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After tugging on my shirt, I lifted the toy bag, then hurried up the stairs. When I stepped into my office, Dalton turned and flashed me a crooked grin. I knew the bastard had been watching me and Julianna, but I didn’t care. Only trusted members of the club could man the security monitors. Dalton was a good man, and among the few at the top of my list.
“I assume it’s safe to say Julianna found her place again.” He chuckled.
“And then some.” I nodded.
“Excellent.” He grinned, then turned his focus back on the security feeds.
“Any sign of Elliott?”
“Not that I’ve seen…yet.”
The ominous tone of the tattooed Dom’s voice only reinforced my fears. After setting the toy bag beside my desk, I strode across the room and studied the images outside the club. After killing the prick who’d nearly sent me to an early grave, I installed numerous lights in the parking lot. Though the back of the building was lit up like a Vegas casino, shadows cast by the parked cars afforded too many worrisome hiding places for desperate junkies willing to rob for their next fix, or disgruntled former club members seeking vengeance.
“He’s out there…somewhere. I can feel him.”
“Same.” Dalton grimly nodded.
“Why is my girl a magnet for every crazy fucker on the planet?” I grumbled as I stormed across the room.
Opening the safe behind my desk, I retrieved the holster containing my Glock G40. Sending up a silent prayer I wouldn’t have to fire the fucking thing, I fastened the clip to the waistband of my jeans, then gathered up Julianna’s clothes.
“You heading out, boss?” Dalton asked, glancing over his shoulder.
“After Julianna gets dressed, yeah.”
Face lined with concern, Dalton tapped the microphone of his headset, and announced, “Places, everyone. You can come and get the keys to the limo now, baby bear. Elvis is getting ready to leave the building.”
“What the hell is going on?” I asked, totally confused.
“We’re getting you and Julianna out of here safely.”
“How? And who the fuck is baby bear?”
“Trevor.”
“Who’s Elvis?”
Dalton simply smirked and arched his brows.
“Don’t tell me, I’m Elvis.”
“You bet your blue suede shoes you are.” Dalton chuckled.
“Why can’t I be Jimi Hendrix or Prince?”
“Because they’re both dead.”
“So is Elvis.”
“True, but he’ll always be the king. Besides, we needed a royal name to go along with the royally kick ass plan that’s in place.”
“Fine…whatever,” I snapped. Being dubbed Elvis was irritating. But I was livid my friends had to concoct a plan to keep me and Julianna safe while leaving my own fucking club. “So, what’s this royal plan? And who came up with it?”
“Ian, James, and Quinn are the masterminds. The only way you and Julianna can be seen leaving the club is via satellite. Since I doubt Elliott can even spell the word satellite, let alone build one, you two will be virtually invisible,” Dalton drawled as someone knocked on the door.
“Come in,” I growled, growing exponentially more frustrated by the second.
Trevor breathlessly rushed in and extended his hand. “May I please have your car keys, Master Mika? My job is to bring your limo to the back door.”
