Her apartment is twenty-five minutes away according to GPS. We’ll get there in ten.
“What are you packing?” Joe asks. We step into the room we affectionately call the armory, where our weapons are securely and discreetly stored.
“Ruger and a blade. You?”
The Ruger EC9 functions as one of the best compact concealed pistols money can buy, small and sleek but lethal.
“EC9. Which blade?”
“MK3.” I take it from its sheath and give it a quick look-over. “Are there any others?” The Ontario MK3’s a standard Navy SEAL weapon, six inches of hardened steel perfection finished with a solid, ergonomic handle that doesn’t slip. It hides as easily as a shadow but cuts hard and deep and fast.
I won’t be throwing my blade like Violet.
Goddammit, I never should’ve let her stay at her own place.
I should’ve insisted. I should’ve reasoned better with her. Instead, I let her have her way, and now what?
I call security again but get nothing.
“Swear to God,” I mutter under my breath. “If they don’t have a good reason not to pick up this phone…”
I don’t finish the sentence. Joe blanches and looks out the window as I drive so damn fast, rocks fly behind us, the ground whizzing past in a blur. I call Violet and Henri one at a time, over and over.
My phone buzzes with a text. I look quickly at the screen, but it isn’t any of the people I want to hear from.
Armand: Boss, I think I found something of importance.
I don’t respond. I don’t have time for his bullshit right now. I would’ve fired him if I hadn’t gotten distracted by Skylar’s abduction.
“Tomorrow, you fire Armand’s ass,” I tell Joe.
He freezes but doesn’t respond at first. I look over at him, and he seems to snap out of his stupor. “Armand?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, sir. Will do.”
I fill him in on everything, even why I’m here to check on her.
“Just so we’re clear, sir. She was texting you, you asked if she was okay, and she didn’t respond.”
“Correct.”
He seems to be mulling this over.
“Could she… have fallen asleep?”
I curse under my breath and push the gas pedal deeper. The roads whiz by us like they’re on speed.
“If she did,” I say with measured patience, “we’ll leave well enough alone.”
Again, he doesn’t say anything but the silently raised eyebrows say it for him. He thinks I’ve lost my fucking mind.
He can think that, as long as he does what I tell him.
We’re two minutes out when my phone buzzes again. I growl, glancing at the screen to see another text from Armand.
Armand: It’s important, I think you should know
Jesus.
“Text Armand, tell him I’m driving, and ask him what the hell is going on that’s so urgent.”
Joe scowls and mutters a “yessir,” already texting. No response at first. I pull up to Violet’s house and park at the corner.
“You see anything?”
“No. You?”
I shake my head.
“But you don’t know if it’s one person or several we’re looking for, what they look like…” his voice trails off.
“Correct.”
A woman laughs on the other side of an open window, and a few teens sit on the stoop licking ice cream cones. A dog barks in the distance, and someone’s lighting off fireworks a few blocks away. It looks just like any typical late summer night.
I walk up to her front door when the dumbass we saw earlier comes out. He’s unsteady on his feet. Drunk.
“Ahh, Violet’s lover,” he says. Joe looks at me sharply.
“I’m her boss.” She’d kill me for that, but she’d kill me faster for pretending to be her man. I’m not playing games right now.
“Right, like that matters,” the asshole says with a snicker. “Why are you back?”
“I need to get into her apartment.” There’s no way on God’s green earth he’s going to make this easy on me. He’ll need to be persuaded.
“And?”
“And I need you to let me upstairs.”
He smirks at me and leans against the railing. “Can’t do that without the pretty lady’s say so. How do I know you didn’t get into a fight and you’re using me to get to her?”
Joe glances at me, ready to spring into action. I shake my head at him.
I want him all to myself.
Every second that passes places her in greater danger than before. The asshole that took those women moves fast, and I’m not fucking around.
In two seconds, I’ve got him by the collar, and I yank him inside the entryway where no one can see us. My MK3’s pushed up to his neck, a bead of blood coloring the blade.
“Hey, man!” he says, panicking like a girl. “Hey!”
“Let me in and do it now. You do not call the cops unless you want a building inspector here by Monday. I’ve got connections in places you really, really don’t want to go and will have this place condemned before you can wipe your ass.”