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No wonder she preferred to do this shit alone.
She’d been sold out by our government.
By her bosses.
She’d learned that the only person she could trust was herself.
I needed to prove her wrong.
I was here now. She had me. I’d slit my throat before I ever betrayed her how she’d been betrayed in the past.
We had issues; she was somehow involved in my da’s hit—though I had a feeling she was the reason Keegan had a GSW—and she’d decided to leave when we could have joined forces, but none of that mattered now.
Perfect for the individual who likes non-consensual interactions with a slave who will respond aggressively.
Just remembering her listing made me want to kill someone.
No, nothing mattered but getting her back home.
Safe. Sound. No longer alone. No longer dealing with her past on her own.
My cell rang, the vibration hitting me differently because of how my face was connected with the desk, and I blindly picked it up. Shoving it beneath the surface, I stared at the caller ID through the glass and frowned.
Lucas Frasier.
I frowned and hit the connect button. "Lucas?"
"They’re fucking gone, Conor. They’re gone."
Surprise at his tone had me jerking upright, querying, "Who’s gone?"
"Aidan and Savannah. Their car’s a fucking wreck. We’re at the Clinton Avenue and Union Street intersection in West Orange. It’s here, but they aren’t."
My brain took too many seconds to compute what the hell was going on, but as his words registered, I shoved against the desk and used the momentum to wheel over to the other where my Five Points’ work was open on three different desktops.
"Kidnapped?"
"That has to be what happened. The doors are wide open—"
"Give me a moment," I interrupted, hacking into the satellite Star had given me access to before she left and using it to find static images of him standing beside a SUV that was veered to the side, skewed against the traffic lights.
There was no traffic around, however; probably because it was close to ten at night on a Sunday.
"T-boned?" I demanded as I zoomed in.
"Yeah."
That was when the part of my brain that was dedicated to family switched off.
I couldn’t think about my brother and sister-in-law, about what they were enduring, where they were. I just had to get them out of wherevertherewas. And had to figure out the who.
"Signs of blood?" I rapped out.
"No. The airbags were deployed though."
"The windshield held firm?"
"Of course, it’s bulletproof. It’s an armored vehicle, Conor. Most of the damage is purely external. I don’t understand how the fuck they got them out of there unless—"
