Niro (Henchmen MC Next Generation 1)

I could feel Fallon's gaze on me, see Danny's on him, all of us a mixture of confusion.

"Toll, man, I think you're confused," I said, trying for calm. It wasn't his fault if he whacked his head off the pavement and was remembering shit weird. "I've seen Andi. She's fine."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "No. They took her. They kidnapped her."

And, suddenly, something she'd said came rushing back, something I had all but forgotten about because of everything that had come afterward.

I'm right here. Un-kidnapped.

Un-kidnapped.

I guess I thought she meant she'd never been kidnapped.

But that wasn't how she phrased it.

Un-kidnapped.

Because Toll was right.

Toll was right.

They'd taken her.

Then they'd done something, said something, to force her silence.

That was why she'd said it that way. Because Andi was a shitty liar. She couldn't say she hadn't been kidnapped with any believability. But saying she'd been un-kidnapped? She could say that. Because it was true. They took her, then they let her go.

"Fuck," I snapped, turning, and rushing out of the hospital, ignoring the shouts from the staff as I ran through the halls, not able to think of anything but the fact that something awful had happened to her, and she was carrying on like it hadn't because they'd likely threatened her in some way.

I was at her office after what felt like forever, but I was pretty sure I was pushing eighty the whole way. I don't think I'd have even noticed sirens and lights if they had followed me.

"Um, can I help you?" the woman at the front desk—blonde, round-faced, blue-eyed—asked, brows knitting.

"I need to see Andi."

"Sir, I'm afraid you need to have an appointment."

"Listen, I need to see her. You can tell me where she is, or I can start yelling. Your choice."

"She's not here."

"And—" I started to yell, drawing the attention of the couple in the waiting room who were shushing their roaring cat in its carrier.

"She's not here," the woman insisted, standing. "She leaves early on Wednesdays since she does late shifts on Tuesdays and Thursdays. She's not here."

"Fuck," I snapped, turning to make my way to the door.

"I can leave a mess—"

I was already back out on the street, on my bike, peeling off toward her apartment building.

"I'm starting to think maybe I should call the police when I see you here," Andi's neighbor decided when I got in front of her door, pounding my fists on it.

"Do what you gotta do," I snapped, pounding harder, cursing under my breath.

"Is she home?" I asked.

There was a long moment of silence as she looked at me, trying to gauge my threat-level. In the end, she must have seen the worry, the panic in my face, because she sighed.

"Yeah. I mean...yeah."

"What aren't you telling me?"

"I'm worried about her. She seems, I don't know, depressed. Purple circles, always clutching coffee cups..."

"She doesn't drink coffee."

"Well, she does now. And she doesn't even cute-talk to little Nugget anymore. She just seems off."

"Do you have a key to her door?" I asked, watching as the truth flashed across her face. Yes, she did. But she wasn't going to give it to me. And if I broke it down, she'd be calling the cops on me for sure.

"Listen, Andi and I have been best friends since we were in diapers. I helped her save Nugget from a half-frozen river. I kept him for her during college."

"Then why do I never see you here? Except when you're acting like a crazy person?"

"Because I fucked up and she's mad at me. But if she needs me, I have to be here. And I think she needs me. If she doesn't want me, I will call her parents. But I need to know she's okay. You can even come in," I offered.

She chewed her lip for a moment before going back inside her apartment, coming back with keys on a sunflower lanyard... and a baseball bat.

"My mom told me never to trust a biker," she told me, shrugging.

"Probably good advice," I agreed, taking the key, unlocking the door.

The apartment itself was a blur as I rushed inside, barely even registering Nugget's happy greeting as I broke into the bedroom and found her curled up under a pile of blankets on the bed.

"Andi," I called, voice tentative, unsure, as I watched the blankets, making sure they were rising and falling. "Andi!" I called again, louder, hearing a whimper.

"You can't be here."

"What?" I asked, moving closer, grabbing at her hip, flipping her onto her back.

"You can't. You need to go. Now," she said, reaching up to scrub the sleeves of her sweatshirt over her wet cheeks.

"Baby, I'm not going anywhere," I told her, seeing that the neighbor was right. She looked like she hadn't slept in a week. Her eyes were red and swollen, her cheeks raw from her tears. "I need to talk to you."