Page 28 of Festive

Rebel hesitates for a moment and then nods. “Okay, just get them home. Whatever it takes.”

Dipping my chin, I bring up the last number in my phone. It rings once before he picks up, and I don’t bother with a greeting. “Dom, can you stay there until I can get a couple of brothers there to pick up the girls?”

“Yeah. I’m not about to leave two little ones out here on their own. We can delay shipment a little longer.”

“Dom, you’re a fucking lifesaver.” I end the call and instantly swipe the cell to call Hurricane.

My pulse pounds in my ears as I hold the phone to my ear, every second stretching into eternity. Each unanswered ring feels like a punch to my gut, the tension twisting tighter with every sound. My palms are slick, and I shift restlessly, pacing even though it doesn’t help. I can’t stop the flood of worst-case scenarios flashing through my mind, one after another, suffocating me.

Come on, pick up, pick up.

The silence on the other end is maddening, and I clench my jaw so hard it aches, the anxiety building until it feels like it’s going to tear me apart.

Rebel stands next to me, biting her nails—a habit she only falls into when she’s really on edge. Her foot taps against the floor in an erratic rhythm, and I see her glance at the phone every few seconds like she’s willing it to stop ringing and give us the answer we need. Her breath comes in short, uneven bursts, her chest rising and falling rapidly, and I catch the faint tremble in her hands as she tries to steady herself.

She reaches out, gripping my arm, her fingers digging in as if she needs the contact to stay grounded. I feel the tension in her hold, mirroring the storm brewing inside me. We exchange a brief look—her eyes wide, full of the same fear gnawing at my insides.

When suddenly, Hurricane answers, his voice gravelly, like he has just woken up. “The fuck you callin’ me this early for, asshole?”

Letting out a heavy, relieved breath, I start talking, “Hurricane, I need an urgent favor, and I meanright… fucking… now.”

He sniffs and clears his throat. “I’m listenin’.”

“My kids stowed away on the Snow White container and are currently sitting at your shipping dock in New Orleans. I’m going to call one of our people who happens to be in NOLA at the moment on personal business to go and collect them and then drive them back to us, but she’s a woman, and I want an escort in the car with them. Can I borrow a prospect? We’ll fly him back to you. I just need to know on the road back home that my kids are safe and that I have a brother watching over them.”

“Jesus, Six, how the fuck did this shit happen?”

Huffing out a long breath, I shake my head. “We don’t know. They went missing last night, and we just got the call that the Slavers found them at the dock.”

“Fuck a prospect. You need qualified protection. I’ll send Omen. He’ll guard your girls with his life.”

“Thanks, brother… appreciate this. I need him at the docks like yesterday, though.”

“I’ll go wake him up now. He’ll be there in under fifteen.”

“I fucking owe you, man.”

“This is what we do for family, right?”

“Yeah, brother.”

“Good luck,” he says, then ends the call, and I take a deep breath, placing a quick kiss on Rebel’s head. She weakly smiles at me, knowing that my next call has to be with Amber.

It’s early in the morning. I just hope she picks up.

Hesitating over her number, my eyes shift to Rebel. She gives me a small head nod of approval, and with a wave of anxiety rolling through me, along with a flash of Bradley’s warning shining like a neon sign in the back of my mind, I hit the call button.

Clearing my throat, I sit back, my arm around Rebel as the cell rings three times, and Amber answers sleepily. “Have you found them?” her soft voice chimes down the line.

Craning my neck, I get right to it. “We have… and we need your help.”

It’s obvious she is moving, wherever she is, her voice coming through clear, almost excited. “Okay… tell me what I can do!”

“They were stowed in a shipping container on the cargo train to New Orleans.”

Amber’s quiet for a moment and then hums under her breath. “On the train? But how?”

“That, we don’t know. But the fact is, they’re at the shipping yard, and my guys have to leave soon. I’ve arranged for NOLA Defiance to be there to guard them in the meantime, but I need someone to drive them from New Orleans back to us in Houston.Tonight.”

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