Page 85 of Bozo

“Call Brendon and Ruairí,” I snarl as I hit dial on Grá’s number. “Find out what the fuck is going on.”

Her cell rings and rings, but there’s no answer. Over and over again I call her, but to no avail. She’s not fucking answering.

“Where the fuck is she?” I hear Jer roar into the phone.

Fear unlike anything I’ve ever felt before grips my heart as I hear Jer's words. My mind races with worst-case scenarios. Has Mike Hammond gotten to her? This has to be the Puppetmaster's doing!

"Fuck!" I roar, slamming my fist into the wall. The pain barely registers through my panic.

Pyro is already moving, barking orders into his phone. "I want every available man out looking for her. Now!"

Denis grabs my arm, his grip like iron. "We'll find her," he says, his voice low and intense. "We'll tear this city apart if we have to."

Gráinne has worked for Denis since Jerry took her under his wing. She’s family to everyone. It’s hard not to love Grá. She’s the sweetest woman you’ll ever meet and she cares about everyone.

I nod, trying to focus. "We need to check Mike’s home," I say, my voice shaking with barely controlled rage. "He could have taken her there."

Jer's already heading for the door. "I'm on it. I’ll have every man I have working this."

Exiting the run-down hotel, I can’t think straight. My mind is a mess with all the things that asshole could be doing to Grá. Never have I felt as fucking helpless as I do right now.

The cool air does nothing to calm the fire burning in my veins. If anything's happened to Gráinne, there won't be a force on this earth that can stop me from raining hell down on those responsible.

As I climb onto my bike, my phone buzzes. For a split second, hope flares in my chest. But it's not Gráinne. It's an unknown number.

The message is simple, chilling, and fucking taunting.

Unknown: The game has changed. Your move.

Attached is a photo that makes my blood run cold. It's Gráinne, unconscious and bound, in what looks like the trunk of a car.

I show the phone to Pyro, who curses violently. "They're playing with us," he growls.

"Then let's show them how we play," I snarl, gunning the engine.

As we tear through the streets of Dublin, I make a silent vow. I will find Gráinne. I will bring her home safe. And then, I will unleash a reckoning upon the Puppetmaster and his entire operation that will shake the very foundations of their world.

God help anyone who stands in our way.

The roar of our bikes echoes through the streets as we race toward Mike Hammond's place. My mind is a whirlwind of rage and fear, the image of Gráinne bound and helpless seared into my brain. I can barely focus on the road, my hands gripping the handlebars so tightly my knuckles are white.

Jer's voice crackles through the com in my helmet. "Just got word from one of my guys. Mike's car isn’t at the hospital. He's supposed to be working a double shift, but he left early. No one has seen him in hours."

"Fuck!" I snarl, swerving around a slow-moving car. "So, where the hell is she?"

"We'll figure it out," Pyro's calm voice comes through. "Stay focused. We can't help her if we crash."

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. He's right, but it doesn't make it any easier. Every second feels like an eternity, knowing Gráinne is out there, scared and alone.

We screech to a halt outside Mike's apartment building. Before the bikes have even stopped, I'm off and running toward the entrance. Jer and Pyro are right behind me.

The lock on the front door is no match for my foot. I kick with every ounce of power I have and the fucking thing splinters. We burst in, guns drawn, ready for anything.

But the apartment is empty. Silent. Undisturbed.

"Search everything," Pyro orders, already moving toward the bedroom. "There has to be something here. Some clue."

We tear the place apart. Drawers are emptied, furniture overturned, every possible hiding spot examined. But there's nothing. No sign of Gráinne, no evidence of any connection to the Puppetmaster.

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