Page 31 of Ash

Her skin flushed, and she smiled brightly. “I should probably put up a fight and tell you that you can’t order me around.”

“But…?”

“But I don’t want to,” she yelled before throwing her arms around me and peppering my face with kisses.

It was another hour before we got out the door.

Feeling smug and happy, I strolled into the clubhouse less than ten minutes later. Ace looked up when I entered his office and frowned. “Well, don’t you look like a man who spent the night fucking his woman?”

“Jealous?” I snarked.

Ace looked at his desk and picked up a sheaf of papers, and I almost didn’t hear him when he muttered, “Yes.”

Curiously, I inquired, “Of the fucking or the girl?”

He sighed. “Both, I guess.”

“I get it, man.”

“Yeah. Okay, enough of this bullshit, we’ve got work to do.”

We went through potential properties for a couple of hours, then headed to King’s office to give him our recommendations.

Before we reached his door, my cell vibrated. I checked the caller ID and frowned when I saw a number that looked familiar, but I didn’t recognize. I let it go to voicemail, but then I got a text alert before the number called back again.

Unknown

It’s Mark. ANSWER!

I immediately hit the accept button, my heart racing because this could only be about Nora.

“Mark?”

“Fucking hell, Ash! They came out of nowhere! I-I-tried to stop them!”

“Mark!” I shouted. “Calm the fuck down and tell me what’s going on!”

“They took Nora!”

11

NORA

One minute, Mark had been teasing me about finally having my first boyfriend, and the next, a truck sideswiped his side of the ambulance. He’d thrown the rig into park and jumped out so fast, I hadn’t understood what was happening until it was too late.

A van skidded to a stop only a few feet next to me, and it took me a moment to realize the driver was wearing a ski mask. In June. When it was eighty-three degrees outside and humid. I turned to call Mark’s name, but he was yelling at the guy who hit us and didn’t hear me.

By the time I undid my seat belt, three other guys had piled out of the van. They were all wearing ski masks, too.

“Holy guacamole, this cannot be good,” I muttered.

I was quickly proven right when one of them yanked my door open and pointed a gun at my head. “Get out.”

“Okay.” I slowly climbed out of the rig, careful not to make any sudden movements. Taking care of Ink’s bullet wound the other day didn’t mean that I wanted to end up with one of my own. Ever.

“You’re coming with us,” he growled as soon as my feet hit the ground.

“I’m what?” I squeaked.

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