Page 80 of Prodigal Son

She was. And she was sixteen. And she was all alone. And who was to say that the ones who had her wouldn’t–

He cut that thought off at the knees. He couldn’t allow himself to give in to imagination. Couldn’t let the panic that was slowly building and building like an oil slick in his belly climb up to the surface. It would suffocate him. He swallowed it down and reached to place a hand between her trembling shoulder blades.

“Don’t touch me,” she choked out.

“Fair enough.”

Movement drew his gaze, and he looked up to see that Axelle was steadily edging closer, eyes wide with fear – but gaze calm, jaw clenched tight with resolution. She had her head on straight. He needed that.

Albie reached to tug at his shirt collar, wondering at its tightness, and realized he was still wearing his damned suit. He’d lost the coat somewhere in the van, but the shirt and tie were choking him. He tugged the tie loose, and hurriedly thumbed open all the buttons, shrugging out of the offending garment and tossing it backward over the counter. He still wore his flak vest over a white t-shirt, but that was nearly his daily uniform; its pressure served as a comfort rather than a torture implement.

“Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath that didn’t accomplish much. “Someone’s on the way to talk to Cass’s friend, yeah? We’ll find out what she knows, and see if there’s anything at the scene. Probably there’s cops there already, since it happened right in broad daylight, and we can’t do much there. The best thing we can do right now is rough up your boy in there.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder toward the pantry, where he could hear voices as the boys secured Clive. “Really grill him, and see what he can tell us.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“I know. But it’s all we can do. We will find her, Raven. I promise you.”

She didn’t answer.

Axelle finally reached her, after her slow creep, and laid a hand on Raven’s arm. Raven jerked a little, but didn’t throw her off the way she had with Albie. “Come on,” she said, quietly. “Let’s go see what Clive knows.”

A jolt moved up Albie’s spine. “Oh, I wasn’t–”

Axelle’s gaze snapped to him, downright hostile. “I’m sure Albie’ll let us sit in on the interrogation,” she said, perfectly reasonable, and he realized what she was doing.

Manipulative little shit.

He almost grinned.

Instead, he sent her a heavy scowl and said. “This is club business–”

“No,” Raven said, straightening, turning toward him, more composed despite the mascara streaks on her face. “This is family business. This club is nothingbutour family.”

She had him there.

And thanks to Axelle’s sly interference, he had no choice but to let the two of them observe.

When he glanced at her, he thought she looked victorious, but the expression was there and gone again so fast it might have been a trick of the light.

Axelle pulled a paper towel off the roll by the sink and dampened it under the tap. “Here,” she said, handing it to Raven. “Maybe wipe your face first.”

~*~

Axelle was an only child, and she’d never had friends close enough to think of as sisters. But family was family; she thought of the awful, choking anger that kept trying to crawl its way up her throat after she lost Dad. An anger that propelled her away from home, so far away it had taken an ocean to ensure she didn’t wind up at his graveside, fuming and hating…everyone. Especially hating those goddamn Lean Dogs. Who knew they were in London, too? Were they everywhere? Yes. And that old anger had turned her venomous and cagey with this crew, though none of them had ever offered to do her personal harm. None of them had even been rude to her, and…

She was getting off track, spiraling again. Anger did that to a person.

For the moment, she was struck by the sincerity of Raven’s devastation. She couldn’t say for sure if she liked the woman – though she suspected she was starting to respect her – but she could see the anguish in every shaky breath and unsteady flicker of her lashes. Albie had tried to be comforting, but he was shit at it, and concerned with the club business side of things besides.

Axelle felt needed, now, in a way she hadn’t at all expected, as Raven finished dabbing at her face with a towel and said, “How’s that?” She’d managed to get every speck of mascara without a mirror, though her eyes were still red, and deep lines had pressed themselves around her mouth.

Axelle offered her a smile. “Good as new. You ready?”

Raven nodded, and together they walked to the big pantry where Clive sat tied to a kitchen chair.

He was still tall, and long-legged, and broad-shouldered, but all traces of the posh CEO had abandoned him; his hair fell in greasy disarray across his forehead, skin ashen from a combination of shock and blood loss. Someone had stripped away his suit coat and shirt, leaving him in a white tank that offered a view of his injured arm, the bulky bandages tied around his biceps, stained red where he continued to seep blood. A shiny strip of duct tape covered his mouth, and he stared down at the floor, pulse throbbing visibly in his throat, fast as a rabbit’s.

Raven walked unsteadily, drunk on emotion, and Axelle took her elbow and steered her gently toward a patch of empty wall where they could sit down on a pair of overturned plastic crates.

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