And now he’s sneaking out of the mansion.
“911,” I murmur to Ash, and I flip the phone over to him so he can see the security footage of Noah sliding into one of his prized cars and driving it out of the garage like he wants to see it wrapped around a tree.
“I will fucking murder that little cunt.”
Okay, showing it to Ash wasn’t the best idea, but at least I know where the little cretin is heading, because he’s only ever shown an interest in leaving the ranch for drugs and most of the places to score easily in the Bay are within a mile of where we’re standing.
I also have GPS on all of Ash’s vehicles for this exact reason. It would be absolutely stupid of me to house hundreds of millions of dollars’ worth of cars without being able to track them if they went missing.
I step forward to lean down and murmur to Lips, “Small emergency, nothing to worry about because I’ll have it fixed before the meeting is over.”
She tenses a little but nods, and I give Aodhan and Atticus each a look that I hope conveys my need for them to watch her back because all three of the guys are charging toward the elevator with a bloodthirsty air about them that spells real danger for Noah when we find him. I have a small moment of thanking my lucky goddamned stars that Ash now trusts Aodhan enough to be backup for Lips in this room, because I’m going to need all of their eyes on this hunt.
I try to look a little more sophisticated than the rest of them as I stalk out of the room, though I am pleased when they wait for the elevator to close behind us before they start up.
Harley runs his hands through his hair and snarls, “What the fuck did he take this time?”
“The McLaren P1,” Ash grits out between his clenched teeth, and Harley almostswoons,the color draining out of him in horror.
Morrison shrugs. “Thank fuck it wasn’t the bus.”
“Are you fucking dense? It’s a P1,” Ash snaps back, and I start to think I’m going to be throwing myself between them in a freaking brawl before the doors open to let us out.
“Yeah, but I think we’re all happy that the bus is safe. Lips would have a fucking aneurysm over the cleanup.” It makes no sense to me, but I mentally give him a point for caring about his girlfriend’s wellbeing.
If only he’d clean thefuckingbus out and move it for me, then maybe he’d scrape his way out of the bottom spot in my ever evolving chart of favorite family members.
We walk out of the warehouse, past all of the mess of people, and at the doors one of Atticus’ men steps up to me and says, “I’ve been assigned to protect you until you return.”
Of course he has, I almost want to text Atticus a thank you because it’ll get me out of this whining mess of car-obsessed guys.
With another check of the GPS to confirm he’s still heading this way, I turn around to snap at them to stop them from squabbling like children, “All three of you are on my last goddamned nerves. Split up and head to each of the places you can score, we need to find the little shit as he arrives so this doesn’t blow up.”
Ash isn’t ready to let us split up at all, but when I show him the gun I am not only trained to use but so ready to shoot someone with after tonight, he eases up a little.
It doesn’t stop him from snarling threats at Atticus’ man as he stalks off. The guy doesn’t flinch. He waits for me to move without a word before he follows after me, his gun drawn and ready to fire.
We head toward the edge of the slums, the safest of all of the areas because naturally the guys all took the worst of the options. There’s a dealer who does the best weed in the city, according to Blaise, who hangs out around the warehouses further up the coast, close enough to Illi’s apartments that it’s considered safer.
The Butcher doesn’t allow rowdy neighbors near his home or his family.
It’s a ten-minute walk even in my heels, and I start planning out all of the locks and chains I’m going to put on Noah’s windows and doors because this is the last time I’m going to be doing this shit.
We make it to the first of the empty warehouses and, aside from a few homeless men sleeping among cardboard boxes, they’re empty. I check the GPS signal again but, of course, it’s gone out. There’s only two reasons it would blink out like that, one being that the little shit found it and smashed it, which I’m really hoping is the case.
Because the other option is that he wrecked the car and he will be skinned alive if that’s what’s happened here.
When we get to the next warehouse, I pause for a second and text the guys, telling them about the GPS tracker, and then I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of footsteps. I get my gun in my hand, the safety off, and point out into the darkness in no time at all and I’m once again quietly impressed with myself.
It doesn’t last because there, walking through the filthy warehouse, is Noah.
I want to kill him.
I turn to the Crow’s man and ask him to keep guard outside, not wanting a witness for the complete destruction I’m about to unleash on this asshole. He doesn’t question it, just steps out with a curt nod.
Then I turn back to the sullen idiot scowling at me and snarl, “What the fuck is it about ‘stay home’ that you’re struggling with? Because Lips was very clear when she told you to stay the hell home.”
He rolls his eyes at me—they’re already bloodshot and there’s a scrape down his face that doesn’t bode well for wherever the hell the McLaren is. “I’m not a fucking prisoner. I’ve done nothing wrong and you all treat me like you own me. It’s disgusting.”
