by Burke, Lynn
“I’d love to blame her,” I said, “but no woman controls my dick.”
Warden snorted. “Then you haven’t met the right woman.”
I’d met the right woman, alright—I just had to find a way of making her mine without creating even more of a mess. If that was even fucking possible.
“It was a stupid fucking mistake. I’m not normally distracted like that.”
Warden made a nose of agreement in his throat.
“Goddamnit.” Vigil stretched his neck side to side, his gaze flitting around the office while he continued to scowl. “Well, it’s no real skin off my back. Woulda been nice to have a Senator owe the Vipers a favor, but that kind of offense...” He shook his head, lips pursed.
“Sorry, Vigil.”
“He can your ass?”
I nodded and glanced at Warden.
“Don’t worry about it,” Warden said, his waiving me off and furrowing my brow.
“Don’t worry about it?” I shot back. “The fuck, man? Burtonelli’s pissed. You think he isn’t going to throw your company—your fucking name—into the shitter?”
“You claiming her?”
Warden’s question, rather than agreed concern, snapped my jaw shut.
He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, smug as a fucking kid with a pocketful of stolen candy when I didn’t respond. “Is Giada yours or not?”
I glanced at Vigil.
The fucker grinned at me. “She is one tasty-looking morsel. All the brothers think so.”
A muscle in my jaw ticked. Fuck, I hated his ribbing.
“Stone’s got himself an old lady.” Vigil slapped his palm on the desk and stood up. “It’s too fucking early, but I need a drink.”
He strode out to the club, simple as that—his word law—and I met Warden’s gaze.
“She doesn’t know,” I told him.
“She will, you stubborn prick. Come on, brother,” he said, clasping my shoulder as I stood. “I already reschedule my meeting for this morning, so let’s go get fucked up with Vigil. Then we’ll talk about going to rescue your old lady.”
“It isn’t even nine in the morning,” I argued, following him out of the office.
“It’s five o’clock fucking somewhere,” he shot over his shoulder.
The man had a point—but just one to calm me the fuck down. I had a woman to get in contact with so I could make things right.
One turned into two. Two turned into three, and until I came to my fucking senses, I found myself sprawled on one of the club’s couches, a full on party rocking the house.
My head fucking hurt.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, cursing myself from hell to heaven and back again. The fuck had I done? I rarely drank like a fish, but my laughing brothers had decided I needed to let loose. Give up control for a change.
I’d done that with Giada, and look where it had gotten me.
No. What I really needed to do was get in contact with her, stake my claim, and get her the hell outta there.
Pulling myself into a sitting position cranked my headache into full force, and I groaned.
Stupid fuck.
My cell vibrated against my ass, and I pulled it out.
Burtonelli.
Frowning, I swiped to answer even though I wouldn’t be able to hear much over the thumping music and ruckus of brothers having a kickass Friday night.
“Stone!” I heard his bark clear as a fucking bell and his wife’s sobs in the background. “Where the hell is my daughter?”
Daughter. I blinked at the fuzziness in my brain. Marisa still lay sedated ... Giada.
Oh, fuck.
“She’s gone,” Burtonelli screamed over the line, “and if the authorities find her with you, so help me God—”
Fuckin hell.
My woman had gone missing.
Chapter Twenty
Giada
I’d turned my cell phone off, but decided to text Mother once I landed myself a hotel room. Yes, her treatment of me had hardened my heart toward her, but I didn’t want her worrying I’d been kidnapped by leaving without a trace. I didn’t tell her where I’d gone, just asked her to keep me updated on Marisa’s progress.
The second the text went through, I shut the phone back off.
For two whole days, I binged on junk food, take out, and raunchy e-books. My vibrator got one hell of a work out, but release didn’t bring satisfaction. I craved dick—Logan’s dick specifically.
He’d ruined me for anyone else I’d decided—easily accepted without giving anyone else a shot.
Monday morning, I woke with his name on my lips, visions lingering from my vivid dream of him planking over me, his blue eyes open and unshielded, peering into mine.
Goddamn, I missed that man even though my chest still ached over not being enough for him.
Steeling myself against disappointment, I grabbed my cell and powered it on, blinking and rubbing the sleep from my eyes while waiting for the screen to come to life.
Did he even know I’d taken off? Did he care?
Twenty-two missed calls. Three text messages—Fab making sure I’d arrived safely, Mother ordering me to call her, and Logan doing the same.
I ignored the transcribed voice messages from Father and Mother, clicking straight on Logan’s in order to hear his voice.
“Giada. I’m fucking worried sick—please call me. Your mother won’t tell me where you’ve gone, but says you’re safe. I know why you took off—I’d have done the same—I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell me. Why you haven’t called. Fuck, Giada.”
I imagined him scrubbing his hand over his face at his groan.
“Please. I can’t fucking stand this silence. I need to know you’re okay.”
A twinge of hope snagged its claws into my heart—to call or not to call? He cared, but only enough to make sure I was okay? Could I stand even more disappointment?
I chewed the inside of my lip and shuffled to the bathroom to take care of business, debating over hearing his voice again or getting crushed when he didn’t tell me to come home—to him.
