Page 132 of Until Joy

“This isn’t just against medical advice, this is against security protocols,” she called out as the doors slid shut.

“So is half the shit I did in the Navy.” I leaned against the elevator wall, conserving energy for what lay ahead. “Didn't stop me then.”

July's SUV sat in the far corner of the parking garage. Kayan helped me into the passenger seat, as July got into the driver’s seat, though I would have made it on my own. The blanket shifted as I settled in, and I had to adjust it to maintain what little dignity I had left.

Kayan got into the back, then July turned to me. “The compound?” July asked as she started the engine.

“Yeah. I need real clothes and weapons.”

The drive took twelve minutes that felt like twelve hours. Every red light, every slow-moving car in front of us was another minute that Glenda had with Joy. Another minute for things to go wrong.

July pulled through the gates of the Broken Eagles compound and parked near the main building. I could see my brothers' motorcycles lined up in neat rows, along with several trucks and SUVs. The whole club had mobilized.

Wes met us at the door, took one look at my makeshift toga, and shook his head.

“You look like shit.”

“Feel worse.” I followed him inside, noting the way conversations stopped as we passed. “Got any pants that'll fit?”

I expected someone to go up to their room to get a pair, but Wes pulled a pair of jeans from behind the bar and tossed them to me. I caught them one-handed, the other still holding my blanket in place.

“Tuck left his on the bar top last weekend, they should work.”

“Why—” I started. “Oh never mind.”

I dropped the blanket and shrugged on the jeans, being careful to tuck myself in properly since I was going commando, and I was still woozy. I handed the gown and the blanket to Wes. “Here, put it behind the bar for the next poor asshole who might need it.”

He laughed, then followed me to the weapons locker and watched as I pulled out my spare Sig Sauer. The familiar weight felt good in my hands. “What's the status on finding Joy?”

“Still nothing from the APB,” Z said. “But we've got leads to follow.”

“Then why are we standing around here talking? Where’s Jax?”

“His office.” Wes grabbed his cut from a chair. “That's where the real detective work's happening.”

The rest of the guys started moving toward their bikes, but Wes caught my arm.

“Graham.” His voice carried the authority of someone who'd led men in combat. “I need to know your head's on straight.”

“It is.”

“Because if you're still beating yourself up over Africa, you're no good to Joy right now.”

I met his gaze directly. “I'm not the same man who left that hospital room an hour ago. I've got my priorities straight.”

Wes studied my face for a long moment, then nodded. “Good. Because Joy's counting on us.”

“She's counting on me.” I headed for the door. “And I'm not going to let her down.”

Jax's security office was downtown. Z was leaning against a wall. He looked up as we walked in. “Nothing at Glenda's townhome. Place was clean as a whistle.”

“Too clean,” Harlan added. “Like she'd scrubbed it down before she grabbed Joy.”

“Nico and Cobi are treating it as a crime scene now,” Jax said without looking up from his computer terminal. “But I doubt they'll find anything useful.”

I spotted a small kitten in a carrier beside Jax’s chair.

“Where did you find the cat?”