“Nothing so far.”
“Flight’s eight hours. You got time.”
Yeah, except that all that time Allie would be with God knew who, terrified out of her fucking mind. Nothing he could fix. Nothing he could do.
“Call you back, let you know if I can find out where he’s landing. Whoever’s flying the plane didn’t file a flight plan. Don’t know how the fuck they managed that. Suppose everyone and everything has a price. It’ll take time to figure this out. I’m gonna check to see if he owns any property in the area. Might be your best bet.”
“Yeah.” He hung up, turned to his brothers and the cops, and explained what Doug said.
“You sure it’s this Wyatt guy?” one of the cops, George Conaway, asked. The club knew most of the cops. Before the club had been clean, they knew them because they avoided them. Now, they knew them for different reasons. Cops knew, like the whole town knew, the club was the reason their streets were clean. They didn’t work with them, and they didn’t condone what they did, but the cops on some level, were glad for it.
“It’s him,” Trig said, instantly. “I know it’s fuckin’ him. We know it’s fuckin’ him. Don’t waste your time, our time, and her time lookin’ at anyone else.”
“No reason why she would’ve left?” The other cop asked. Young and new to the force, Trig didn’t know his name.
The question directed at him, but hung in the air. He wanted to respond quickly, but the pang in his chest deepened.
“She wouldn’t have left,” Army answered. “No way in fuckin’ hell she would’ve left.”
“She’s over eighteen, hasn’t been missing for more than an hour. Our hands are tied.”
Rage building inside him, he took a step in the cop’s direction. “She was fuckin’ kidnapped. We’re telling you, means your hands aren’t fuckin’ tied.”
“There’s no proof.”
“How would she have left?” Blaze asked. “I drove her there. She doesn’t have a car, and she left her purse in the booth where she’d been sittin’.”
George opened his mouth to speak, then stopped when he lifted his phone out of his pocket and answered, “Conaway.”
They stood in silence waiting for him to finish.
He hung up. “Someone reported a black SUV driving in the back of the bar near the bathroom window they found open. Anyone of you owns one?”
He fisted his palms tightly. “Most of us got black SUVs or trucks. None of us took her, so make the fuckin’ calls you need to make, and find my fuckin’ woman.”
The cop’s eyes hardened. “I’m the fuckin’ law. I gotta ask these questions.”
He took a step in his direction. “Get that ’cause I’m not blind, but it isn’t your fuckin’ woman who’s been kidnapped. It’s mine, so I don’t fuckin’ think you understand she’s fuckin’ terrified and alone. When her ex gets his hands on her, he’s gonna be pissed she left New York. He’s gonna be pissed we roughed him up for slapping her in broad daylight, and he’s gonna be livid she’s with me. It means he’ll be outta fuckin’ control, so out of it, he’ll fuckin’ beat her until she’s isn’t breathing, and if my woman ain’t breathing, neither will he.”
“It’s plain stupid to say that to a cop.”
“I’m not fuckin’ stupid. I’m fuckin’ pissed I’m having to convince a fuckin’ cop to find my woman. I’d known, we wouldn’t have called the fuckin’ cops, and it don’t matter what the fuck I tell you ’cause she’s not breathing means I’m not living just fuckin’ existing. I can exist fine behind bars.”
It was something he said, the way he said it or maybe it was the anguish that clung to him clear in his face, but it worked. George held his gaze for a long moment, and then, he pulled his radio from his waist and reported the kidnapping and the possible suspect’s car description.
“We’ll keep in touch,” the cop said, and they left.
****
Allie didn’t know where she was or how long she’d been there, and she was still shivering. She’d cradled her knees and rested her head on them. It served a dual purpose. She wouldn’t have to look at the gun or the men who’d taken her.
She closed her eyes, and willingly, Jace’s face came to mind. Since she’d been taken, she tried her hardest not to think about him. She knew thinking of him would serve only to remind her what she’d miss the most, and then it’d be much harder to keep the tears at bay. At that moment, she didn’t care if she cried.
She wanted to remember everything, everything he’d said, everything he’d done. She wanted to remember the look in his eyes every time he told her he loved her, the way he held her every night and every morning, the way he said her name.
So she did.
And she cried.
****
No news.
Still.