We had no understanding.
He’d left without a fight, leaving me to face the fire alone. He’d broken that promise he’d made to be there for me.
I powered my cell off and shoved it back in the bed stand drawer.
****
The back of my neck tingled, raising the shorter hairs at my nape escaping my ponytail. A baseball hat sat low on my brow, and I wore big ass sunglasses while out in public—just in case. I doubted anyone could hurt my father by taking me out, but they didn’t know that.
Best to be safe.
I stopped strolling along the sidewalk and pretended to window shop, checking out the people behind me. While I felt like someone watched me, I didn’t see anyone suspicious. One heavy exhale, and I started off once more, telling myself to get a grip.
It had been a week since I’d left home, and I still couldn’t decide what I wanted to do with my suddenly wide-open future.
Fab had hooked me up with those two photographers—both in spring which still lay a couple of months off, and I really didn’t want to return to the east coast before then.
I’d put my condo up for sale, and had asked Fab to ready it for showings. If I got an offer that looked promising, I’d be forced to return home to pack up all my shit.
No one needed to know, though. Sneak back east, get shit done, take off once more.
But to where? And for how long?
Indecision, the hazy future I couldn’t seem to focus on, heaped on top of the shit of depression I’d been slumping under since Cristian’s death. I didn’t know what I wanted to do other than see Logan—yet, I wanted to avoid him, too.
He’d called twice more in the week since I’d been gone, both times a simple, “Please call me”, tempting me to the point of hovering my fingertip over the green call button.
The hairs on my nape stuck straight up as a shiver licked down my spine—and so not the pleasa
nt sort.
A man approached me, and although he wore dark sunglasses, I swore he bee-lined right for me. Tall. Dark hair. Scruffy beard. Jeans, nice boots, and a light zipper jacket against the cooler morning air.
Not anyone I knew.
I slipped into a café, my heart in my throat, and kept my back to the door while stepping into line.
No bell tinkled to announce a new patron as it had done for me, and I finally flitted a glance over my shoulder—no sunglasses man.
Feeling like a fool, I ordered a coffee and sat in the corner where I could see the sidewalk through the front windows. Three sips in, and sunglasses man ambled past, glancing into the café while walking by.
Adrenaline shot through me again, and I grasped my coffee cup in my hands to keep them from trembling.
He could have gone some place and was simply making his way back.
You wish.
Ten minutes later, I caught sight of him across the street. He hung in front of a store front as I had done, window shopping. Or did he?
I pulled my cell out of my purse, my entire body shaking like crazy.
“Giada!” Logan answered before it even rang on my end.
“Logan—some guy is following me, and I’m freaking the fuck out!” I whispered, my heart in my throat.
“Where are you?”
“At some café in Vegas.”
“Fuck.”
“What should I do?” I bit down on my lip as he swore again.
“Call the cops—or go straight to the station if it’s close by.”
“I have no clue where it is.”
“Do you know him?”
I checked the guy out again—he stood unmoving. “No. Never seen him before in my life.”
“What’s he look like? What’s he wearing?”
I described what I could, just knowing Logan was on the other end of the line calming me enough I could think straight.
“Keep me on the line,” he said, “and look up the closest station.”
I did as told, my fingers shaking. “Three blocks.”
“How far away is your car?”
“I-I walked.”
“Are you with anyone—is there anyone at the café you can ask to walk you to the station?”
“I’m here alone,” I said, doing a quick scan around me. “There’s one woman here by herself reading. I-I’ll ask her.”
“I’m staying on the line with you, Giada. Don’t hang up.”
“Okay.”
“Tell her what’s going on and ask her to walk with you. Don’t hang up with me until you’re at the station, got it?”
“Okay.” I grabbed my purse and took my mug to the counter before approaching the woman.
She glanced up from her book and smiled as I got closer and lowered my cell in front of me.
“Hey.” I swallowed, my knees shaking like crazy. “So, I have a huge favor to ask...”
Chapter Twenty-One
Stone
I shut myself in my dojo’s office the second Giada’s call came through. Emotions I’d never experienced in my life crashed against me like a goddamn tidal wave, slamming my heart in my chest at the first words I’d heard from her lips in over a week.
Powerless, I paced my office while talking to her, getting what information I could about the fucker stalking her, my free hand fisting and un-fisting with the need to strike a heavy bag.
My mind cursed non-fucking stop as I strained to make out her conversation with the woman.
“She’s coming with me,” Giada finally said in my ear.
“Walk fast—don’t stop for anything, you hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
I’d never heard Giada’s voice sound so meek, and it scared the shit out of me. My strong girl with a backbone of steel sounded like a frightened child—it fucking killed me.
A bell tinkled distantly, and muffled sounds of traffic sounded immediately after.
“I really appreciate this,” I heard Giada tell the woman, her voice far away—not holding the cell to her ear.
“Not a problem. Glad I could help.” The woman had an accent—French, perhaps.
I forced myself to stand in one spot, eyes closed and breathing deeply as the seconds passed. “Giada?”
She didn’t answer.
“Giada!” I hollered.
“I’m here... One block down.”
“Is he following?”
