Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
But luck wasn’t on his side that night.
What had him most worried was the lack of communication. Sure, she’d been spitting mad at him, but if something had happened to keep her from her shift, she’d have called. Especially knowing they’d been counting on her to keep the club informed of any police chatter about their operation at Lobo’s factory.
Christ, had that only been an hour ago? It felt like a year at this point.
Used to high-stakes situations, Betty seemed to sense this was more than their typical SAR mission. She must have picked up on the waves of agitated energy flowing off him.
“We’ll find her, girl. We’ll find her.” They had to. There straight-up wasn’t any other option.
Tracker’s phone rang through the car’s speakers, jolting him and Betty. “Yeah?” he barked as a greeting.
“Got an address for you.” Curly wasted no time with pleasantries.
“What? How?” Tracker blew through a red light.
“Copper has a contact with another club in Arizona. They got a guy who’s a fucking computer genius. Don’t know how but all he needed was Jo’s phone number and he was able to hack in and read her texts. We got the address Andrew sent her.”
“Oh fuck. For real?”
“For real, brother. I’m sending it to you. Jinx is already on his way. He wasn’t far, and you know with the way that fucker drives, he may get there before you. The rest of us are leaving now. We’ll find her, Tracker.”
“Thank you,” he managed to choke out as thick emotion clogged his throat.
“Family.” It was the only response Curly needed to say. “Texting the address now.”
The line went dead, and two seconds later, a text chimed through. Tracker queued up the map and had a route. Just ten minutes out. Fuck yes.
“We got her, girl. Just hang tight.”
He took a turn way too fast, fishtailing all over the road. “Fuck!” When he got control of the vehicle, he floored the accelerator and shot toward the house. “Let’s make that ten minutes five,” he muttered.
Betty whined.
The road turned winding, forcing him to slow down or risk careening into a tree. Impatience was a living thing, pecking his skin down to the bone.
Finally, after long minutes of internal suffering, the GPS announced he had arrived. “Okay, girl,” he said as he shoved the SUV in park. “We’re here.”
Visibility sucked, but he squinted through the rain to take in his surroundings. “Holy shit, that’s her car.”
He reached into the glove box to retrieve the flashlight he always kept. In the back, he had an entire search and rescue kit, complete with a medical bag, ropes, helmets, and anything else he might need to keep him and a victim safe. But he didn’t go for it. It would waste too many precious seconds. All he needed was the flashlight.
And his gun.
Just. In. Case.
He jumped from the car, followed immediately by Betty. As he turned toward the house, the roar of motorcycle pipes had him glancing down the street. Sure enough, Jinx, the only motherfucker crazy enough to ride his motorcycle in a fucking hurricane, pulled up behind him.
“I got your six, brother,” he yelled as he ran toward Tracker.
Tracker nodded, then sprinted back toward the house. The front door was wide open with a giant puddle collecting in the foyer. “Sit,” he ordered Betty. The obedient girl immediately plopped her butt down.
He wouldn’t bring her in until he was sure the scene was secure. “Jo?” he screamed into the house.
Nothing but rain and wind greeted him.
“Andrew, you fucking piece of shit, you in here?”
Nothing.
“I’m going in,” Tracker told Jinx.
“I’ll cover you.”
Gun at the ready, he entered the dark house. His eyes instantly went to the shattered window and enormous tree branch in the middle of the room.
“Shit, get in here, Jinx.”
Tracker rushed to the branch, shining the flashlight along his path. What he saw had his stomach dropping and his knees trembling.
“Fuck, that’s a lot of blood,” Jinx murmured.
“She’s hurt.” Tracker could barely breathe. He doubled over, head hanging low. “Christ, Jinx, she’s hurt bad.” All he could think of was how stupid he’d been to ever question their relationship. To ever worry over their future. He should have locked her down while he had the chance. Should have told her he loved her. Should have sat on her, so she stayed with him instead of coming here to help that fucker like the damn hero she was.
But he hadn’t done any of that. And now Jo was hurt.
And missing.
“Hey!” Jinx yanked him back up and gave him a heavy pat—more of a slap—on his cheek. “Get your shit together, brother. This is what you do. Betty will find your girl. But snap the fuck out of it.”
Right. Right. He did this shit all the fucking time.
Nodding, he called out, “Betty!” The soggy dog bounded inside the house. He grabbed the bra from his back pocket and held it under Betty’s nose. “Find, Jo, girl. Find her!”