Dirty Secrets (Get Dirty 4)

Getting all up in Dominick Angeline’s business is the absolute last thing I want to do. But not calling him when I see something out of the norm sounds like a sure-fire way to get my ass kicked. Or worse.

I let the kids finish their drills and give them a quick dismissal before heading for my desk, where my cellphone sits like a package of dynamite waiting to make the call I’m dreading.

Chapter 12

Dominick

“Say that again, slowly,” I tell Logan, my knuckles rapping on my steering wheel in a measured beat to try and calm myself down. I heard every word he said the first time. I just don’t want to believe it.

What is she doing? What is she thinking, leaving the studio off schedule with an unvetted man?

“Max called. Said he saw Allie run toward a guy, hopped into his arms with a smile on her face. They hugged and then he carried her to a truck and they left.”

His report is objective, no judgments, no emotion, just the facts.

“I’m already in the car, heading back. Stay close and make sure she’s safe, but do not engage. Understood?”

Logan accepts the order evenly, even though I’m probably interrupting his evening off. “Of course, Sir. I’ll be in touch.”

As soon as the call disconnects, I press the accelerator on my Mercedes, speeding up a little. I open the tracking app and see the green dot that tells me where she is. Frustratingly, it doesn’t tell me if she’s okay, but knowing her location gives me the tiniest sliver of reassurance. But it still doesn’t answer the questions I have.

My mind races to every possible scenario . . . has she been kidnapped because of her importance to me? If someone thinks to use her as a pawn against me, I would readily slash, burn, and destroy everyone and everything involved. I would tear this city to pieces before anything truly damaging could happen to her.

The thought of what could be happening to Allie makes a knot of dread form in my gut.

The timing seems oddly convenient as well. The majority of my time is spent in East Robinsville, never more than a half hour from her side.

Today is the rare break from my routine as I left town on a short road trip to pay my old friend Silas a visit. It’s too opportunistic to be coincidence, and I wonder if perhaps his Eagle Raiders had something to do with this.

But for what purpose? To what end? I seriously doubt they want a war.

I evaluate everything I know about Silas and his Eagle Raiders, and I can’t find a path that makes sense for that case. Silas is much more straightforward, a product of the open road. When he comes for someone, he’s about as subtle as one of his unmuffled Harleys rolling down the street at full-throttle.

So, if not Silas, then who? I think through what little I know.

It seems she knew the man and that her leaving wasn’t against her will. Could the man be an old lover? If it’s something more mundane like an ex, I’ll have to handle her messy emotions. Because her leaving me is no longer an option. She is mine, body, mind, and soul. I won’t allow any other possibility.

My Mercedes purrs in contrast to the loud thoughts in my head, a technological ghost gliding over the miles of asphalt, relatively silent death coming, if need be. I still don’t know what I’m going to do except that I’ll try to remain calm. But if someone has taken my Allie, whether they be an ex who needs a lesson by castration, an enemy who needs a lesson in death, or . . .

There is another possibility.

Sure. There’s a chance she just went willingly with a friend, although the blatant disregard for the reasonable protocol we’ve established would certainly warrant another discussion. And maybe a spanking.

One that she would not enjoy quite as much as the last. I’ll never lay a hand on her in anger, but she needs to understand that her safety is of utmost importance to me. If a bit of pinkened skin and a sore ass get that message into her beautiful brain, then so be it.

But I have to hope that she is smarter than that, that she understands how dangerous the city can be for her and wouldn’t go traipsing around unescorted after we’d agreed to chaperones for her safety.

My phone rings again, and I have a moment of hope that it is her, but the name flashing on the screen isn’t hers.

“Yes.”

Logan’s voice comes through the speakers. “Sir, I’ve got eyes on her in a food truck park. Currently, she’s sitting on the tailgate with the unknown male. They purchased some smoothies and a burrito and have been talking ever since. She does not appear to be in distress.”