Page 27 of Bred By the Mercenary

As the clock strikes midnight and the bar remains busy, I head to the backroom to grab another bag of straws and napkins. The sound of footsteps behind me has me turning around, expecting to see Daxton sneaking up for a surprise visit. Instead, a cloth reeking of chemicals is pressed against my face, a hand gripping the back of my head, forcing me to inhale the potent fumes.

Panic surges through me, my hands flailing out to hit my assailant, but my strength is quickly fading. The edges of my vision blur, and my legs buckle. As consciousness slips away, achilling laughter echoes in my ears, a laughter that sounds eerily like Ryker’s.

Then darkness takes over, and I fall into a helpless, unconscious heap on the floor.

CHAPTER SEVEN

DAXTON

The bar is alive with energy, the kind of late-night crowd that keeps everyone on their toes. I glance around, noticing Amelia hasn’t returned to the floor. A part of me toys with the idea of sneaking into the storage room after her, locking the door behind us for a quick while. After last night, I’m struggling to think of anything but fucking her, holding her in my arms, making her laugh.

That thought is abruptly cut short as my phone rings. I pull it out, seeing it’s the private investigator I hired to keep tabs on Amelia’s ex, Ryker. I don’t want Amelia to know about this, not until I’ve dealt with that bastard and gotten him out of her life for good.

“Dean, what have you got for me?” I ask, weaving through the crowd to slip outside for some semblance of quiet.

“I found where he lives by watching him.” Dean’s voice crackles through the phone. “He hasn’t been home all day. Left this morning with a big duffle bag. It looked like he was headed out for a trip. I followed him for half the day but lost him in traffic. I’m staking out his place now in case he returns.”

“Okay, keep me posted,” I say, my mind racing. “So, anything about who the hell is this guy?”

“He’s a real piece of scum. Works in a warehouse as an office manager by day, but he’s got a record. Charged for beating up two of his previous girlfriends, has restraining orders against him. Charged for stalking, breaking and entering, kidnapping... but never does time because the girls don’t press charges. Probably scares them too much. He’s real nasty.”

I grind my teeth, anger boiling within me. “Send me his file, everything you’ve got.”

“It’s in your email. I’ll keep digging and get back to you with more,” Dean assures me.

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver, buddy,” I say before hanging up.

I quickly check my email and open the file Dean sent. The list of charges against females, his pattern of never stopping his assault… it all makes my blood boil. Then I see his photo—getting out of a silver sedan—and it strikes me. That’s almost the same car that almost hit me the night I waited outside Amelia’s apartment. He’d been there that night, looking for her, breaking into her place. If I had known, I would have ripped his fucking head off.

As I stuff the phone back into my pocket, a silver sedan, similar to the one in the photo, zips out of the carpark madly and onto the main road. I memorize the license plate, my gut churning with a sick feeling. The driver’s reckless, clearly in a rush, his back tires skidding. I frantically reopen the file from Dean and check the car’s number plate against the one I just saw.

It’s a match.

My insides curdle with dread, with fury. Why the fuck is that asshole here? Then I’m thinking of Amelia, who’s taking her time grabbing supplies.

Heart in my throat, I dart back into the bar like a lunatic, barreling past the crowd toward the storage room. My heart is pounding in my chest, fear and rage mixing in a volatile cocktail.I push open the door savagely, and it slams against the wall with a loud bang. The sight that greets me is like a punch to the gut.

The room is empty, but the signs of a struggle are unmistakable. A pack of straws and napkins lies torn open on the floor, their contents spilled everywhere. The light is still on, casting a stark illumination over the chaotic scene. The air is thick with the pungent stench of a strong chemical, a smell that’s instantly recognizable and sends a chill down my spine.

I retrace my steps back into the hallway and office area, checking the kitchen and my room.

“Amelia,” I call out, but she’s not there. Something in my gut tells me that the bastard took her. My heart turns to stone, and my hands curl into fists. I punch a door as I pass it, already charging to the front of the bar and to my car.

“Motherfucker!”

Panic and fury surge within me. Every second counts now. Ryker has Amelia, and I need to find her before it’s too late. I pull out my phone, dialing Dean’s number with shaking fingers as I throw myself into my car and switch on the engine. I fly out of the parking area.

“Dean, it’s Daxton. Ryker’s taken Amelia. That fucker kidnapped her from work. I need every resource we have to find her… now!” I bellow, my voice shaking. I give him details of where I saw him last and the direction he took, then I hang up.

Driving like a man possessed, my car weaves through the traffic as I follow the direction I saw Ryker take. Every fiber of my being is focused on finding him, on saving Amelia. The possibility that he’s taking her out of the city, somewhere remote, gnaws at me. I remember what Dean said about seeing Ryker with a duffle bag, as if he was planning to skip town. That’s exactly what he’s doing—taking her somewhere else, somewhere he thinks he can hide.

I swerve around cars, my heart pounding in my chest, my gut hard as a rock. The fury inside me is a living thing, coiled and ready to strike. This is my job, my life—tracking down the scum of society. Ryker is just another target, oblivious to the fact that I’m on his tail, ready to bring down hell on him.

The phone rings through the car speaker, and I answer instantly, hoping Dean has something for me.

“Tell me you’ve got something,” I demand.

“Ryker has a small home just out of the city, deep in the mountains. I bet he’s taking her there.”

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