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“Nicely done, sweet girl,” I commend Rena as we dash for the car. “You did so good.”
“Are Celeste and Ivy …” Her sobs clip off the rest of the question.
“We’ll get them,” I assure her, my gut lurching up into my throat. “Rex and Dante are going to take you to Axel at our house.”
“No. You need them to help. I—”
“That’s how we’re doing it, Rena.” No idea what the hell she was about to suggest, but there’s no time to argue. I won’t have her caught up in this madness.
Rex takes her from my arms and buckles her into the back seat while Dante deals with the personal shopper, and I jump in with Wells. He’s on a burner with Gage.
“Headed west,” Gage reports as Wells peels out. “We’re loaded up. Call you back when they stop moving.”
Wells slams the phone down repeatedly, snarling, “Jesus! Fuck!” as Ivy’s tracking dot taunts us on the screen.
“Route 90,” I supply, remembering the Lulu Truck Stop was the location of the drop for the transport team we tortured. The Skulls do a lot of work out of Houston, but based on some of the information I’ve gathered, it seems they’ve got a pit stop along the way. “I think they’ll head toward Morgan City.”
“Looks like it,” he grants, careening down the back roads that lead to the highway, surpassing 150 on the speedometer. “Call it in to Vargas.”
Terrance Vargas is one of our contacts for the FBI. We still monitor a number of cases for both the CIA and FBI and assist with securing inside tips—that’s aside from the agency and bureau guys we own through KORT. But Vargas is the one we rely on most. We’ve worked with him since we were first erased. It’s been over a year since we’ve spoken. We haven’t had to call something in since we retrieved Ivy from the schoolyard in Ohio.
I punch his number into the burner phone, and he answers on the second ring.
“Yeah?”
“We’ve got a bombed building and a dozen down at the Ellington Shops in Magnolia Heights.”
This isn’t an incident we can call York, our cleaner contact, about. He doesn’t handle blown-up buildings or manipulate news coverage. There’s got to be a major story that accompanies something on this level.
“Fuck,” Vargas hisses. “Cause? Any civilian casualties?”
We chose that designer because the plaza is secluded and closed on Mondays. Not worrying about thoroughly vetting people from surrounding businesses was a perk. Looks like we weren’t the only ones considering the seclusion a bonus. It would have been far harder to pull this off with people everywhere. An oversight on our part. How many fucking oversights have I had with Celeste?
I’m so fucking sorry, baby.
“Attacked. No civilians,” I answer, clutching the dashboard as Wells flies airborne over a bump. “The Skulls. I’m not just calling for cleanup. They took our girls.” Bile burns my throat as I speak the nightmare out loud.
“Shit.” The pecking of his fingers romping on a keyboard marries with the horns blaring around us because Wells is driving like a bat out of hell. Vargas is probably attempting to get some traffic or satellite images of what’s unfolding. “What do you need?” he asks.
It’s the one thing all of us understand. The guy is no saint himself—none of our contacts are. But no matter how many unspeakable things we’ve done, we all respect the code of family. Nothing else matters if they’re involved.
I rattle off my requests, anxious to be done here. “Traffic diverted, no interference, and you’ll need to spin it. Massive cleanup. There will be no one left.”
“Location?”
“Not yet,” I growl, hating that the details are all dangling precariously. “Somewhere off 90, we’re guessing, near Morgan City.”
“Fine. Call five minutes prior to launch. I’ll put out an APB in the opposite direction for all cars. I can buy you about an hour.”
“Good enough,” I say, ending the call and directing my attention to the unhinged Chief behind the wheel. “We’re not reporting out to KORT.” It’s not a question. I’m unwilling to involve anyone other than us, the men who will stop at nothing to get our girls back.
“No,” he agrees without hesitation. “They’ll want to weigh in, call the shots, and this is our fucking fight.”
I blow out a semi-relieved breath, always happy Wells, ruthless and calculated, is on my side.
“Won’t matter if no one’s left breathing anyway,” I grit out through my clenched jaw, ready to massacre the whole damn world for targeting Ace.
A wicked grin tips his lips, like he’s envisioning the same slaughter. “My thoughts exactly.”
