Ever since the moment I heard Georgiy tell me that Laurel was gone, it was like a clock was hanging over my head, ticking ominously.

Every second we spent outside, being careful, could have meant pain for Laurel. The fact that Rand had ordered for her to be turned over to him alive and unharmed meant nothing if he was already in there with her.

As soon as everyone was in place, I raised my hand to knock on the door. Then decided, fuck it, and wasted no more time, kicking it in. The deadbolts gave way in a shower of splinters as the wood cracked, and there was a thunderous bang as the door flew inward and bounced off the wall inside.

And then everything was eerily quiet. “Laurel,” I shouted, holding my position in the front hall.

The place wasn’t exactly lived in. There was furniture, but it was sparse and shabby. No pictures on the walls or homey clutter on any of the few surfaces. I knew a safe house when I saw it. A place to hide out while someone was after you, or to hide prisoners while figuring out their fate.

I shouted her name again, advancing rapidly now. Every door in the place was closed, and I systematically began kicking them open. They were all empty. Before I could raise my foot to bust down the last one, it flew open, and a skinny man with long hair held back by a bandana tossed a knife at me.

The scream I heard came from behind him, distracting me enough that I didn’t duck, and the blade whistled past my ear, so close I could feel a breeze. Another knife flew at me just as fast, and I bent low to take the annoying little shit out at the waist and put him flat on his back where I could stomp him.

Another scream, and as soon as I was in the room, I spotted Laurel in a chair, her hands behind her back and her hair falling forward. Unharmed. This man wasn’t Rand, but must work for him and be aware that there’d be no payment if she was hurt.

It didn’t make me any more sympathetic to the guy, especially when he leaped out of my way and grabbed her, whipping her in front of him, another knife out and held taut against her throat.

She gasped, blinking rapidly, staring at me, but with unfocused eyes. For once I was glad if she was disassociating, because now was not the time to try something foolishly heroic.

Pulling my gun, I aimed it at the man, hoping he wouldn’t call my bluff and think I’d fire even with him using Laurel as a human shield.

“Don’t be an idiot,” I said, nodding toward his knife hand. “I know your boss’s terms as well as you do. You can’t hurt her.”

He snickered at the same time Laurel groaned. “But you don’t know who my boss is,” he taunted. “He’s going to give me a lot more for you than the wine guy’s offering for her.”

Fuck. This wasn’t some nobody plucked off the street by Rand, but one of the rogue Collective’s guys. He kept laughing, pressing the blade harder against her neck, drawing a tiny line of blood against her pale skin.

“You can still make it out of here alive,” I said, raising the gun to take aim at his head.

Laurel began to shake. “No…” she said until the guy jerked her a step back.