Page 21 of Cash's Treasure

My heart is in my throat as I rush back into the bar and head straight to the office where the surveillance equipment is. No one stops me as I check the security footage from this afternoon until I find what I am looking for. I watch as my beautiful girl waves at me before turning to head inside as I pull away. She’s almost to the door when two figures jump from a car and grab her, tossing her into the back seat.

“They’re dead,” I growl, clenching my jaw. “All of them are dead!”

Someone gasps behind me, and I notice for the first time that the blue-haired girl followed me into the office, but I don’t pay any mind to her. I need to get my girl as soon as possible and wipe those sons of bitches from the face of the earth.

My phone is on my ear the second I am out of the loud bar.

“Cash, is that you?” answers a tired voice.

“Yes, it’s me. I need a favor,” I say to our police connection. “I need you to run a plate for me and tell me who it’s registered to.”

“Do I want to know why?”

“No,” I say, before reciting the license plate number of the car I memorized from the surveillance footage.

“Okay, hold on a second.” I tap my foot impatiently on the ground as the man runs the plates. “Found it. It’s registered to a Margret Weaver.”

“Thank you.” I hang up, then quickly text Freddy to track the woman through her credit card. He asks me to give him half an hour, and as much as I want to rage about that being too much time, I can’t exactly go around Austin looking for Kayla without any leads.

As I wait for Fred to get me what I need, I receive a call from Priest. I immediately figure the president got a call from our police connection. The cop is on the club’s payroll, so he reports everything to Priest, including any personal favors he does for club members.

“What is going on?” Priests gets straight to the point. I’ve always liked that about the guy.

“Someone stole something that belongs to me. I’m going to get it back.”

“Where do you need us?”

I run my fingers through my hair in frustration. “Priest—”

“We are brothers, remember? We ride together. If one of us is in trouble, then we all are.”

Right. I could handle this on my own, but that’s not what the club is about. Besides, I’ll need them in case my worry for Kayla supersedes my need for vengeance. “I’m still working on it,” I tell Priest. “I’ll text you the address when I get it.”

I hang up to keep the line open for Freddy, pacing around the parking lot as I wait for the man to reach out. Fuck, I never should have let her come to work today. I should have killed those two assholes when I had the chance, or at least left a permanent enough mark to make sure they never lay their hands on what’s mine ever again.

If I find a fucking scratch on her, there is no telling what I will do to them.

My phone pings sooner than the half hour Freddy told me to wait, and I read the address of some seedy motel downtown. I quickly wire payment to him before forwarding the address to Priest.

All I see is red as I tear down the road, no doubt breaking several traffic laws, but I will care about that later. When I have Kayla in my arms, safe and sound, I will think about all the rules I broke to get her back.

It takes me twenty frustrating minutes to get there, and a few minutes more for my brothers to arrive as well.

I nod at them, and without a word, stalk into the motel and head straight to the front desk. A bored-looking receptionist looks up, her eyes flashing with fear when they connect with the club patches on our jackets.

“Margret Weaver. I need her room number and don’t give me the bullshit line about not disclosing personal information.”

The woman, who seems to be in her mid to late forties, tries to put up a brave front, and any other time under different circumstances, I would have bribed her to get access to the room, but I am not feeling especially generous to anyone standing in the way of getting my woman back.

“Look, lady,” Priests calls out from behind me. “Don’t waste our time. There are eleven of us here. We are going to kick down every door in this motel until we find the one we are looking for.”

“Fine. Jesus,” the woman snarks, but her voice is shaky, selling out her nerves. “Room 5A.”

The second the words are past her lips, I am running toward the stairs, my boots hitting the floor hard as I rush to the door, but as much as I want to just kick it down, I don’t want to risk hurting Kayla in case she’s close to it.

“Let me,” a familiar voice calls from behind me, and I turn around to see my twin brother approach the door. Despite us being twins, he is the complete opposite of me with the punk look he wears like his second skin. Our personalities couldn’t be more different too. Where I am the more silent type, Riot is the life of the party. We haven’t been especially close since I was released from prison, but when it comes down to it, I know I can always count on him.

I watch as he takes something from his pocket and slips it through the keyhole, and in seconds, he has the door unlocked. I push open the door and walk in to find three sets of eyes blinking at us, startled, from the bed. All three of them have scratches on their faces, almost as if they fought with a feral cat. My eyes settle on the tall sharp-eyed woman, and I hate her on the sight.

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