We each grabbed a stack, setting aside anything with addresses or bank account information for Linc to investigate further. After an hour, the baskets were empty, and we were no closer to finding Merci.
I grabbed one and flung it across the room. “This is a waste of fucking time. He’s been escalating for weeks. I never should have listened to her when she said he’d stop. I should have killed that motherfucker when I had the chance.”
“Hey,” Merrick said, grabbing me by my shoulders and shaking them lightly. “Look at me. We’re going to find her. Merci needs you focused. Get your shit together and think. Did she talk about placesthey’d gone when they were together? Things Luca did? Anything?”
I sat and cradled my head in my palms. “I don’t know. Nothing I can remember.”
“Think harder.”
Linc leaned back from his computer. “Luca’s family has ties to the Mafia. How did we miss that?”
Thane tensed. “Fort Worth?”
Linc shook his head. “Manhattan.” He spun his computer around to show a grey-haired man with a wicked scar running down the length of his face. “His father is the don of Manhattan.”
“Fuck,” Merrick said, drawing out the word as he ran a hand down his face.
“I could call Fort Worth,” Reaper offered. “See if they’ve heard anything.”
Thane grimaced. “And start a war? If the Fort Worth family is loyal to New York, we’re fucked.”
“If they’re involved in taking Merci, then they’ve already started the war,” Fuse offered. “I say we put it to a vote. We get Merci back—even if the Mafia’s involved.”
Merrick nodded. “Seconded. All in favor?”
Ayes sounded around me, but I stayed silent. I wasn’t a Maverick anymore. I didn’t have a say, and I’d go to war even if they’d voted against it.
The next couple of hours were a blur. I oscillated between pacing a trench into the clubhouse floor and throwing random items across the room in a rage. At one point, Kenna brought in food and all but forced me to eat a burrito that tasted like ash. She hovered until I asked her to go stay with Jessa, knowing I wasn’t in any position to explain to my sister what was happening.
It was past eleven when Linc shouted across the bar. “I have something.”
We gathered around him as he spun his screen to face us. A copyof a passport reflected in our eyes. The photo was of Merci, but the name was different.
“Mia Rossi. Noted as Luca Rossi’s sister. He got her a fake passport, and it was registered on a manifest for Italy. And he has medical paperwork, basically saying she’s insane.”
Merrick swore. “He’s planning to smuggle her out of the country.”
“Where?” I asked, already heading for the door.
“Private jet out of Pearland,” Linc said.
“Hatchet, wait,” Merrick yelled. He stormed after me. “We need to make a plan. We need to gear up.”
I patted the Beretta holstered at my hip and the extra magazine in my pocket. “I have a plan. Step one, save my woman. Step two, shoot Luca in the fucking head.”
I peeled out of the driveway on my bike, the darkness swallowing me whole. The empty road allowed me to speed ahead, and I hoped I didn’t pass any cops on the way. Fuse and Reaper followed me to the airport, our snarling engines a symphony to my ears.
Merrick and Coast would be close behind after they’d hashed out some kind of operation with militaristic precision. I didn’t need that. Save Merci at any cost. That was it. That was the whole fucking plan.
We rolled into the small airport, where rich assholes stored their midlife crises. We had our weapons drawn before our kickstands hit the tarmac, parking beside a hangar that gave us a clean line of sight to the one further down, where a sleek private jet was ready to take flight.
I recognized Luca’s car from the video. Smug. Expensive. Just like him.
Rage roared through my veins when a hand clamped around my shoulder.
“She’s here,” Reaper said quietly. “Let’s pause. We need a coordinated plan of attack.”
“He could be killing her right now,” I growled, shrugging off his grip. My trigger finger twitched.
