I shove the phone back in my pocket and get back to the bike I’m working on, but my mind is already on her. The way she’ll climb onto my lap and kiss me. How she’ll ramble about her shift while I listen and rub her thigh. These last few weeks have been the best of my life. She’s happy, thriving, and mine.
I finish the job, clean up, and check my phone again. No new messages. That’s fine, she’s probably taking a shower or something. I head home but I’m surprised when I get there and don’t see the truck parked in its usual spot. I go inside and wait. Five minutes pass. Ten. Fifteen. Still nothing. I send her a quick text.
Me: You on your way?
No answer. Another five minutes. Nothing. My stomach starts to twist.
I call her. It rings four times before going to voicemail. I try again. Same thing. Third call goes straight to voicemail.
“Fuck,” I mutter, gripping the phone tighter.
I start my bike and drive straight to the clinic. My truck is still in the lot, parked in the same spot it always is. I pull up beside it and kill the engine, scanning the area. Everything looks normal, a couple patients are leaving, lights still on inside. But something feels wrong.
I walk in. The front desk is empty. The hallway is quiet.
“Lucy?” I call out.
There’s no answer, but a minute later Sophie steps out of one of the exam rooms, wiping her hands on a towel. When she sees me, her eyebrows shoot up. “Tiny? What are you doing here?” she asks, clearly surprised.
I don’t waste time. “Where’s Lucy? She was supposed to get off and meet me. She’s not answering her phone.”
Sophie’s face shifts from surprise to confusion. “She left about twenty minutes ago. Said she was heading straight to you. I saw her walk out the back door toward the parking lot.”
My blood runs cold. She never made it to the truck. Something is very fucking wrong. My heart starts pounding harder. “My truck is still in the lot.”
Sophie’s expression tightens. She pulls out her phone and calls Lucy. Straight to voicemail. She tries again. Same thing. She looks at me. “This isn’t like her.”
I’m already moving. I call Pres on the way out to the truck. “Pres. Something’s wrong with Lucy. She left the clinic twenty minutes ago but my truck’s still here and she’s not answering her phone.”
His voice is calm but I can hear the shift. “Where are you?”
“Clinic parking lot. I’m going home to see if she made it there.”
“Stay put. I’ll send a couple guys to meet you. We’ll start looking.”
I feel the panic starting to rise. I call Lucy again. Voicemail. I text the group chat with the old ladies.
Me: Has anyone heard from Lucy? She left the clinic twenty minutes ago. Can’t reach her.
The replies come fast.
Scarlett: No. I texted her ten minutes ago. No answer.
Tessa: I’m at the clubhouse. I’ll start calling people.
Hadley: I’m on my way to Perdition.
I pace the parking lot. My chest feels tight. I can’t breathe right. Pres pulls up with Rook and Steele. They get out fast. Pres puts a hand on my shoulder. “Talk to me,” he says.
I tell him everything. The text. The missed calls. The truck still at the clinic. He nods and starts making calls. Rook and Steele fan out to check the area around the clinic. I can’t stand still. I get back in my bike and drive the route she would have takenhome. I drive slow and look in every parking lot. Every side street. There’s no sign of her.
I call her again. Voicemail. I slam my hand on the handle bars. “Come on, Lucy. Pick up the damn phone, baby.”
The panic is real now. I drive back to the clubhouse. The lot is filling up. Brothers are showing up. Word is spreading. Pres is already in the meeting room when I walk in. He’s on the phone. He hangs up when he sees me. “We’ve got eyes on the roads,” he says. “Prospects are checking every route between the clinic and your place. We’ll find her.”
I sit down hard in one of the chairs. My hands are shaking. I clench them into fists. “This isn’t like her. She would have texted me. She always texts me.”
Pres nods. “I know. We’ll handle it.”
