Page 68 of Riding Bare

“I’ll be here.”

CHAPTER

FIFTY-THREE

DARE

Silence.

I’ve always loved having some downtime and quiet, probably something to do with being an only child and having been left alone a lot. I like my chill time. Except these days, I haven’t wanted it so much. I like being around my woman.

My wife.

I still can’t believe I’m married and that I like it. Because I do. I like everything about being with this woman.

But the house is quiet. And I don’t like that. Walking through the small house, I call out for them. Silence. Moving back to the front door, I check to see if her car is there—the car I bought her.

Gone.

What the fuck?

Reaching into my pocket, I take out my phone and find his number. It doesn’t even ring. Just goes straight to voicemail. Sliding my thumb across the screen, I find my woman’s number and touch the send icon… straight to voicemail.

What the fuck?

I find the tracking app, open it, and look at the location of her car and her phone. The car is in a parking garage in Vegas. The phone was last pinged down the street from that office. Zooming in on the building next to the parking garage, I frown at the name. I don’t recognize it. What the fuck would she be doing there?

My heart starts to pound against my chest.

Where is my fucking woman?

I stare at my phone, willing it to give me the answers I want. Then, as my gaze scans the map, I flick my attention to the time stamp. They’ve been there since one in the afternoon. Shifting my eyes to the digital clock on my phone, I frown. It’s after six.

I’ve spent all fucking day working on a way to get Samuil to the goddamn building so I can lock his ass inside and listen to him scream as he burns alive. That motherfucker thought he could fuck with my club but also with my woman.

He needs to die.

Him still breathing is too fucking stressful for words.

Standing here and panicking is not going to get anything done. I could get on my bike and ride out there, but that Russian asshole might be holding her hostage, baiting me with my own woman, then ambushing me.

I could call Rustik and ask questions, but I’m not sure what that would accomplish. I’m not sure I want the club completely involved in this, at least not yet. Pulling up my contact list, I decide there’s only one person who can help me. He can also get me whatever information I need.

“You’re calling me, but I haven’t got any fire calls recently,” he states.

“I need your help with something else,” I say.

There is a moment of silence before he clears his throat and lowers his voice. “What the fuck is up?”

“Lee, my woman is missing. I have been able to track her car to an office building parking garage in Vegas, but her phone is off, her brother’s phone is off, and they’re together. It’s been hours since the phones or the car have moved.”

He doesn’t say anything immediately. Instead, he snorts before I hear him make a noise in the back of his throat. “I have zero pull in Vegas city limits, you know that,” he says.

He’s right. I do know that. I have a contact in Vegas for the police and fire departments. Their palms are greased heavily, but I don’t know if I can trust them. Everyone in the city works for the Perov Bratva in some capacity, and I don’t need anyone tattling on me, at least not until I know what the fuck is going on.

“I know, but I need someone I can trust. I’m not ready to bring it to the club until I know what I’m dealing with. I’ve got some other irons in the fire, and I need to know exactly how hot this one is.”

“So, just surveillance?” he asks.