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I nod; I agree. We nearly lost him once. Harper and their baby need him. Sterling Ranch needs him.

Standing still and waiting is killing me. If I let my brain stop, all the scenarios of what could be happening to Gianna flood my mind. And it makes me sick to my fucking stomach.

“We need enough weaponry to take down the whole city if we have to,” I tell him, rubbing my hand over my chest.

That deep-rooted ache isn’t going away. I know it won’t. Not until I get my wife back.

We’ve got to load up the chopper. A two-hour journey. And we have to pray that Enzo can track her movements after they land. They got a head start, and we can’t fuckin’ lose them.

She needs to hold on long enough for us to get there.

“Romeo asked for locations to start checking; Mikhail’s crew is already in the air, landing in forty minutes,” Dom tells me.

My eyes snap to his. “Then give him everything he needs to know. LA is going to war, Dom.”

CHAPTER NINETY-THREE

Gianna

“Gianna,” a deep male voice calls. I recognize it, but can’t put a face to the name.

“Wake up.”

With a groan, I tip my head to the side and open my eyes. Everything is hazy; the silver bars in front of me aren’t, though. Pushing myself to sit up, I rub my hand over my face, ignoring the pounding in my head as I take stock of where I am.

No natural light. White clinical walls.

“Gianna. Here,” the voice calls again; this time it’s louder.

Turning my head to my right, there’s a prison cell joined to mine, separated by bars. Tate’s hands grip them, blood trickling down his temple.

“How long have I been out for?” I ask him, rubbing the back of my head where the pain is.

“I woke up about ten minutes ago,” he says.

I nod. This is the most I’ve spoken to Tate, and it’s too bad this will probably be the last time.

“Have you seen anyone?” I ask.

“Nope. Pretty damn sure they tranquilized me.”

I wipe the sweat from my forehead. “Well, you cowboys are beasts.”

“I remember jumping out of the car when the explosion hit, then arms grabbing me. They had masks on. I was conscious enough until I heard the helicopter. Then nothing,” I tell him.

He runs a hand through his sweaty hair. “More than I remember. I saw the place blow, then that was it.”

Running my hand up the metal bar, I take a deep breath. I know exactly where I am. My father has a few of these locations dotted around LA. I’ve been imprisoned in most of them, although I’m pretty sure this one was dedicated to holding hostages.

“We’re in LA,” I tell him.

“How do you know that? Do you know where we are? How the fuck can we get out?”

My eyes fixate on the door in the far corner of the room. I remember as a teenager, I’d sit trembling in the cell, waiting and hoping it was my dad who walked through the door, not the guards again.

Because if it was him, it meant my punishment was over. If it was the guards, it meant I was about to take another beating until I’d learned my lesson. “Because I used to be punished in places like this, Tate,” I say quietly.

His eyes widen, and he scoots closer to the railings. “Who? Who used to do that to you?”