The seconds of hesitation while she glanced around twisted my guts into a tight knot. “I-I don’t see him, no.”
“Keep going—and don’t hang up until you’re inside the station. I want an officer to drive you back to your hotel where you’re going to pack up your shit and get your ass home.”
“I’m not going back there, Logan.”
“Not to your parents,” I snipped. “To my home.”
“Oh!” She gasped as though smiling and fumbled with her phone. “Logan!” Her muffled shriek knifed my heart.
“Giada!” I glanced down at my phone—the call had ended.
I hit redial—straight to voicemail.
“No!” I hit redial again—fucking voicemail. “Giada! Goddamnit, Giada!”
My hand shook while dialing 911, and I tore out of my office, gunning for the club.
****
“Got it,” Devil said, and I hurried to peer over his shoulder at the laptop he had on Vigil’s desk and the open page of the hotel registration she’d made. “She checked in there on Friday, late.”
“Show me the café and station she was walking toward.”
Seconds later, the map showed onscreen, and I studied it while running through what I knew. Giada had never made it to the station—nor had a woman with a French accent with any story of assault.
“Get me a ticket to Vegas,” I told Devil.
“I’ll go with you,” Ryker said from behind me.
I nodded while watching Devil’s fingers fly over the keys. “Make that two tickets,” I told him.
“I’ll call the Vegas chapter,” Vigil said from behind his desk. “Get them on it while you’re enroute.”
“Appreciate it.”
It could have been random—some psycho stalking Giada—I just knew whatever had happened wasn’t good. She’d have called me to let me know if she was okay. The French woman would have reported a kidnapping—unless she’d been unable to for some reason. My suspicious nature suggested the woman had been in on it, but the chances of that lay close to nil.
The not knowing, the inability to protect Giada raged inside me like a caged, enraged polar bear. Especially since the call I’d put through to the Vegas P.D. didn’t get me anywhere.
No evidence of a kidnapping, but at least I’d been able to file a missing person’s report—but Vegas averaged five to seven missing adults per goddamn day.
I didn’t have high expectations in their help finding her.
I tried her cell countless times before boarding the plane, and every time it went straight to voicemail. Ryker slept like a baby during the six-plus hour flight, but my mind refused to quiet. Scenarios continued to badger my mind, amping up the acid in my stomach to the point I asked the flight attendant for some antacids.
My stomach properly chalked up, and my nerves settled to steel, we exited the plane with our carry-ons.
Klingon, the Vegas Viper’s chapter President met us at the airport. He stuck out his hand to Ryker who looked at the offer of welcome and raised an eyebrow.
“Still a cold, little cunt, I see,” Klingon said with a laugh.
“Fuck off,” Ryker muttered. “You know I hate to be touched.”
I stepped forward to shake Klingon’s hand. The dude was hairy as fuck, his size and dark scowl put Ryker’s to shame.
“Grew up in Southie with me,” Ryker said as we followed Klingon to his car.
Yes, Klingon as in the Star Trek species. Intimidating as fuck. People took care to swing a wide berth when we approached. But I supposed three pissed off men in Viper’s
cuts alone would have done the same.
I filled Klingon in as we drove to his club—most of which Vigil had already shared with him.
“I’ve got a room set up for you back behind the club,” he said, his voice deep and dark as his piercing eyes. “Isn’t much, but it’s yours for however long you need.”
“Appreciate it,” I told him while scanning the dark scenery beyond the passenger window.
“My club is your club,” he continued. “You need my brothers’ help, it’s yours.”
Unlike the club back home, the Vegas boys didn’t have an enclosed lot. The building housing their club sprawled not far off an exit, more like a small shopping plaza lit up like a football stadium on a Friday night.
Bikes lined the front of the main section—looked like a hopping party.
“Gets a little loud,” Klingon warned us while parking. “Can’t promise you won’t hear it out back.”
“Not a problem.” I climbed out when he parked and grabbed my bag from Ryker who’d had it on the back seat beside him.
Our entrance drew a lot of attention. Drinks and hollers of welcome raised as we followed Klingon into his kingdom. While I wasn’t in the mood to drink, there wasn’t much I could do to look for Giada right then.
I took the cold bottle pressed into my hand and got pulled into backslapping hugs countless times before making it into Klingon’s office.
Ryker greeted a few guys by name, but he’d been around a hell of a lot longer than I had.
The Vegas Vipers had already heard about my woman’s disappearance, and over a dozen offered personal assistance to help in whatever way they could.
A handful of Klingon’s officers followed us into his office, and we sat at the huge round table dominating the room. Shutting the office door behind us didn’t muffle the noise of the main room entirely, but at least I could think straight.
Klingon sat at the head and leaned forward, hands clasped on the table. “Tell my boys everything—then we’re going to figure out what the fuck happened to your woman and get her back.”
****
The Vegas Vipers had connections—but no one in their back pocket had heard jack shit about Giada Burtonelli. No whiff, no hint of a lead rose in the day after our arrival. The police proved just as helpful.
Only two of the businesses in the area where I knew she’d disappeared from agreed to let me watch footage of their security cameras during the time our call had cut out. Neither showed what I needed to see.