Page 77 of Property of the Hellfire Riders

He gives me a small, reassuring smile, his hand lingering on the door handle. “Everything’ll be fine. Just lock the door.” With a final nod, Tank steps back and closes the door. I snap the lock, clicking it into place.

God. What the hell is going on?

I pace back and forth for a moment. I’m too wired to want to stop and grab something to eat. A beer might be good, but I don’t want anything heavy. All I want to do is get Laina home and safe.

I sink into the couch, turning the television on with a remote. Some old action movie was left on pause. I let it play, serving as background noise, something for me to stare at, listen to in the background as each one of my thoughts continues spinning around itself.

I can’t find the solution.

Reynolds knows about Laina. He has to. He has photos of me that were taken with her camera.

Is she here?

No. One of the guys would know about her after all this time. Too much time has passed. That’s the problem. After 24 hours of missing the chances of Laina still being alive drop by 50%, and we’re well past that.

Is that what I want? To think she’s dead?

There’s no way.

I hear it—the soft scrape of a door. My heart skips a beat.

I freeze, listening intently. The sound comes again, louder this time. Footsteps, stealthy but hurried. I reach for my phone, ready to call Tank, Hawk, or Vance, but the footsteps are already at the door. I barely have time to react before the lock clicks, and the door swings open.

Gunnar stands in the doorway.

“Everything okay?” I whisper, staring at him.

“Yeah, it’s fine. It’s just me.” he assures, closing the door behind him.

“I thought you were all downstairs.” I say.

He shrugs, his blue eyes darting around the room.

“Vance asked me to see if you needed anything.”

“I’m good.”

He takes a step forward.

“That’s good.”

The room feels suddenly smaller, the air thicker. I take a step back, my eyes never leaving his. “You should probably get back downstairs then.”

Gunnar doesn’t move. Instead, he takes another step closer, his expression hardening. “I think I’ll stay.”

Panic flares inside me. Something’s very wrong. “Gunnar, what’s going on?”

His bottom lips curl and he shrugs nonchalantly.

“Nothing really. Just orders. Doing my job.”

Before I can react, he lunges at me, his hands reaching for my wrists. I twist away, but he’s fast, his grip ironclad. “Let go of me!” I scream, struggling against him.

“Quiet,” he hisses, his grip tightening. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

I cry out, my free hand clawing at his face in a desperate attempt to break free.

“Let go of me!” I scream, panic and adrenaline fueling my struggle.

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