“Would he guess you were helping us?” Atlas asked, scrubbing a hand through the stubble on his head.
“He’d know this would piss most of the rest of us off, so yeah, he’d have to guess we’d help you.” Lurch shook his head in exasperatio
n. “No man in his right mind would book it out of town because some idiot kidnapped his girlfriend. Why would he think this would fix anything?” He waved his freakishly long arms in exasperation. The man had to be at least six foot eight. He had all the height of a basketball player, paired with the physique of a noodle, and a seriously creepy, skull-like head. His nickname suited him.
The second and third locations were also empty. Zigzagging around the city felt like a waste of time. If Vander knew Lurch would help them, maybe he’d brought Ophelia somewhere more secluded.
By midnight, Luke was getting frantic. His phone didn’t ring no matter how hard he stared at it. What if Vander never called back? What if he just killed Ophelia and dumped her body somewhere?
Should he call the hospitals and see if she had turned up tonight?
God, he couldn’t even think about that. But he couldn’t not think about it either.
Nausea nagged at him. He kept feeling like he was going to puke. Tremors made his hands unsteady. Every time a house they searched was empty he lost more hope. Heroes on television never panicked like this, but how could he not, at the idea of Ophelia in the hands of an unhinged rival?
She was so small and vulnerable. He was supposed to keep her safe, not lead her into danger. He thought of her crumpled form in an empty house, broken, abandoned, dying. Waiting for him to save her. Waiting for help that would get there too late.
“Stop,” Atlas barked, pulling him out of his gruesome reverie.
“I can’t.”
“You’re going to pass out if you keep breathing like that. Focus on slowing yourself down. You can’t help her if you’re out cold.”
Luke gripped his phone, letting the case cut into his palm, focusing on the small pain and working on slowing his heart rate.
They just had to find her alive and okay. Then . . . then she could leave him.
Then he’d make her leave him.
If she was hurt, or dead, he’d never forgive himself.
Chapter 17
The cold of the metal pole behind her seeped through her shirt, chilling her to the bone. The zip ties digging into her wrists kept her arms stretched around the pole uncomfortably. She’d been there for what felt like hours. Her feet ached but she refused to sit down, to let the bastard get the upper hand.
Ophelia studied every detail of where he’d taken her. It was some kind of warehouse. A large open room with steel doors and no windows. It smelled like a musty attic, and was that blood on the ground? It was the kind of place where young, kidnapped girls turned up dead in crime movies. Dirty floor, steel pipes, ominous feel. Yeah. This had Criminal Minds written all over it.
But she refused to play damsel in distress. Instead of sinking to the floor in despair, she remained alert, collecting any information she could. Her captor was big and had mean, piggy eyes, but for all that he didn’t seem to be that bright. From what she could gather from his conversations with the other guy, they were car thieves.
His accomplice had come and gone, whispering updates out of earshot. The one who seemed to be the boss was called Vander—she’d heard that much. And he had some sort of vendetta that involved Luke.
So this was what playing with fire got her.
Vander paced in front of her, his heavy boots kicking up dirt. He hadn’t said a word to her, but by the angry muttering and clenched fists he seemed to be getting more on edge as time went on.
Unsure of what to say, she’d stayed quiet and simply observed. Until she knew more about him, and could predict his actions, she didn’t want to risk his wrath by getting chatty.
A small groan escaped her as she shifted her body, trying to take the strain off her shoulders. Her whole body ached, and the ground, as dirty as it was, became more and more inviting.
Vander stopped his anxious pacing and looked at her. Her groan must have caught his attention. Dread filled her belly, making it knot up.
“Uncomfortable?” he sneered.
Since the answer was obvious, she didn’t bother to respond.
“This is your boyfriend’s fault, you know.” Slowly, he walked toward her. “He’s going to pay for what his team did to Marcel.”
Marcel? Luke hadn’t even mentioned him. What the hell had happened and why did she get the feeling it was bad? Really bad.