Page 43 of Bounty
As she fished out her keycard, I stormed to the elevators. The chiming of my phone halted me. Unreasonable hope flooded my body. It could be anybody, but I hoped like hell it was Effie.
And in a sense, it was.
Only, the sender wasn’t her, but a private number. No, she was the subject of the message, tied up and bloodied.
Unknown: Got your girl, Pretty Boy.
Unknown: Shouldn’t have fucked with us.
My heart stopped, then sped up. Fear crashed over me, quickly followed by overwhelming fury. Even if the accompanying message didn’t give away who’d snatched her, the specifics were easy to piece together.
“Effie isn’t in there,” Daria called, her voice trembling. I turned; she was feet away, her eyes wide and watery. “I-I tried calling her phone, but she didn’t answer. I texted her, and I apologized, but she isn’t answering me. She always answers. Why isn’t she answering? Jesus, why did I hit her?”
The panic in her voice was palpable, and she was rambling. I knew, because I bet everything I owned she didn’t mean for me to hear that last part.
“You what?” I roared, wanting to rage, to hit something, to kill Dutch and whoever else dared to hurt Effie.
Daria burst into tears, her shoulders shaking from her sobs. “I don’t know! She cussed at me, and I was so disappointed, and—”
“And now she’s gone, and the last goddamn thing she might remember about you is her mother fucking hitting her for living her life.” I grabbed Daria’s chin and forced her to look at the picture I received. “That’s where your daughter’s at! And fuck, I don’t knowwherethat is.”
My voice cracked, but Daria’s scream snapped me out of it. My course of action was a poor one. She fell forward; I caught her, holding her as she sobbed and pleaded for her daughter’s return. But while she begged to a higher power to protect her daughter, I was thinking of all the ways I’d hurt Dutch when I found his miserable fucking ass. I wanted Effie returned safely more than anything, but no matter her condition, Dutch and hisgoonswoulddie. Neither the national president or the Austin president might back me up, but I hoped Dad would.
And if Dutch and the Satan’s Sinners cut Effie’s life short, their deaths would be a far gorier affair.
“What the fuck is going on out here?”
Cash’s roar seeped into my panicked brain. At first, I thought I was imagining that Texas drawl that had dripped over my senses as he pitched a jealous fit over his woman. Then, hesauntered into view. The patches on his cut blurred, my eyes too filled with tears to read the words.
“Daria?” Ophelia rushed toward me and grabbed my arms. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”
“Let’s move it out of the hallway,” Stretch advised from a doorway several doors from the room I shared with Effie.
Effie. My baby. I stumbled.
“Death Dwellers MC,” Slice said as if he was reading. “Fuck. You aren’t here by any chance because of a call from Goose?”
“Are you shitting me?” Cash snarled. “You’reSlice?”
“Get the fuck in this goddamn room, assholes,” Stretch ordered in frustration, closer to us. “I can’t fucking intercept the cameras of a major hotel chain.”
Ophelia placed her arm around me. “Come on, Daria. Let’s go to your room and let Cash and Stretch talk to, er—”
“No!” I wailed. “No! They’ve taken my Effie. I can’t…”
If she hadn’t held me up, I would’ve collapsed.
“We can’t leave them alone,” Cash said, and I wasn’t sure who he meant. “If they took her daughter, they can take her for ransom, too.”
“Come on,” Ophelia said, her voice calm and soothing, when I only wanted to rage against the world. She’d never faced such a scenario. It was easy for her to remain so cool and collected.
I couldn’t find words of protest, so I allowed her to lead me to the room where the men were waiting. The moment Stretch used his keycard on the door and held it open, I staggered into the suite.
Another time I would’ve enjoyed the spacious living area, but not without Effie.
Ophelia guided me to a sofa, piled with books she’d purchased at the signing as well as shopping bags filled with clothes from the local mall.
Slice, Cash, and Stretch were speaking, but their words went over my head. Even when Ophelia brought a cold washcloth to me and insisted that I lie back on the cleared sofa, I couldn’t relax or focus.
