Page 22 of Jaded Soul

I step inside the house and a cold, prickling sensation runs down my spine, making me hypervigilant. Everything in me is on high alert, assessing threats and looking for anything out of place.

My eyes dart around the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of Rowan or some evidence that she’s been here recently. I already know she’s gone, however. I can fuckin’ feel it in my bones. This house feels empty and soulless without her, just like me.

I quietly close the door and bend down, grabbing the knife I always keep in my boot. I make my way around the living room and through the kitchen, then down the hall, not sure what exactly I’m expecting to find.

All I know is everything feels off. It’s not just that Rowan isn’t here, it’s that she’s in trouble. I sense it somehow. I senseher.Calling for me. Waiting for me to save her.

“Fuck,” I curse when I open the door to the master bedroom. The bright afternoon sun spills over the carpet, highlighting thousands of little shards of glass.

My eyes follow the light right through the broken window next to Rowan's side of the bed. The side table has been knocked over, and the contents of the drawers are scattered everywhere. A broken lamp lies across the floor, and I can't stop the image of Rowan trying to defend herself against her attacker.

“Jesus fucking… what do I… where…?”

I stand like a complete idiot in the middle of the room. My mind is racing with a million thoughts, yet none of them are helpful at the moment. I tamp down the panic and fear, letting righteous anger rise to the surface. The protective, possessivestreak I have for Rowan courses through me like lava, helping me to focus on what’s important right now. Finding my woman and ending whoever stole her from me.

With shaking hands, I reach for my phone. I consider calling her, but I don’t know what kind of situation she’s in. Maybe her phone would ring and give her location away or bring attention to the fact that she has a phone.

Instead, I call Diesel. He’ll know what to do. Plus, I have a feeling he needs the distraction from whatever hell his own mind is putting him through.

“Jett, you comin’ back to the clubhouse with Rowan? Domino and Calista are here.”

“They took her,” I choke out, trying not to yell and tear my goddamn hair out.

“Rowan? Wait, who took her?”

“Hell’s Scoundrels. Probably her father. I don’t fucking know yet. I just… I just got home but she’s not… she’s gone and the window is broken and I feel it, Diesel. I feel it. She’s gone and she’s in danger.”

“Take a breath for me, buddy,” he says, his voice calm and serious. I hear a few muffled sounds from the other end of the phone, and then Diesel returns. “Come back to the clubhouse. I can track her phone.”

“Will it make noise?”

“No, it’ll give us her GPS coordinates. Or, at least it will let us know if she’s on the move.”

“Be there in a minute,” I grunt out before hanging up.

I’m sorry I wasn’t here, beautiful. That’s the second time I’ve let you down.

I shove the guilt and shame way down deep, needing to tap into external anger at the moment. That’s what’s going to fuel me to find my woman. I can’t beg for her forgiveness if she’s…

Nope, I can’t go there. I can’t even think about the possibility of not seeing her again. That’s not an option. No way in hell. I haven’t even told her I love her yet.

The ride to the clubhouse is a blur. I probably shouldn’t have been on the road in my state of mind, but Christ, who could blame me? My brothers are here to help and they are my lifeline right now. I’d do anything to get Rowan back.

Domino opens one of the side doors to the clubhouse, motioning for me to join him. Once inside, we head to a conference room in the back where Diesel has his laptop and phone out. He checks one screen, then the other before looking up at me.

“Got it,” is all he says. Domino and I rush to his side, looking at a dot on the computer screen.

“Where the hell is that?” I ask, squinting to get a better look.

“From what I can tell, it’s an abandoned gas station between here and Texarkana,” he replies.

“So, a meth den,” Domino grunts.

“I think it’s more likely a meeting place for transactions of the less-than-legal variety. As in, one of many stops on the route to get cocaine from one side of the state to the other.”

“Either way, it’s no place for Rowan,” I cut in, not giving one single fuck what kind of drugs are done or traded there. My woman’s life is at stake. Nothing else matters.

“Agreed,” Domino says.

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