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“No, I don’t know. Explain it to me,” Slash demanded, voice rough.
“Like in movies. The male gaze always focuses on the parts of a woman that we sexualize. The breasts, the ass, hips, thighs, pussy. That is where the lens goes because it is usually a man filming and directing. But a woman’s gaze goes to things that aren’t inherently sexual. Like a man’s hands or his eyes.”
“To the point, Sway. A woman is kidnapped right now,” Slash grumbled.
“This image of Billie is naked. Her legs are even open. But the focus isn’t on that. Her hair is over her shoulder, half-covering one of her breasts. And your gaze almost goes to her hands on her knees instead of between her thighs just because of how they are drawn. It’s soft. I think a woman drew this.”
“Well, Billie teaches tantric sex workshops, right?” Layna said. “There would be couples there. Maybe one of the couples is sick and—“
“Reggie.” The name burst out of me. I wasn’t even cognizant of remembering it in my head before it was coming out between my lips.
“What?” Slash asked.
“Reggie. I was with Billie at one of her workshops. There was this fucking asshole there named Reggie. He kept giving her a hard time,” I explained.
And when he wasn’t giving her a hard time, his eyes were pinned to her, watching her every movement. Even when he was supposed to be focusing on his wife, when they were doing that rocking and breathing exercise, his gaze kept slipping to Billie.
“I don’t remember the wife’s name. But she is this slight thing with eyes that dart away if you look at her.”
“Sounds like the kind of woman who might be okay with her man abducting and abusing another woman,” Layna said, venom spitting from each word.
“I don’t know more than that. Just Reggie. He’s got these absent green eyes. Tall and skinny. Almost has a nerdy look.”
“Hey, that’s a lot,” Layna said. “I will call Vi, see if she found any files and can cross-reference the name Reggie.”
With that, we waited, still poring over the files.
“Hey, we got something,” Layna said, coming back, and putting her phone on speaker. “It’s Chris,” she explained.
“Vi sent me over the name for Reggie and Lizzie Laurent. I did a quick search for them and I think it might actually be a good lead. I have an address to—“
“Give it to me,” I growled, hopping up and ripping at my brace with impatient fingers.
“We need to call Fallon,” Slash insisted as Chris prattled off the address that was on the edge of Navesink Bank.
“Call Fallon. I’m not wasting another second,” I growled. “That bastard explicitly talked about raping her,” I snapped, rushing through the clubhouse, outside, and onto my bike.
I didn’t think about my back.
I didn’t even bother with my damn helmet.
I was pulling out the gates when I heard other bikes rumble to life to follow.
It had to be right. We had to be right. It was the only way. We had to get her back. Before anything happened to her.
At least I hoped to fuck before anything happened to her.
She hadn’t been gone that long.
That was the only reassurance I had. Brooks was sure he was only out for five minutes tops. Which gave them a very narrow head start.
Sure, it took us a few to put the information together, to get a name and address. But not that long. And Billie was smart. She was trained. She would do whatever she could to talk them down or fight if she could.
She would buy herself some time.
She would know we were looking for her, would be coming for her.
And if I found out that fucker touched one goddamn hair on her head, I was going to revel in hearing him beg for his life, for mercy. Of which I would have exactly fucking none. Even if all he managed to do was hit her over the head and get her back to his place. Even then.
No. Fucking. Mercy.
A block or so away from the house, I pulled the bike to a stop and hopped off, not wanting them to know we were coming, to get desperate, to possibly try to kill Billie.
I leaned down to get my gun, only letting out about seven nasty curses at the pain that shot up my spine and down my leg at the sudden motion.
That pain was nothing to the pain that damn near brought me to my knees as I ran through the neighbor’s backyard, glad when they didn’t have an observant dog to alert anyone to my presence.
I could hear the others behind me, but far enough back that if I saw something going on in that house, I had to rush in without them.
It was an average, every day ranch with white siding and some pretty hideous green shutters. The landscaping was simple, but meticulously manicured. I got the anal vibe from Reggie, so it was no surprise that not a single weed was permitted to grow up in the flowerbeds or the cracks in the front path.
