Page 100 of Rook

I had nothing to lose.

I typed it in.

And the fucking thing unlocked.

“This is where a less evolved man might sayI told you so.”

I might have snorted at that.

But the phone unlocked right to the delivery app.

With a big warning page popped up.

Your delivery is extremely late.

So she had been lured.

Then picked up.

And maybe someone drove her car out here so no one could look for her.

That meant… she was probably still in Shady Valley.

I clicked the littleGot itbutton to bring me back to the main screen.

And there it was.

A Shady Valley address.

“No,” Coach said when I turned and rushed toward my bike without a word. “We gotta take the car,” he said, grabbing my arm. “They’ll hear the bikes coming.”

“Right,” I said, handing him the phone as I jumped in the driver’s seat of Tessa’s car. The keys were still in the ignition, so I turned it as Coach called the others.

“You have weapons?” I asked as I floored it past the apartment buildings.

“Got two. Gonna have to wait for backup.”

“I’m not waiting for shit if she’s in there.”

Who the fuck knew what might be happening to her?

Given that she didn’t want to talk about it, I had to imagine it was worse than her mother trying tosell herto a club president when she was a teen. And there was no goddamn way I was going to make her wait even a second for rescue if she was enduring more of that just when she was supposed to be safe.

I was just about to turn into the mobile home park when a car raced up on my fender.

”The fuck—” I started, but when I glanced in the rearview, it was Sway’s girl Murphy behind the wheel.

Murphy, the weapons designer.

Murphy, who likely had a trunk full of shit we could use to get Tessa free.

Without thinking, I pulled to a stop and flew out.

“What do you have?” I asked as she got out and rushed toward her trunk.

“Anything you could possibly need,” she said, reaching into the trunk to hand me a simple Glock before going back for other shit. “How many people are you expecting?” she asked, waving toward a trio of fuckingmachine guns. Which, yeah were military-grade only. We had a hard time even sourcing any for clients. But there were three casually resting in Murphy’s trunk.

“Think that would be overkill,” Coach, a voice of reason again, said.

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