Page 111 of Reclaimed

A crease forms in my brow. “A push present?”

Corjan claps me on the shoulder and we walk toward the house. “Get informed, brother. A push present is what you get your woman after she gives birth to your kid.”

I stop on his sidewalk. “You bought Bree new appliances because she had your baby?”

“Sure did. I’ll be upgrading her car with the next one.”

“You’re planning on more?”

Corjan’s face splits into a satisfied grin. “I’m married to the love of my life, and we’re making up for lost time. I’d have fifteen kids if she’d be up for it.”

“I’m guessing she’s not.”

“I can maybe squeak by with five.” He laughs.

I shake my head, still stuck on theupgrading her carbit. Money isn’t an issue, but I don’t know what Isla would want for a push present. Clothes? Jewelry?

Would she even want me to buy her a new car?

Corjan laughs. “Don’t let it get in your head. Just ask her what she wants you to get her and don’t put up a fuss.”

“Yeah. Of course.” I smirk. There’s an urgency in my chest, prodding me to do just that. I’d give her the entire world if she asked.

The front door opens, stealing our attention. Bree moves onto the steps with Weston on her hip, wearing a look of concern. Charlotte bounces out behind her mom, peeking at us between Bree’s legs.

“Everything okay, sugar?”

“Both of your phones are going crazy.” She holds one in each palm.

We spare one glance at the other before we both hustle up the walk.

“It’s Lee,” Corjan says, immediately hitting the contact to redial.

“I have one from Sutton and a bunch from an unknown number.” The device begins ringing in my hand, that same number flashing across the screen. “Hello?”

The line seems to crackle. “Mr. Powell. This is Manny Aguilar.” Gone is the refined tone of the pretentious club owner. His voice is tense.

“What do you want?” I bark.

“You need to come to the club urgently. The police are on their way.”

The sidewalk seems to fuse with my shoes. My heart jumps violently. “What happened?”

The silence between my words and his feels like an eternity.

“Stella’s been taken.”

The world becomes a blur of color around me. My lungs cease working. “How?”

Another mute beat follows my question, then he quietly says, “I don’t know. One of my workers has been shot, and Lucien is following them.”

The wordshotsends acid crawling up my throat.

I ask, “Is she hurt?” When what I’m really asking is, “Is she alive?”

“I do not know.”

His words only add to the confusion. Nothing makes sense. This morning she was with me, telling me she loved me, safe in my arms, and now she’s gone?

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