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The first sign that something was wrong came when I walked into the house and found the whole place dark. Wren would've met me by the door as soon as she heard me arrive. I dropped my keys on the table as I went looking for her in her room, calling out to her.

But she wasn't there. I checked my phone to see if she'd sent me a text while I was at the meeting and hadn't seen it.

“Wren?” I called again as I headed toward the kitchen.

Nothing again. I stepped inside and immediately saw the folded note on the table. I grabbed it and unfolded it hastily, terror already gripping me.

Hey baby,

I'm going to see Ava. Remember her? My coworker. We're meeting at Quinn's, the coffee shop in town. Hopefully, I'll be back before you do, and you won't have to see this. Ps: I'm taking my car.

I stared at the paper for a second before pulling out my phone from my pocket to dial her number. It rang without response. Then again. And again. And suddenly, I'd called her ten times with no response. I killed the panic, wading the dirty waters toward me, and grabbed my keys. Something was wrong. Wren didn't ignore my calls, not after everything.

The ride to the coffee shop was fast. I was speeding across the street without a care for safety. The coffee shop was still open when I arrived, but I didn't have to go inside to get confirmation that she'd been here. For one, my car was in the parking lot.

I got closer, and that was when I realized the tires were slashed. It started to sink in then—this was becoming a thing. Something had happened. Someone had picked up my girl, and they were going to pay for it.

I ran a finger through my hair as I slapped my other hand on the hood of the car. Phantom wouldn't go near her. They had no idea what she looked like. This was personal. This was a statement.

I slammed my hand against the car again. I should have killed the motherfucker when I had the chance. The only reason he was still alive was that I wanted him to be. And he dared to touch my girl?

I was seething with rage as I went by my motorcycle. I could barely see the letters on my screen as I checked my phone. I needed to calm down. I needed to think straight, but my lungs were burning, and I was beyond pissed.

“Fucking calm down, Knox,” I chided myself as I pressed the tab to dial Viper’s number.

He answered immediately, as if he were expecting a call from me. “What happened?”

“Get everyone.”

He hesitated. “What?”

“Let me amend that. Get everybody useful. Now.”

My tone was enough for him to be able to discern that something was wrong. I ended the call before he could respond. Still seething, I settled back on my bike, praying to God then and there that Wren was all right. Because, God help me, her kidnappers wouldn't be.

****

The clubhouse was different when there was a problem, but that wasn't for me to review. The moment I walked through the door, every man on the ground shot to their feet, sensing there was a war coming.

“Wren has been kidnapped. I got home, and she was not there. Found her car tires slashed at the coffee shop where she'd gone to meet with a friend.” Their faces hardened at the information, transforming them from mere men into the Sons. “She needs to return home tonight. Every second spent away from me...” I refused to let my voice crack despite the anxiety belying those words. “I need her home.”

“Don't worry, boss,” Mason said, stepping up. “We're going to get her back.” He turned to our men. “Right?”

“Right!” they chorused back.

“Yeah, Graves. Wren is one of us now, and even if she wasn't, we would do the same.”

Sloane stepped forward with her laptop, kneeling in the middle of the room to work her magic. She wasn’t just a kick-ass bartender. She could hack into any system she wanted and breach any firewall. Her skills were unmatched, and I was pretty sure what she could do was highly illegal, but I didn’t care.

I gave her the name of the coffee shop, and she instantly began pulling up the security camera footage from the area. As I'd suspected, they'd been wiped clean. “Can you go any faster?”

“Rushing me won’t help,” she grumbled, but seconds later, she did her thing and managed to retrieve some of the footage.

“Okay, I have it!”

I hurried toward her, bending down to see what she was showing me on the screen.

“This was when she first stepped out of the café with her friend,” Sloane explained. Seeing Wren on the screen had my chest squeezing painfully. Who knew what she was going through now. “Now, this was her tires getting slashed. The figure is masked.”