Page 60 of Cries of Cassie

One step back and she scoots between her biological son and me. It's weak, but I have to turn away from Parker when his eyes fill with tears and his shoulders crumple in Mom's presence.

"Remember what I said about losing yourself if this happened?" I hear her murmur, but the ringing of Maddox's cell phone steals my attention.

"You better have something for me," Maddox barks into the device. Almost immediately, his face pales and rapidly takes a one-eighty into a furious blush. "Whatever you fucking do, don't let him take her anywhere else. I don't give a shit if you're just a rat. You'll all die if you don't look out for my woman!"

Parker, Ripley, and I huddle around Maddox with our brothers at our backs. The whitening of Mads' knuckles around his phone forces me to step forward before he breaks it.

"Where is she?" I ask, gripping his wrist. I tug on him to get him to breathe. His face is literally turning purple with rage. "SHADE!"

That gets him—he hates when we call him that. He's her Maddy, our Mads, never Shade.

"Right in the heart of Victor's territory. The dungeon beneath his clubhouse."

The shouts of our men and gasps from the women do nothing to drown out my thoughts. Cassie's being kept in the toughest place for us to reach. Victor will have all his men in that building or surrounding it. There will be no way to sneak in and get her out without being shot on sight.

Parker, surprisingly, has the first helpful thought of the night. "We need the Feds. Someone call Connor and tell him we're on our way."

"To where?" I ask, pulling my phone out ready to do what my partner says.

He clenches his jaw and smirks an evil smile that just intrigues me. Whatever his plan is, we're about to cause some problems. But at least we'll start with the legal route. "To his office, of course. He won't have a choice but to act if the whole precinct hears our woman was kidnapped."

Parker leads the line of vengeful men out the door of our clubhouse and toward the bikes, swiping up a long knife and two Beretta 92FS' on his way. I stop at the long table where the prospects and other members have been prepping our weapons for Cassie.

With a Beretta and a Glock in my possession, I rush to my bike, the ringing phone call immediately connecting to the speakers in my helmet.

"Got another one?" Connor's gruff voice sounds over the rev of our engines.

No chance would I have been able to hear him if we had the whole club, but like we planned, protecting our home is important too, so half of our men hang back as we speed toward downtown Detroit.

Clearing my throat, I weave to the front of our pack. "No. He has something of ours this time. Be ready, we're headed to you."

"Koa—"

I cut the call and tune into the plan the other three are forming. Everything I hear sounds like a good idea in theory, but I can't stop thinking about what Cassie's going through right now.

If she's in that dungeon⁠—

"Koa, breathe," Maddox calls through the speakers, giving me no choice but to listen so we can stay on track. Cassie. Focus on saving her, not what we'll find when we do. "Good boy."

A weak chuckle slips free even as I despise the warm feeling that rushes through me in response to his praise. I shouldn't feel fucking warm right now.

"What if—" I croak, swallowing. "What if Connor can't do anything?"

"Then we risk it all," Maddox states, sounding as confident as he does terrified.

At the same time, the four of us declare, "For Cassie."

We're coming, baby. No matter what it takes, we'll get you home.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Cassie

It becomes very apparent pretty quickly after he leaves that I'm fucked. After living with the Shadows for the past month, I know the sounds of a clubhouse.

Thumping music through the walls pulls on my queasy stomach, and every time a dumbass shouts or a woman squeals, my forehead pounds. Everything hurts. The saliva pooling in my jaw each time my stomach rolls sickens me.

Blood trickles down to my jawline every time I flinch or frown. I'm no medic, but I'm pretty damn sure I have a gnarly gash up there. Sometimes the ceiling drips right into the wound, disgusting me and hurting me at the same time. There's no doubt it will get infected. Without treatment soon, I have no clue what will happen.