Page 64 of Everest

“No,” Marcy answers. “The guys who brought us here don’t talk to us. They just come by once a day to bring us food.”

I look around the small room. It’s barren aside from a single lamp. There is no furniture, and the carpet looks old and dingy. It smells like sweat and mildew. Off to the side of the room is a bathroom. Standing, I walk over to the door and find it locked. Beside the door is a boarded-up window. Everyone startles when the sound of the lock on the door engages. I take two steps back when the door swings open. Standing in front of me is the bastard I kicked in the face. I smirk when I get a good look at his slightly crooked and swollen nose. The guy conveys his displeasure by stepping forward and backhanding me across the face. I counteract by lunging at him. And because he’s taken off guard by my actions, I’m able to get several kicks in, including another blow to his nose, making it gush blood once again.

“Enough,” a new voice barks at the same time I’m being pulled off the son of bitch. Once I’m contained, I get a good look at the other guy, who is now picking his bleeding friend up off the floor. “You’re a fucking disgrace, Carlos. Boss is going to be pissed you marked one of the girls.”

“The fucking bitch broke my goddamn nose, man.”

“We don’t have time for you to be a pussy, Carlos. Boss is waiting for us at the port. He wants us to bring the girls.” The asshole sweeps his gaze across the room to where the girls are huddled. “Tie them up and bag them.” Then he pins me with a stare. The asshole tries to intimidate me, but I’m not deterred. I match his energy with an equal look of disgust.

17

EVEREST

The clubhouse is quiet. It's almost too calm for my liking, and not sitting right. The hairs on the back of my neck have been standing up since London texted that she was staying late at the office to finish up with one more client, then swinging by Jonny’s for a bottle of wine. I shouldn’t feel on edge knowing Catcher is with her, but I can’t shake this unease settling in my chest.

Her GPS ping has been locked in place in front of Jonny’s liquor for thirty minutes.

I recheck the app on my phone, tapping the screen with my thumb and refreshing it, hoping it will show her in motion. It doesn’t.

“You’ve checked that phone more times than Kiwi looks at himself in the mirror, " Nova says, lounging on one of the worn leather sofas with Promise tucked into his side.

I look at him but don’t respond, then recheck my phone.

“She still at Jonny’s?” Promise asks. “She texted me when she got there, asking if us women wanted red or white tonight.”

“Too long for my likin’,” I mutter, staring at my phone screen, waiting for the dot to move.

“Jonny probably got her and Catcher stalled. You know how the old man likes to talk,” Riggs states.

Maybe.

But one thing about my woman is that she doesn’t linger when she’s had a long day and wants wine.

The weight of Velasco’s threat hangs heavy. It’s been weeks of knowing we’re on the motherfucker’s radar, with minimal leads to his whereabouts or even what the bastard looks like. It’s like trying to catch a damn fart. You can smell the stench it leaves, but can’t see it.

My phone rings, with Jonny’s number lighting up the screen, then my stomach clenches as I answer. “Jonny?” The instant I say his name, the buzz in the room fades, and every eye falls on me.

“Everest,” his voice is frantic, winded, and pained. “God help me… they took her.”

I stop breathing.

“What?”

“They hit the store with guns drawn. They shot up the place.” He pauses, trying to catch his breath. “Catcher is down. He put himself between them and London. He took bullets to the chest and gut. It’s bad, really bad.”

“Fuck.” I’m on my feet, pulling at my hair, with nowhere to direct the wave of emotions slamming into my chest.

My world narrows to a single blinding point.

Blood pounds in my ears.

“Jonny. Listen to me. Do not let the cops touch the security feed.” It’s taking every ounce of restraint I have so as not to lose control.

“You got it,” he swears.

“Good. We’re on our way.” I hang up.

The moment I lower the phone, the silence in the clubhouse is suffocating.

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