It had been seven hours. Seven hours since she’d been taken, seven hours she’d been terrified, probably trembling and fucking alone. In a little over an hour, her ex’s private plane would land, and he’d find her wherever they’d hid her, and then, he’d fucking hurt her.
The ache in his chest strengthened. He braced, shaking his head, trying to force himself to focus.
They’d had no leads to her whereabouts. Not the club, not the cops, not Doug. Because of it, the brothers separated into groups, each going to a different airport and private landing strip to wait.
Waiting was the worst. Every second, the panic grew; the dread compounded. His heart beat so hard and fast, any moment he swore it would explode inside his chest.
He’d lived through a war and seen death. He’d stood at the end of a barrel too many times to count. He’d been shot at, stabbed, and too close to exploding IEDs, but he’d never been more terrified in his life than he was then.
If he didn’t get to her in time, he’d be like Ripper, angry and bitter, existing without living, fucking dead inside.
“Gonna find her.”
He spared a glance at Mellow and prayed for the millionth time for his Allie.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The door into the warehouse crept open. Allie lifted her head, and her gaze locked with Wyatt’s. Her eyes watered.
He rushed toward her and kneeled in front of her. “Alyssa? Did they hurt you?”
She shook her head then managed to whisper, “No.”
“Why are you upset?”
She swallowed. “How long have I been here?”
He turned to the two men who responded, “Nine hours.”
Wyatt faced her. “You hungry?”
Hungry? No! She was scared, shaking, and she wanted to go home to Jace. Saying it would be suicide, so instead, she took a deep breath. “I’m not hungry. I’m tired, and I’m scared. Ty is worried about me—”
“Don’t fucking mention him,” he snapped. “Or your lover. They took you away from me, and they beat me. I was in the hospital for a week, Alyssa. I had a cast on for a month and a half. They’re animals.”
“They didn’t take you away from me, Wyatt. I left. I left because you hit me.”
He slapped her hard across the face, the impact sending her head into the wall. Pain exploded at her temple making her eyes water.
“Fuck. Tell me you’re fucking kidding me?” One of the men asked. “Tell me you didn’t have me kidnap this woman, so you could beat her. I’m a fucking drug dealer, but I’m not a fucking—”
“You’ll do what I say and you won’t say a word because I’ll report you to your parole officer. You’ll end up in jail, and you won’t get that money you want so bad.” Wyatt spun.
She took one look at his face, at the menacing gleam in his eyes, and she knew what would come and knew it would hurt. Closing her eyes, she pictured Jace and braced.
Then the beating began.
****
Trig brought his palms to his temple and squeezed with all his strength. He then slammed his fist through the driver’s side window. It shattered, cutting his hand. Blood poured out and onto the ground.
It didn’t hurt.
It didn’t alleviate the throbbing pain in his chest either.
He was losing his fucking mind. No, he’d fucking lost it already.
It had been nine hours, nine long, agonizing hours suffering the unbearable ache in his chest, hours without Allie, with Allie terrified and alone.
They’d missed him.
Doug called to tell him the private jet the bastard took off in New York was in Washington. A flight plan had just been listed, and the jet was now headed to New York. More than likely, since flight plans were required for out of state flights, the plane Wyatt took off in landed in another airport in New York. He’d switched planes, evading the PI. Wyatt could’ve then flown directly to California, making it impossible to track him since they hadn’t known which plane he’d taken off in. It meant he’d probably already landed in California, probably one of the larger airports, so he wouldn’t be spotted. Because they didn’t know he’d switched planes, there was no way to find out where the plane landed. Not that it mattered, the plan had been to follow him to wherever he went, which would’ve led them to Allie.
His phone rang, and he brought it to his ear.
“Gotta report about a black SUV in an abandoned warehouse in Santa Rosa. It’s out of our jurisdiction—” George said.
Fuck. Hope. His heart pounding louder, he cut him off, “Address.”
“Can’t—”
“Gimme the fuckin’ address or I swear to fuckin’—”
“Not smart to threaten a cop.”
He sighed, tears forming in his eyes. Clutching his phone to his ear, he did something he’d never done before. He begged. “It’s been nine fuckin’ hours. She’s been alone. He’s there already. I fuckin’ know it. I need to find her before…Please, give it to me.”
