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A smile plays across my lips at the sound of Bianka’s girly squeal. I fucking love that girl. And I love that she’s making the most of tonight–even if we can’t do this properly. I know I owe Lucca and Ellie big time for helping us pull this off.
In all honesty, I can’t recall a time in my life when I’ve been more content. Where before I had been intensely jealous that both my brothers had found such happiness, now I just feel overwhelmingly grateful. They deserve it–and god, but I hope I deserve it too.
I don’t really see how anyone could deserve a girl as amazing as Bianka, but I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. I casually walk up and down the hallway as I wait for the girls to make their exchange, linking my hands behind my back and listening to the gentle click of my fine Italian-leather dress shoes against the marble floor.
Replaying the image of Bianka descending the grand staircase while I pace, I swallow hard. My stomach does another round of somersaults just from the memory of her breathtaking entrance. If she isn’t the model of Aphrodite, I don’t know what is, but I could barely stop myself from marching up to her and demanding a dance.
It frustrates me knowing that I’ll have to wait another half hour to dance with her again, and I glance down at my watch instinctually as I think about the time.
Then I hear the distinct sound of glass shattering, followed by a muffled scream. My heart stops as I realize it’s coming from the girl’s bathroom.
I’m at the door in an instant, shoving at it, but it won’t budge. “Shit,” I curse aloud, pounding on the wood.What if one of the girls fell and got injured?
“Bianka? Ellie?” I call and listen for any response.
Only muted scuffling sounds.Double shit.
Stepping back, I kick the door forcefully once, twice, three times. It barely budges. Snarling with frustration, I take a running start, slamming my body against the door, and this time, I’m rewarded with the sharp crack of breaking wood.
I give it another try, barreling toward the door. Finally, it gives, thick splinters cascading across the floor as I scramble across the threshold. Horror grips me at the sight of the shattered stained-glass window beckoning in the frigid night air.
Fabric from one of the girls’ green sequined dresses hangs from a sharp shard protruding from the windowsill.
“Fuck!” I growl, as the full gravity of the situation hits me.
Racing across the bathroom, I look out into the dark and spot both girls being dragged from the dance hall by suited and masked men disguised as servers in formal black wear and plain black masks.
I don’t hesitate, jumping through the window after them. With no clue who these fucking assholes are, I can’t let the girls out of my sight. I race across the slick, snow-covered lawn, trying not to draw attention to myself and still keep my eyes on their destination.
A nondescript black van waits with its door open, parked against the curb of the busy Chicago street. Knots twist in my stomach as the girls struggle in the arms of their impressively built captors. Meaty hands keep their screams muted, and the men shove them unceremoniously into the van.
I don’t have time to panic. I don’t even have time to think. As the van door slams shut behind the beefy kidnappers and the tires squeal against the pavement, I jump in front of the first car that crosses my path.
A horn blares as the driver slams on his brakes, skidding to a stop in front of me, and my palms slap against the hood of the Ford Focus as I brace myself to avoid getting hit.
The man pops open his car door and leans out to bellow at me, his face purple with rage. “The fuck!” he hollers, seeming to have half a mind to fight me in the street.
I grip the door handle and yank, pulling the man from his car in the same motion as he tumbles to the ground in utter surprise.
“I’m really sorry, man. But I need your car,” I explain, stepping over him and throwing the car into gear without even shutting the door.
Thankfully, the guy wasn’t wearing a seat belt. Otherwise, I might have had to get much more forceful. Instead, I roll past him with ease. I slam the door and glance in the rearview mirror to see that he gets out of the street in time to avoid being run over.
Then all my attention is on the black van rounding the corner. I race after it, pushing the economy car to its limits as I follow the van through the city and onto the highway. As soon as we’re clear of the worst traffic that I have to keep both hands on the wheel to swerve around, I call Lucca.
“The heck is taking so long? One of the girls fall in?” he teases, rather than answering the phone like a normal person.
“They got fucking kidnapped,” I rasp, rushing to explain what happened. “Some assholes broke through the window of the girls’ bathroom and just fucking took them. I’ve been trying to chase them down because I have no clue where they might be heading. We’re on the highway now, but I won’t let them out of my sight.”
“You left me behind?” Lucca growls incredulously. “I should be there with you.”
“Fuck that. There wasn’t time.”
“How many of these guys were there?”
“I don’t know. At least four big guys, plus a getaway driver,” I replay, cranking the steering wheel to swerve around a slow-moving car.
“And you’re going to just take them all on by yourself? You’re a fucking idiot. Tell me where you are. I’ll be right behind you.”
