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I took off in that direction at a dead run.
And there it was.
With deep indentations next to it.
“Fuck!” I yelled, slamming both my fists into the hood of her car, leaving dents I would have to get pulled out if I got her back.
When I got her back.
I had to get her back.
Junior.
I needed Junior.
I was running as I called.
And called.
And called.
Nothing.
“Goddamnit,” I hissed to myself as I peeled out of the area, heading in the direction of his warehouse.
As I parked, I understood why he hadn’t heard the car. The music was thumping even from several floors below.
I busted in, taking the stairs at a dead run.
His door, that I knew to be reinforced, was locked, so I raised my arms and slammed them both into it over and over and over until, finally, the music cut.
Not a moment later, the door flew open.
“The fuck…” he started.
“He got her. He took her,” I said, rushing inside, my thoughts all ramming together into my head, creating a chaotic accident scene that blocked the path of any rational thoughts.
“Okay,” Junior said, voice too calm. “Who took her? What do you know?”
“Bill or Bob or something like that. Mid-fifties. Brown hair with some silver. Brown eyes. Big. Russ said big. Her car is parked in the back of Deja Brew.”
“Shale hadn’t seen her?” he asked.
“Who?”
“Shale. The owner. With the green hair.”
“No. There were marks next to her car. She didn’t make it out of the lot. Deep marks. He probably had the rig.”
“Rig?” Junior asked, trying to get me to focus.
“Russ said he was one of her dad’s old friends from the road.”
“Bill? Bob?” he asked, seeming to talk to himself as he turned and strode back toward his desk, pulling open his file folder and flipping through pages. “Ben? Could it have been Ben?” he asked.
“Russ wasn’t sure.”
“Ben,” he said to himself as he flipped. “There. Ben. Ben Howard,” he said, turning to hold a picture out to me. It was grainy and black and white.
“I didn’t see him,” I said, shaking my head, but taking a picture of it and shooting it off to Russ. “What do you know about him?”
“He was a trucker. Almost no online presence. Wasn’t friends with Syl. No messages. I just took down what I came across, but I didn’t think much of it. He lived in South Carolina. But…”
“But he has a long-haul sleeper rig,” I filled in. “He can live anywhere.”
Anywhere. Watching her. Following her.
That motherfucker.
“I’ll find a color,” Junior said, dropping down at his computer, getting to work, likely hacking into the DMV.
“Come the fuck on,” I growled at my phone. Then there was a ding. From Russ.
Yeah, that was him. Is Syl okay?
She better be.
She’d better fucking be.
I refused to accept any other reality.
“It’s him,” I told Junior.
“Gray. The cab is gray. Just a couple years old,” he added, still tapping away.
“What are you doing?”
“Traffic cameras,” he said. “Call your people,” he demanded.
Right.
The club.
I’d been so used to handling my own problems for so long that it was easy at times to forget that I had an entire group of men behind me. And the girls too.
“What’s up?” Valen answered.
“He got her,” I said, hearing the desperate edge to my voice.
“When?” Valen asked. “Who?” he added.
“Maybe an hour? I don’t know. His name is Ben. Mid-fifties. Big and tall. Dark hair with some silver. Brown eyes. Driving an eighteen-wheeler. But the sleeper kind. That part is gray. Junior is working on it. But if we can get eyes…”
“I’m on it,” he said, hanging up, so he could start calling everyone else, get the chain going.
He would tell Lou. Lou would start telling the girls. Who would tell the aunts and moms.
Valen would tell Brooks and Fallon, who would then spread it out to the current and retired members.
Within a few minutes, there could be fifty-plus eyes looking for the truck, for the fuck who took my girl.
I wanted to get out there. To drive around.
But I knew it would be useless. I would be spinning my wheels. Literally. Not helping Sylvie.
My best bet was to wait for Junior to have a lead, a direction to send me in.
He worked.
I paced.
And all I could seem to think was… I couldn’t fail another woman in my life. I’d saved my mom. But too late.
I couldn’t be too late for Sylvie.
I had to get to her.
I had to prevent anything terrible from having, anything that might hang with her for years, that might sneak up on her in weak moments, making her think that self-conclusion was the only way out from the pain.
“This fucking area,” Junior growled, not giving me a fuck lot of confidence that he was going to get much.
I was wound so tight that I damn near jumped out of my skin when my phone rang in my hand.
