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A. BRYSON
Didn’t Teddy chatter on and on about his husband who was a local cop? Her brain was too muddled to remember his name. She swore his first name started with an A.
It didn’t matter. She wasn’t there to make friends. She needed to leave and take care of her wound. “No, I... I accidentally cracked my head on the corner of the hatch. It was dumb of me... Rushing and being careless...”
He stared at the folded-up stroller in the back, then his gaze slid through the interior of the Volvo. “Did you have a baby with you?”
Jemma blinked. Ringing began in her ears and not from the hit. She moved as quickly as she could, without face-planting in front of the cop, to the side of the car, where the door still hung wide open.
That was how she left it, wasn’t it?
But that didn’t matter.
Not fucking at all.
Because she realized what she was staring at.
Her heart was ripped right from her chest.
The car seat was empty. Dyna was gone.
Cage’s daughter was fucking gone.
She bit back her scream, barely containing it.
She should ask him for help.
She should ask him for help.
She should...
Fuck.
Dyna belonged to Cage.
Cage was BFMC.
Dyna was Fury property.
“No. I...” Fuck! “She’s with her father. I have to go. I’m fine... officer. I just clunked my head by accident. I’m clumsy like that.” She pretended to rub her head above the gash, trying not to wince and forced out a stilted laugh. “I’ll be fine. Thank you for checking on me.”
He stared at her a little longer. The concern turning to suspicion.
Her blood was rushing, which made her scalp bleed faster under her hair. It would soon soak her shirt if she didn’t get the hell out of there. If he saw how much she was bleeding, he’d call for an ambulance. And things would go to shit.
She didn’t need cops or an ambulance. Every minute she was delayed was one more minute Dyna was missing.
She tried not to scream in panic. She needed to appear as cool as possible on the outside even though she was completely unraveling on the inside. “I... I have to go, officer, I’m going to be late.”
He stared at her a few seconds longer, his eyes narrowed, and finally nodded. “Get your head checked if you feel any worse.”
Oh, thank fuck. “Will do.”
He closed the hatch for her and stood there as she climbed in the driver’s seat. She glanced into the rearview mirror at the empty car seat, then at the cop still standing behind the Volvo.
She needed to call Cage. She needed to call Judge. She needed to call someone.
She was about to lose her shit any second now, but she couldn’t do it in front of the cop. If she did, they’d get involved.
One thing instilled in her at an early age was club business remained club business. No outsiders.
As her shaky finger stabbed the Start button, Ox’s deep voice bellowed through her head, “Fuck the pigs. We handle our own shit.”
The Fury needed to handle this.
For fuck’s sake, they needed to handle this right now.
Fire ants marched like soldiers under his skin. He couldn’t stand still. One hand gripped the back of his neck, twisting it back and forth to keep himself from exploding. The other was balled into a fist as he paced the lower level of The Barn.
A clear path had been left for him to do so. Though, Sig stood nearby. Just in case.
In case of what, Cage didn’t know. He didn’t care.
He only cared about one thing right now.
His fucking daughter.
His fucking daughter.
His. Fucking. Daughter!
He stopped, raised his face and tried to release the tension in his chest with a loud roar.
The crowd around him froze.
But he didn’t care. He ignored them.
He needed to find Dyna.
He needed to get his baby girl back.
Alive. In one piece.
Without one fucking scratch.
They had no time to waste.
All those months ago, they had gone up that mountain to get Red and while there, they had taken out a bunch of Shirleys.
Now the Shirleys who they left breathing took Dyna.
They took her.
They had her.
They had warned those motherfuckers not to touch anything belonging to the Fury.
And that clan dared to do just that.
They stole his flesh and blood.
“You took what was ours. Now gonna take what’s yours.”
Those were the words they uttered.
Those were the words Jemma barely remembered. Before they struck her from behind.
Before they injured his goddamn woman and stole his fucking baby.
They could’ve killed Jemma.
They could still kill Dyna, if they haven’t already.
His brothers needed to move.
But they weren’t. Not yet.
They “needed a plan first.” Just like the plan they made to recover Red.
They “needed to be smart.” To “use their heads.”
But he lost his.
He lost his the moment Jemma sped into the garage lot, the Volvo’s tires squealing. She had barely put it in Park before exploding out of the driver’s side, almost stumbling to her knees, her shirt drenched with blood.
