Page 56 of Taking What's Mine

I pass two doors. One is locked when I test the handle, and from the other, soft laughter spills out. Could be anyone. I grit my teeth, trying to decide which route to take first, when the door behind me abruptly opens and a couple stumbles out, giggling, their clothes slightly disheveled. They barely spare me a glance before wandering off. That leads me to wonder if every door here opens to some private little hideaway.

I move further down, determined to check each and every one if I have to. At the end, there’s a T-junction: left or right. I’m about to turn left when something in me warns to be systematic. I phone Dean again, pulling the device to my ear as I stand there. He picks up quickly—like he was expecting me.

“Any news?” Dean asks, his voice taut with tension.

“Not yet.” My pulse roars. “I’m in a back corridor behind a curtained doorway. This place is a damn labyrinth. Are you close?”

“Just arrived,” Dean says, and I can hear background noise—likely the commotion at the club’s main entrance. “I’ve got two guys with me from our security detail. Where exactly are you?”

I glance around, frustrated. “I’m near the main lounge, behind a velvet curtain that leads to some private area. Head in, keep an eye out for a corridor with low lights. That’s me.”

“All right, I see a guard up ahead,” Dean says, presumably to someone else on his side. Then into the phone: “We’ll find you. Don’t do anything stupid.”

I almost laugh at the irony. “No promises. Just hurry.” I end the call and slip the phone into my pocket, tension still raking through every muscle.

Time is not on my side. If Isabel is in danger, every passing moment could be critical. I half expect Trey or Vera to pop out, wearing that smug grin, telling me this was all a game. But the corridor remains ominously silent.

Choosing the left corridor, I walk briskly, trying handles as I go. The second door I test actually creaks open, revealing a small lounge area with plush couches, deserted except for the pungent aroma of incense. A flickering candle throws dancing shadows on the walls, giving the space a haunted feel. No one inside, definitely not Isabel.

I close it softly and keep moving. My mind replays the last glimpses I had of her—her gray eyes lit by caution, the gentle parting of her lips as she said she’d be right back. Guilt gnaws atme. I should never have let her out of my sight. But there was no reason to suspect Vera was leading her into a trap… until now.

A sudden shuffle of footsteps behind me jerks me around. Dean appears, flanked by two men from Maddox Security. Ranger and Orion. Relief hits me so hard my knees almost buckle. Dean’s dressed in a dark suit, his expression carved with worry and anger.

“Lincoln,” he mutters, crossing the distance in a few strides. “Any sign of her?”

“Not yet,” I say, voice rough. “I’m checking these back rooms. The staff or someone might have seen her, but I’ve been coming up empty.”

Dean rakes a hand through his short hair. “Devereaux claims he doesn’t know anything. He was surprised when I told him you two were invited tonight. He’s checking cameras now.”

A spike of fury flares in me. “Heard.”

“Let’s keep checking,” Dean mutters. “We need to focus on Isabel.” He gestures to Ranger and Orion, who nod and fan out. Ranger heads right, Orion goes back toward the main corridor. “We’ll comb every inch of this place.”

I exhale a shaky breath, gratitude flooding me that I’m not doing this alone anymore. Still, my heart clenches with fear. “I’m worried they already took her out of here,” I confess quietly. “Vera and Trey have been MIA. They must be in on it.”

Dean’s face hardens. “Then we find them,” he says simply. “They can’t have gotten far. There are cameras, staff, someone must have seen something.”

We press on, systematically opening doors. Each reveals either an empty lounge, a startled couple in mid-sexcapade, or more locked closets. The fiasco stirs a wave of annoyance from some of the guests, but once they see my thunderous expression, they shut up fast.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I yank it out, half-hoping it’s Isabel. But it’s an unknown number. I answer on reflex. “Hello?”

Static crackles, then a single breath. My heart leaps, but a voice cuts through—one I don’t recognize. “Mr. Zane,” it says mockingly. A man’s voice, tinted with a smug undertone. “Don’t bother searching the club. Isabel’s gone.”

A rush of terror chills my blood. “Where is she?” I snarl.

Dean whips around at my tone, eyes sparking. I put the phone on speaker, letting him hear.

The man laughs, a low, predatory sound. “Somewhere safe. For us, at least. You want her back? You might want to talk to your friend Dean.”

“He’s here with me,” I repeat, voice shaking with fury.

“Who the fuck is this?” Dean barks out.

“Ah, hello, Dean. We’ve got two women here you’ll be interested in saving,” the voice drawls. “But don’t bother, they’ll both end up just like my brother.” The line goes dead.

My hand trembles around the phone, rage and dread warring in my chest. Dean looks like he wants to punch a hole in the wall.

“Lazarus Delgado.” Dean grabs his own phone from his back pocket. “He spoke of two women,” he says as he pushes a button and holds the phone to his ear, “Sophia,” he whispers as he slidesthe phone away. “She’s not answering.” He glides his fingers over the phone.

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