If Preston was surprised to hear Zeke was at the entrance of The Club, he didn’t act like it. He pulled Zeke inside past the bouncer, smiled disarmingly at a few of the patrons who gave them funny looks, and took him into a quiet office on the first floor. He didn’t care that he was having a hard time breathing. The heaviness in his chest had disappeared while he was running from that damn parking lot. Now he was carved out inside, like someone had been scooping against his ribs with a jagged piece of metal.
“I need your car,” Zeke said.
Wordlessly, Preston left the room. He returned a moment later and handed Zeke his keys.
“Thank you,” Zeke breathed.
Ten minutes later, he parked Preston’s truck outside John’s apartment building. A quick glance up confirmed a light was on. Zeke pretended calm long enough for an older man to let him into the building before he gave and sprinted up the stairs toward the right floor. Panting, he pounded down the hallway and came to a stop outside John’s room.
The door wasn’t closed. A sliver of sickly yellow light fell into the hallway and the icy fingers of fear tightened their grip on Zeke’s heart when he saw the limp form in the room. He pushed open the door slowly, checking what he could without his guns, and knelt beside the body. There was still a pulse.
“John,” he whispered, lightly pushing against his friend’s shoulder. No response. “John, wake up.”
The man groaned, a mangled sound of pain, and blinked a few times before his eyes could focus. “Zeke? How did you know–?”
“Viv’s been taken.”
John winced.
“Since you were lying here unconscious,” Zeke continued, rage growing, “I know it wasn’t you. Who did this?”
“She broke it off,” John mumbled. “And when she came back tonight, I was so damn happy to see her again...I didn’t even think...”
“Delilah? She’s Viv’s stalker?”
John groaned, but Zeke shook him, mind scrambling. “John, she has Viv. I don’t give a shit about your broken heart. Tell me where the bitch is.”
***
“Helloooo,” the voice cooed.
Head protesting the movement, Vivian opened her heavy eyelids and tried to make the world stop spinning. Delilah crouched a few feet away from her, make-up and hair perfect as they’d been at dinner. If she hadn’t been holding a pistol in her hand, Vivian might have been glad to see her.
“Where are we?” Vivian croaked.
“Don’t you recognize it?”
It took a few moments, but details slowly sank in. A familiar rug. A picture she’d wanted to replace months ago, but never had.
“Why are we in my apartment?” she asked, wishing she didn’t feel so nauseous. What the hell had Delilah hit her with?
“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been looking for him?” Delilah said, ignoring Vivian’s question.
She was still too muddled to guess. “Who?”
“Quinn, of course.”
“You mean Zeke.”
The blow came too fast for her avoid. The crack of Delilah’s hand against her cheek echoed throughout the apartment, the thunder before the lightning-burn of pain.
“Don’t you dare talk about him,” Delilah fumed. “You’re not worthy to say his name!”
She stayed silent and Delilah’s anger dissipated. Conversationally, she explained, “He doesn’t go by Quinn anymore because he doesn’t want any other woman finding out who he is. He’s wait
ing for me to find him.”
Cunning eyes latched onto her. “You’re just a test. He’s testing me to see how much I love him.”