Page 85 of Viper

Despair crushed his chest. The ache was so deep he could feel it in his spine. It wasn’t just that Paige could be hurt—or worse.

He fucking missed her.

The thought of never hearing her voice, her laugh, never seeing her sexy ass in his space and in his life . . .

It fucking gutted him.

He’d do anything to have her back. To be given one more chance to be a better man. To show her that he could give her the life they both wanted.

He laced his fingers together behind his neck and exhaled. Striker came up beside him, his presence quiet but steady.

“She’s all right, man. She has to be.”

Anger squeezed his blood vessels, making his arms tight. He lowered his hands and pressed them on the glass. Instead of the azure-blue ocean, all he saw was darkness.

The bright sky told him the sun was shining, but he didn’t feel it. Everything was bleak. Grim.

“I hope you’re right,” Troy finally said.

He was quickly losing hope. Names. License plates. None of it meant anything when each lead left them empty-handed.

Unlike the police cruiser, Spencer’s personal vehicle didn’t come with a GPS tracker.

He turned away from the window. Fear an unwelcome visitor. He wouldn’t find Paige by sulking. One foot in front of the other, one minute at a goddamn time, he’d keep moving forward until he found her.

Striker must have sensed his shift, because he patted Troy on the back. “Attaboy. Let’s put our heads together.” They made their way to the dining room, where Wraith, Reaper, and Havoc sat at the table around laptops. “If there’s any group of idiots capable of tracing her, they’re all right here.”

“Minus one,” Reaper quipped.

Rogue.

Troy didn’t want to admit it, but their leader’s presence would’ve made him feel more confident. Not that their team wasn’t competent without him. But in dire circumstances like this, his absence was felt.

“I’ll call the prick now,” Striker said. “He texted me this morning, but I didn’t get back to him. He has no idea what’s going on.”

Striker pulled out his phone and tapped his screen. A minute later, the line rang.

“’Lo,” Rogue answered.

“Hey, boss. The team’s all here. Got a minute?”

“Sure. Just watching Emmy at her swimming lessons. Did you nail that bastard who’s after Paige?”

“We’ve got a situation,” Wraith said.

Striker updated Rogue on all that’d happened.

Rogue cursed under his breath. “How the hell did they get to her? You guys were with her, for Christ’s sake.”

Striker’s jaw worked.

Troy knew his friend was almost certainly feeling trapped in his own guilt. He took the phone. “Craig has cops working with him. Striker got pulled over and Tased by Craig’s stepbrother. He took her.”

Silence. “Striker, you there?”

“Yeah,” he said, the simple word slicing the air.

“This wasn’t your fault, you hear me?”