Page 71 of Savior

Wolverine’s silver eyebrows shot up, but instead of getting in my face, the old man just crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head to the side. “Alright, good point. So, where the hell is he?”

I strode past him toward the back office, suddenly jittery. “Basement. It’s soundproof and has hidden doors. You need to think like a criminal, didn’t Jamie teach you that?”

“Where the fuck do you think Jamie learned it from, kid?” Wolverine growled from behind me. “You think he just came into this world knowin’ how to run a club? That ain’t the way this shit works!”

I turned around to him as I reached the door, teasing, “See, now I’m confused. He said he taught you everything you know.”

Angel let out a low whistle and shook his head. “Fuck, you got some balls on ya, Celia.”

“Did he now?” Wolverine asked, fighting a grin. “Well, hell, I almost hope he is down here now. I got a little somethin’ to remind him where he came from.”

In actuality, my mouthiness had nothing to do with the size of my lady balls and everything to do with the nervous anticipation coursing through my veins.

I was going to find Jamie, and then I was going to go after every single person that had a hand in hurting him. There was a strong chance that this would go down as more than just the day I survived my first hangover.

The three of us made no attempt to hide our arrival as we reached the base of the stairs. At the strong stench of death, our guns moved just a little higher and my hopes of finding Jamie alive dwindled.

I went straight to the last door on the left, half-expecting to see Hawk or Manny strung up from the ceiling. Instead, the room was empty, the chains dangling over patches of dried blood on the concrete.

The blood could’ve come from anyone at any time, but the cigar butts littering the floor were a different story. I lowered my gun to grab one, confident that Angel and Wolverine would have my back if something happened.

“Cobra.” I rolled it between my fingers, letting the stale scent fill my nostrils. “He was here.”

Wolverine’s eyes moved over the pulley system along the ceiling all the way down to the stains on the concrete floor. “These look fresh to me, but I know for a fact that the club ain’t had anyone here in months.”

“Fuck! Celia!” Angel roared from the next room.

My heart, which had been thumping heavily in my chest, moved up into my throat. My numb fingers curled around the handle of the gun. I stumbled toward the sound of his voice with Wolverine fighting to move in front of my body.

He’d found him.

We were too late.

I lifted the back of my wrist to my nose as the stench of rotting flesh grew stronger, fighting the urge to vomit. A moldy cot had been shoved up against one of the white walls, stained with blood.

“What the hell is this?” I asked, fighting to see around Wolverine’s torso.

“Jesus Christ,” Wolverine exhaled softly. “Celia, go upstairs and wait for us.”

I gave up any pretense of being brave, or strong, or any of the other crap Kate seemed to think I was as I gripped the material of his shirt in my fist. “Tell me it’s not him,” I begged. “Please.”

“Doll, listen to him,” Angel added. “It’s better that way.”

Goosebumps spread over my arms, but I stayed where I was. Jamie had fought to restore me, even the parts that I’d become convinced were lost forever. He’d never given up, and no matter how bad it hurt, I wouldn’t leave his side now.

The breath fled my body as I surged around the wall of biker, my feet stuttering to a stop when I encountered the island of fluids surrounding the body on the floor. Insects fed on liquefied flesh of what had once been a head, making it almost impossible to determine identity other than the fact that the victim was male.

Angel looked up from where he knelt with a handkerchief covering his nose and mouth and somberly shook his head. “It ain’t Jamie, Celia. Now, go upstairs.”

I nodded, flooded with guilt over my relief that the person on the floor wasn’t my husband. I found myself looking down at the ring on the man’s left hand, wondering if his wife was out searching for him like I was for Jamie.

When she found out what happened, would she fall apart blaming herself, or decide to go after the men responsible?

Wolverine placed a hand on my shoulder, silently urging me to leave. I looked away from the anchor on the man’s forearm and turned toward the door, fighting not to think of the man’s loved ones.

When it registered, the blood drained from my face, and I careened into Wolverine’s body with a hard groan. “No. No, it can’t be.”

The proof continued to stare up at me from the concrete, a tattoo with one word woven through it—Norma. A symbol that was representative of his time in the Navy and his love for the woman who would become his wife.

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