The words gut me. Two words and fear explodes in my chest.
“What the fuck?” I’m already moving. “How long?”
“Since she clocked in,” Jeremy answers in my ear, calm but thinner than usual. “Isla grabbed her before she could drop off her stuff in her locker.”
I’m furthest from the stairs.
Of fucking course I am.
“Owen,” I bark. “Move. Now.”
He doesn’t hesitate. People crash into me as I shove through the crowd. Someone’s drink sloshes down my arm. Grabbing him by the collar, I launch him backward without stopping.
“Karson, you need to hurry,” Jeremy says.
Finally hitting the stairs, I take them two at a time. My world slows, just like my steps as I reach the landing. The bass from the music thumps wildly, the loud chatter and laughter blends with the music, but her voice cuts through all of it.
“I said I’m working,” Ashlynn says, her tone firm.
The crowd, much smaller than the one downstairs, parts just enough for me to get a clear view of what’s happening. Ashlynn has her back against a wall at the end of the bar, and a man cages her in, his hands on the wall at either side of her head. She ducks in an attempt to escape. He ducks with her, preventing her from moving. The people up here carry on about their night as if hell isn’t about to be unleashed.
“Back off, man,” Owen booms from behind the guy, who lets out a drunken laugh.
“Karson, stand by,” Jeremy says tightly.
Like fuck I will.
I say nothing.
“Karson, talk to me,” Maverick cuts in with a sharp edge.
Silence. My feet carry me forward without a sound.
“Fuck,” Slater hisses. He sees the impact before it gets a chance to land.
“Start clearing out the second floor,” Maverick orders, and Owen moves toward the hallway where the private rooms are. I hear Kellen come up the stairs behind me and start ushering people downstairs.
“Ah, hell,” Cole says through an exhale.
As I approach, the slimy fucker’s hand reaches for the hem of her shorts. Her eyes widen, and lift to mine when I get behind them. Relief washes over her features. Pulling my gun from the small of my back, I jam it into the back of the man’s head. He freezes, and I reach forward. Grabbing the hand he touched her with, wrenching it away from her.
The man makes a confused sound, like his brain hasn’t figured out yet that the reaper is holding his ticket.
“What the-”
I shove the barrel harder into his skull.
“You picked the wrong woman.” My voice is even, calm.
Lethal.
I bend his wrist until it pops, the crack loud and ugly. I turn him toward me. His scream finally pulls attention from the rest of the room, heads turning. People stumble as reality punches through the drunken haze. Owen is already moving them away.
Good man.
My focus doesn’t leave the scum in front of me, and I shove him to his knees.
“You touched my dolly,” my voice is even but the tone carries something sinister, twisting his wrist with each word with more and more force. My aim stays trained on him with my other hand.
