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“Take him and get off the street,” I told my men. “Did the team meet up with Sunny alright at the arena?”
Luca gave me a tight shake of the head. “They didn’t find them.”
Cold fear rippled through my gut like a stone into ice water.
I strode away, already dialing Sunny. The persistent beep-beep-beep of a dead line hit me like a hammer.
“Keep him talking,” I snapped at the Jackals who had taken custody of Ricky, their nods curt as they dragged him into a car.
I pocketed my phone and headed for the arena, my mind racing.
The roar of the crowd greeted me like a slap to the face as I burst through the hockey arena’s doors.
My eyes darted over the sea of heads, searching for a sign of her.
The Demons were on the ice, clashing with the Bobcats. The noise of the crowd and the chaos of faces around me were a blur.
“Kennedy!” I shouldered my way through the throng, each step spiked with urgency. Faces blurred past—fans painted in team colors, children clutching foam fingers, vendors hawking beer and pretzels—but none were hers.
“Excuse me,” I muttered. Once. “Move!”
That got more attention, my tone brooking no argument as I forged a path toward the seats where she should have been, where she should be watching our boys play.
Sweat coated my palms, and I wiped them on my jeans. It was impossible to see clearly, the press of bodies too dense, too alive with excitement when I felt a deep sense of terror.
“Kennedy!” I tried again, hoping beyond reason she’d hear me, that she’d stand up and wave, that this mounting panic was for nothing.
I pushed through the last of the crowd, hope swelling desperately that my girl would look up at me with bright eyes.
Our seats were empty.
A cold dread settled in my gut, heavier than the weight of the gun under my arm.
I scanned the rows again. Nothing. The ache in my chest tightened, and I palmed the back of a seat to steady myself.
My men were spreading through the arena, moving quickly and efficiently. Their dark suits and urgency didn’t fit amid all the red and black jerseys of the fans.
I paced out into the quieter expanse of the lobby, hoping I’d see Kennedy getting a pickle or hell, I’d be happy to find her drinking Diet Coke right now.
I called my tech guy.
“Still working on it, boss. His signal’s gone dark.” The tech’s voice, usually so calm, held an edge of concern that did nothing to ease my own.
One of my men had already clued him in on the situation.
All of the Jackals would be out searching for Kennedy. Who the hell would dare to take her?
Sunny. Either Sunny had died fighting to protect her, or he had betrayed me. Either way, Sunny’s silence must mean he was a dead man.
“Keep on it,” I snarled, spinning on my heel to face the ice. Jack, Carter, and Sebastian were playing their hearts out, oblivious to the chaos off-rink, although they might’ve missed Kennedy’s smiles and blown kisses.
Carter was guarding the goal, a beast in his crease. Even from this distance, I could see the intensity in his stance, the readiness in the dip of his knees.
I strode to the edge of the rink, my presence alone parting the officials like a blade. They knew better than to ask questions. I waved down Carter, who finally looked my way. Behind his face mask, I couldn’t tell if he understood me.
Fiercely pursued by Sebastian, two Bobcats were driving a puck up the rink. One of them shot on Carter, somewhat desperately because Sebastian was on top of him. Carter blocked the shot. The puck sailed off.
Then, with the grace of a practiced deceptor, he lurched, clutching his leg, and crumpled to the ice. The ref’s whistle cut through the noise. Medics rushed forward.