George must’ve heard the desperation in his voice. “Giving you some advice, don’t fuckin’ kill him. You’ll end up in jail, and if she loves you half as much as you love her, you’ll be punishing her.” He gave him the address.
Trig wasted no time. Jumping in his SUV, Mellow hopped in beside him. While he drove, Mellow made calls to his brothers.
It took ten minutes to get there. He parked and reached for the gun in the glove compartment.
Mellow gripped his hand, stopping him. “We go in together.”
“Don’t know how many—”
He shook his head. “Not lettin’ you go in there alone, brother. The faster you agree, the faster we’re in.”
He nodded, hopped out of the SUV, and sprinted to the door. He slung it open and spotted three men. Two were toward the middle of the warehouse facing him. The other was the ex, the fucking bastard’s back facing the door, hovering over her, his beautiful-beyond-anything-in-the-world Allie. She lay motionless on the floor.
He swallowed the anguish, fighting the tears pooling in his eyes and roared, “Get the fuck away from her! Now or I’ll fuckin’ shoot all of you!”
The two men lifted their hands immediately. Wyatt’s back shot ramrod straight, but he didn’t turn.
“Don’t know if you fuckin’ know but I was a sniper. It means I can shoot you between the eyes from behind, so put your fuckin’ hands up and face me.”
Wyatt turned. His eyes, dark and menacing, met his.
“Don’t fuckin’ think about reaching for that gun,” Mellow said from beside him. He walked toward one of the men and removed the gun from his waistband. “Check Allie.”
He didn’t need to be told, already half-way there. Reaching Allie, he knelt. On her side, her dark hair sprawled across the floor, her arms covering her head, like she’d been trying to protect herself from the asshole’s blows.
Slowly, he drew her arms away from her face. Unconscious, the right side of her face swollen, her lip bleeding. His heart clenched. He checked her pulse, slow and steady. Alive and breathing, he sighed in relief.
She was safe. He heard the faint sound of sirens but paid no mind to it. Putting his gun on his waistband, he wrapped one arm around her back, the other under her knees and lifted her. Her body slumped against him. His arms tightened around her. His eyes glued to her face, he caught sight of her eyelids fluttering open.
“Jace…” she whispered.
She knew he was there.
She knew she was safe.
“Yeah, baby, I’m here.”
She smiled, softly.
He looked up. Army, Cuss, Blaze, Trick, Wild, Stone were there now too. Three had guns drawn, aimed at Wyatt and the two others.
Army strode to him, took one look at Allie’s face and tensed. “She’s gonna be fine. She’s gonna survive this. She’s gonna move on.” He said it trying to reassure himself.
Trig spared a glance at Wyatt. “I’d kill you, but rather let you rot in hell.”
“She’ll never testify.” Wyatt laughed. “Besides, I have money and
friends
. I’ll get off.”
He shook his head, his eyes hardening to slits. “Not when they find out you been paying off judges.”
Wyatt’s face blanched.
He glared at the two others and strode away.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Allie didn’t want to open her eyes. She didn’t want to wake up. Her head hurt. The only way not to feel it was to go back to sleep, but it was too late. She was conscious enough to know Jace wasn’t in bed with her.
Her eyes fluttered open and met white walls in an unfamiliar room. The antiseptic smell made the memories flood her: the man in the bar’s bathroom, the warehouse, Wyatt, the beating. She touched the side of her head and felt the bump.
“Baby?”
Jace.
She shifted her head toward the sound of his voice. He sat in a chair at her right side. His eyes were red like he hadn’t slept, wearing an expression she’d never seen before—pained, concerned, and defeated at the same time.
He leaned forward, took her hand in his left, and brought it to his lips, but he made no move toward her. “How do you feel?”
“I want to go home.” Her voice soft and shaky.
“Yeah, baby, you’re gonna go home soon, but the doctor needs to check on you again.”
She nodded, wondering why he wouldn’t close the distance between them, wondering why if he’d been there, he hadn’t lain beside her.
“How do you feel?”
“My head hurts.”
“You have a concussion.”
“Makes sense. Anything else?”
He swallowed. “Your cheek’s swollen, your lip’s busted, and you got bruises, a lot of them.”
She nodded. “Did anyone get hurt?”
His eyes darkened, anguish shining through. “Yeah, Allie, you. You got fuckin’ hurt.” His voice so rough it pained her.
“Besides me.”