Firestorm (Sons of Templar MC 2)

Cade sat forward, blank expression gone. “How the fuck do you know about my wife?” His fury was barely restrained.

Garrett was happy at this man’s obvious protection for Gwen. He hoped that would translate to Amy.

“She’s my niece’s best friend,” he said quietly. Cade stilled and understanding flickered on his face.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” The blond man beside him growled, his emotionless façade gone, fury replacing it.

“Amy was kidnapped from a bar in New Mexico six days ago by a man named Clark Devon,” Garrett explained as he watched the men’s faces pale.

He reckoned that these men rarely felt fear, but the look of alarm on the blond’s face mimicked the terror that was eating him up inside. He cared about Amy a great deal.

Garrett knew about this man. He made sure he had as much information as he could on these men. His name was Brock Vaughn, and he’d patched into the Sons of Templar after two tours as a Marine. He grew up here, was best friends with Cade Fletcher and was in love with his niece. The last part he didn’t find out from his files.

“Six days?” Brock yelled, banging his fist on the table. “Six fucking days and we’re only hearing about this now? How the fuck is that possible?”

“My brother-in-law has been insistent on keeping this quiet—he believes it is the best way to help Amy. I respected his wishes.” Garrett paused. “Until now.”

Heavy silence hung in the room. The blonde looked like he was ready to kill someone with his bare hands, his eyes intent on Garrett.

“What’s changed?” Cade asked evenly, flicking his gaze to his friend.

Garrett noticed at first glance Cade may have seemed calm and unruffled by his revelation. But on closer inspection he could see his knuckles were white from the intensity at which they were being clenched, and the stiff posture showed he was containing his rage.

The man who had been quiet during this exchange spoke up. “How do you know she’s alive?” he asked.

Before Garrett could answer Brock shot a death glare at his brother. He looked like he might break his jaw.

“She’s alive,” he bit out.

“Brother, you know this guy. Fuck, he’s notorious. We’ve all heard the stories—without proof of life he could have…”

“She’s a-fucking-live!” Brock exploded.

“She’s alive,” Garrett interrupted quietly, not wanting a brawl to erupt. He needed these men focused.

The three men looked at him and he could feel the tension in the room dissipate slightly. He opened his laptop and turned the screen toward them. “Six days ago my brother-in-law was sent this email, informing him that his daughter had been taken and if he wanted her back alive, he would have to do as he was instructed.”

“What were the demands?” Brock interrupted.

“That Harold continue to support a business deal that will give Devon significantly more money and power than he has now,” Garrett answered. “Harold suddenly got a conscience, decided he didn’t want to be doing business with a criminal no matter how clean he was on paper. This is Clark’s way of telling him that isn’t going to happen.”

Garrett opened the first photo they received. Amy lying unconscious, handcuffed to a bed. Once the men had seen it he felt the air turn dangerous.

“Fuck,” Cade muttered.

Brock stayed silent, but he was shaking with rage.

“Shortly afterward we received the first video. He has streaming cameras in his dining room. Of course he is smart enough not to show his face.”

Garrett played the video; Amy’s voice through the speaker still a blow to his stomach.

“Well, excuse me for not praising you on what a lovely kidnapping you’ve thrown. It’s the best I’ve been to. I’ll be sure to let my friends know the caliber of the pastries present.”

“Jesus Christ, Amy,” Brock muttered.

Garrett had almost laughed when he had heard her say that for the first time, but the knowledge of just how dangerous Devon was sobered him. “We get one of these every day to prove Amy is still alive. She is unharmed in each of the other ones, although her language stays colorful,” Garrett explained once the video ended.

“Does she even fuckin’ know how dangerous this guy is? She’s playing a game with her life every time she opens her smart mouth,” Brock bit out, shaking his head.

Garrett laughed. “I don’t expect she does know what Clark is capable of. I’m thankful for that—her stubbornness and sarcasm are better than terror.”

“You said something changed to make you come to us,” Cade addressed him, his tone was flat.

“Yes,” Garrett sighed. “The last video we got.” He paused, not wanting to choke up in front of these men. He cleared his throat. “The last video has led me to believe Clark doesn’t intend on letting Amy go anytime soon. Nor does he intend to keep her in one piece.” He played the clip that had broken his heart.

He watched the men instead of the video. He didn’t need to look at the computer screen; he saw it every time he closed his eyes. They all stilled at Clark’s voice.

“Open your legs.”

“No way in hell.” He heard Amy’s strong tone.

He was so proud of how brave his girl was.

Brock’s hiss and Cade’s curse informed him they were watching a gun being held to Amy’s head. They kept their eyes glued to the screen until it abruptly turned off the moment Amy did as she was asked. The clip then jumped to Amy being carried out of the room with blood staining her thighs. He had lost his lunch upon seeing that, and had barely been able to eat since.

A loaded silence followed the end of the clip.

Abruptly Brock pushed out of his chair, his face blank. He picked up the chair, walked to the wall and smashed it against the concrete. It shattered into pieces.

He paused before walking back over. “He’s fucking dead,” Brock declared flatly.

For the first time in six days Garrett smiled.

I awoke to fire. My legs, they were burning up. The pain was so intense I was afraid to move. What I was feeling was on par with how bad it was when I sustained these injuries, when Rafe’s knife had torn through my skin. At first I was relieved when I had discovered he wasn’t planning on raping me. But after he had sliced the skin on my inner thigh, down through the muscle, I found myself wondering whether I would have preferred it.