Page 83 of Spock’s Snare

“Wildcard said Blackwood was a no-show today.”

“Blackwood? What does he have to do with anything? Do you think he’s a danger to Chloe?’ Bill asks.

I don’t have time to answer his questions. Chloe needs me. I can feel it. “Fill him in,” I direct Chill. “I need to find Chloe.” I shove my phone into my pocket and turn toward the door.

“Spock,” Rush calls. “Wait for us.”

I don’t slow down.

If Chloe is at home, she can be pissed when I come charging through her door. She can accuse me of overreacting and remind me that she doesn’t need a biker hovering over her every second.

I’ll gladly take every furious word.

But if she isn’t there—if someone has hurt her—there isn’t a place in Vegas deep enough for the bastard to hide.

I break into a run and charge through the clubhouse door, heading straight for my bike.

I hear Rush and Dice rush after me. They don’t try to stop me, but hop on their bikes just as I reach mine. We fly out of the clubhouse and head into town. Dice and Rush follow me, since I’m the only one who has been to her house.

When I pull into her driveway, I’m surprised to see there are two other bikes parked there. I recognize Hawk and Wildcard’s rides. The garage door rises as I kill the engine on my bike. Wildcard stands there waiting with a grim expression.

“What did you find?” I demand.

“Nothing. Chloe isn’t here. We didn’t find any sign of a struggle, but someone jimmied open a window at the back of the house,” Wildcard says.

“I found something,” Hawk says from his position under Chloe’s truck. He slides out and stands holding a cracked phone in his hand. It looks like Chloe’s.

“Shit. He got her,” I say, taking the phone and crushing it in my hand. “Blackwood must have been here waiting for her, and she walked into a trap. That fucker is going to pay for this.”

“We have to find him first,” Wildcard says. “He didn’t show up at the construction site today. We waited for him. I was going to call and tell you when Rush called.”

“He was definitely up to something,” Hawk adds. “The electrician showed up. He said he spoke with Chloe about the wiring issue Blackwood complained about. He checked it out and said there was nothing wrong. He tried calling Chloe, but she didn’t answer her phone.” Hawk nods at the phone in my hand. “Guess we know why.”

“We need to find her,” I growl. “He could be hurting her.” The thought of Chloe in the hands of that asshole has my stomach clenching. “We need his address.”

“I’ve got it,” Dice says from behind me. “I had Spark pull it up. I also called Chill and told her what we think happened. She’s pulling Rattler and Viper out to The Pit to work on Monroe. He may have some information that could help us locate him if we don’t find him at his place.”

“Let’s go,” I say.

We all mount our bikes and rush off with Dice in the lead since he has Blackwood’s address. My mind is on a constant loop of scenes where Chloe is hurting and scenes where I’m breaking every bone in Blackwood’s body. I try to focus on what I’ll do to Blackwood, because the thoughts of Chloe in pain threaten to cripple me.

When we pull up to the apartment building where Blackwood lives, I know Chloe isn’t here. It feels wrong. There is no way Blackwood could have brought her here without someone seeing them. The building is on a busy street full of tourists. Security cameras cover the entrance, and the door requires a key. Chloe wouldn’t go with him willingly, so he was either carrying her or she was fighting him. There is no way he entered this building unnoticed with her in tow.

“You coming?” Wildcard asks as he holds the door open. I don’t know how he managed to open it without a key, but I don’t care right now.

“She’s not here,” I say.

Wildcard nods. “You’re probably right, but we need to check. If he’s not here, maybe we’ll find a clue to where we can look next.”

I nod and follow him inside. My heart threatens to pound out of my chest. We’re wasting time. I can feel it. Chloe is out there, somewhere, and it isn’t here.

CHAPTER THIRTY: CHLOE

Pain rolls through me in thick, crushing waves.

I curl forward as far as the restraints allow, trying to protect my stomach even though the damage is already done. Each breath sends another wave of nausea. My cheek throbs where Blackwood slapped me, and the metallic taste of blood coats my tongue.

Saliva floods my mouth. I feel my stomach revolting. I’m going to throw up.