Page 107 of Savage

Damien huffs and says, “It’s more than a tadpole, now.”

Vanessa starts to speak, then looks at me with a wary expression. She shakes her head, but she ends up not saying anything at all.

Good.

For all that Stef seemed to like her, it seemed that Vanessa was the reason she got punished, too, and that’s unacceptable.

“Is that all?” I ask abruptly. I haven’t heard from Stef in at least a few hours, and that’s grating on my nerves. Usually, she calls often, just to hear my voice, and I like that she’s so dependent on me for her happiness. Not today, though, and it has me remembering the sight of her in the bathroom, surrounded by blood…

Damien stares at me, like he’s trying to assess something. I meet his gaze, unflinching, and after a few seconds Damien says, “That’s all, thank you. We’ll be back soon.”

“In a month,” I reiterate, but I know he’ll be back sooner—for the ultrasound images, if nothing else.

When they’re finally gone, I head back to my office and pull up the condo’s camera feed. I check the living room first, but she isn’t there. I tab over to the kitchen, the bedroom, even the spare bedroom, and… nothing.

I go back to the living room, wondering if I’d missed seeing her, and now that I’m paying more attention, I realize something is wrong. There’s a large red stain on the couch. The camera angle means it’s in the corner of the frame, which is why I missed it the first time.

My throat closes up, and I stare at that stain. The splatter doesn’t look like blood… right?

I rewind the feed, and I sigh in relief when I see Stef standing, alive, and squirting ketchup over the couch.

I don’t know how to describe the intense emotion that washes over me next when I realize she’s wearing a collar, and there’s a man holding the leash.

Who the fuck is he? What the fuck is he doing in my condo, what is he doing with Stef?

I watch as the two of them walk away, carrying one of my suitcases.

Fuck.

I close the video feed and call Chase.

“I have a problem,” I say as soon as he picks up. “Call Drake and tell him to meet me at my condo immediately.”

“Uh, I’m in a meeting—”

“I don’t fucking care,” I growl, ending the call. I grab my wallet and coat, and I stand up just as the nurse comes in to tell me the next patient is ready. “Reschedule her,” I say. “I have a… family emergency.”

Fuck. I rush outside and hail a cab, snapping at the cab driver to hurry the fuck up. My mind is in disarray during the entire commute. I stop in front of the condo door and see that the lock has essentially been destroyed.

I’m going to sue the building for this shoddy quality. I’m going to destroy everybody who even allowed this to happen.

I go inside, but I don’t know what I expect to see. The ketchup on my couch—not blood, thankfully not fucking blood—the destroyed TV, the missing electronics. There’s a distinct stench of human urine in my bedroom, and the drawers have all been pulled open.

And of course, Stef is nowhere to be seen.

Chase and Drake show up ten minutes later, when I’m back in the living room, staring at the couch once more.

“When I said you needed more color in here, this isn’t what I meant,” Drake says, but there’s no humor in his voice. “Jesus. What the fuck happened here, Hunter?”

“Somebody broke in,” I snap at him. “And he took Stef.”

Chase looks around the room. “And stole a bunch of shit, it looks like. You have any security in here?”

“Yes.” I pull up the video feed and hand my phone to them.

Chase grimaces. “Fuck. Is he holding a gun?” He scrolls through the feed, his expression getting more worried. “You might need to call the cops, Hunter.”

“And tell them what? My sex slave got kidnapped?” I half-shout.

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