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I pushed back the frustration and the guilt as I drove into my development. I needed to...
Every single thought flew out of my head as I pulled into my driveway to find my door thrown open. Don't ask me how I knew, but I knew. Technically, there could have been any number of reasons the door was open, but in that moment, I knew she was gone. I barely got the car into park as I flew out and up my front path and into... utter fucking chaos.
My dining room table was slammed against the wall, the chairs overturned, porcelain from a coffee cup splintered everywhere. And there was blood. Smeared across one of the walls, drops on the carpet.
“Fuck!” I growled, picking up one of the overturned chairs and throwing it across the room, not getting an ounce of satisfaction from it breaking apart.
I turned back toward the living room and spotted Lo's gun half lodged underneath the couch. She had gotten to it at some point. I went to it, hoping in an altogether too hopeless way that maybe she had gotten a shot off, but that hope drained when I opened it and found all bullets still inside.
On a frustrated yell, I grabbed Lo's phone off the floor, hoping I could find Hailstorm's number and fill them in. I stepped out onto my front path, not able to stomach the thought of being in my house with her blood on my walls.
“Mr. Cash!” I heard from the side and groaned. The last thing I needed was to talk to one of my neighbors right then. “Mr. Cash,” Ernie, the sixty-something year old widow that lived across the street next to the girls' family called as he shuffled over to me in his tan slacks, green checkered shirt, and brown belt... looking every bit the old man.
“Ernie, I have to...”
“I know you're a busy man. And this is probably none of my business...” he hedged.
I sighed inwardly. “What isn't your business?”
“Well... there was a man here earlier...”
Immediately, I straightened and went from half-listening to completely fucking apt. I ripped my phone out of my pocket, again drawing up the picture of Willow and Damian. “This him?” I asked, a little too roughly.
He took his time getting his glasses from around his neck onto his nose and pulling my phone up to his face. “Yes. Yes, I'd have to say that is the man I saw.” He pushed the phone back at me. “I know it's not my place, but well, I would want to know if I were in your place, son...”
“Know what? I asked, trying to draw forth a little patience.
“Your girlfriend... she, ah, well my boy... there's no easy way to say this. She left with that man.”
“How long ago?” I asked, not wanting to ask if she left willingly, not willing to bring up that can of worms and force old Ernie to call the police.
“Well, I was just finishing lunch. Maybe around noon?” He paused. “Sorry to have to be the one to tell you about this, son.”
“Happen to get a make on his car?”
Ernie looked surprised for a moment before his chest puffed out slightly. “Better than that. I got the license plate number. You know... you can never be too careful when you see strange cars in the area.”
It was right then that I thought a thought I never imagined I would: Thank fucking god for nosy neighbors.
Ernie rattled off the number and gave me a sympathetic clamp on the shoulder before heading back to his house to stare out the window some more. I swiped through Lo's contacts as I got back into the car and backed out of the driveway.
“Malcolm,” his voice met my ear and I felt a slight amount of relief that I had someone to share the information with.
“It's Cash,” I said immediately.
“Where's Lo? Why are you on her phone?”
“She's gone. He got her while I was there.” There was no use easing him into it. Besides, he struck me as the kind of man who handled emergency situations with a practiced kind of ease. “I have a plate and model number. Maybe you can catch it on your cameras.”
I rattled off the information and he gave me a clipped, “On it,” before he disconnected.
I drove, realizing I had nowhere to drive to so I drove to the compound, tearing through the main area, completely ignoring anyone who talked to me and stomping down the steps to the basement, going through two locked security doors to get to the gun safe.
“The fuck you doing?” Repo asked from behind me as I put a gun in the waistband of my jeans.
“Not club business,” I said, trying to brush past him and shocked when his hands landed on my shoulders and shoved me back against the wall. “The fuck...”
“Everything is club business,” he countered.
“Don't do this, Repo,” I warned, in no mood for his brotherhood shit. I knew the club meant fucking everything to him, but he was overstepping a line.
“Don't put personal shit over your loyalties.”
“Like Reign did?” I exploded, shoving him back.
“Different situation and you know it,” he countered.
“Same fucking thing, man. And I don't have the time to fucking fill you in. So back the fuck off and let me handle my shit.”
“Cash, man...” he said, clearly taking a step back, but not wanting to let it drop.
“Back,” I said, emphasizing with a shove, “off.” With that... I stormed back up the stairs and took off toward my bike.
My phone buzzed in my pocket and I picked it up. “Malc?”
“Got an address. We're on our way but you're closer.”
“Give it to me,” I demanded, already on my bike.
He gave it to me and I sped off, full of a sensation I had never understood before: heart in your throat.
She was okay.
She had to be okay.NineteenLoThe funny thing about the space of years is, it doesn't exist, not really. When your past comes crashing into your present, it didn't bring with it the foggy haze of time. The kind of dread I used to feel spreading through my whole body sprang through my system as Damian closed in on me. Suddenly, I wasn't the woman who pulled herself up from her bootstraps, a woman built a career cutting men off at the knees who dared use his power for evil, a woman who never backed down from a fight, a woman who never ever cowered. I was just little Willow Crane, I was just a girl raised to be submissive; I was the young woman who learned to never so much as step a toe out of line out of fear of retribution.
