17. BLAKE
Chapter seventeen
BLAKE
T he moon hung low over Chicago, casting a somber glow on the streets as Blake sped through them, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew Savannah was out there somewhere, and he had to find her before it was too late.
He started with her old apartment in West Garfield Park. He was about to ring the buzzer when he looked up at the window and saw a woman standing up there with a baby in her arms. Then a man came up behind her, giving her a kiss on her neck. So, a family occupied the space now.
The one thing Savannah always wanted for herself.
Desperation clawed at him. Where the hell had she gone?
He raced to the bridge where he'd first seen her years ago, hoping against hope she'd be there for some reason. Maybe to revisit the past? To go back to the point where her life and Blake’s had first intersected? A way of trying to reclaim her independence, somehow?
Truthfully, there was another reason Blake needed to check this spot. This was the same bridge Chloe's body was found under. A chilling reminder of why he couldn't fail to find Savannah.
But she wasn't there.
"Shit," he whispered, frustration mounting. As he turned to leave, a woman's cry pierced the night air. Without hesitation, he sprinted toward the sound.
"Get off me!" the woman screamed, struggling against the man who pinned her to the ground.
"Hey! You piece of shit!" Blake roared, grabbing the attacker by the collar and yanking him off the woman. The woman had dark skin and black hair—definitely not Savannah, but that didn’t matter. Blake didn’t want any woman to suffer. Not for one fucking moment.
"Back off, asshole," sneered the guy at him. “I’ve got a knife.”
“And I’ve got a fucking fist,” growled Blake. He threw a punch, connecting with the guy's jaw, and then another, fueled by the anger that coursed through him. The man crumpled to the ground, gasping and whimpering.
"Try that again, and I'll make sure it's the last thing you ever do," he growled, breathing heavily from the adrenaline pumping through his veins.
"Thank you," the woman stammered, tears streaming down her face as she scrambled to her feet.
"Get out of here," Blake urged, not taking his eyes off the defeated assailant. The woman nodded and took off, disappearing into the shadows.
Blake was tempted to give the guy on the ground a kick, but he didn’t. He’d done enough damage tonight already. He had to try to keep his emotions in check.
“What now, then?” he grumbled to himself as he walked back onto the street.
Under the dim glow of a streetlight, Blake's phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, seeing Jax's name flash across the screen and answered without hesitation.
"Blake, I've got news," Jax said urgently. "Nash made it out of the gala okay, but there's a citywide call out for you. The cops are looking for you after that stunt with the alderman."
"Shit," Blake muttered under his breath, adrenaline still coursing through his veins from the earlier altercation. His mind raced, considering the implications of being hunted by the police while trying to find Savannah.
“He’s not dead, at least. Just a concussion and a few stitches. But still, it doesn’t look good.”
"Jax, I'm sorry, man. I fucked up," he said. "I didn't realize how much anger was inside me until I confronted that bastard."
"We get it, bro," Jax assured him. "We're doing our part to expose the truth. I leaked videos and photos from the shitshow we saw at the gala onto the City Halls website. Nash has been talking to some old cop friends he trusts about what's going on."
“Blake,” Nash said coldly on speakerphone. “That was some interesting shit you pulled tonight.”
“Yeah,” said Blake, rubbing his cracked and bloody fist. “Sorry, Nash.”
Nash sighed. “It wasn’t the right moment, Blake. But I get why you did it. I wanted to fucking kill that asshole.”
"Thanks," Blake replied, his chest tightening with gratitude for his brothers' support. "Have you seen Savannah? Is she back at the club?"
“No, man,” said Jax. “I thought you were with her?”
"She's gone," he admitted, his voice cracking. "I don't know where she is. I need her. I know you guys are going to think I’m crazy, but I really fucking love her." The words hung heavy in the air.
“We don’t think you’re crazy,” said Nash kindly. “We know you, brother. Know how hard Chloe’s death hit you. How much you’ve needed to find someone to fight for. And Savannah, she’s a brave girl. Exactly the kind of Little you’ve been looking for.”
"Blake, we're going to help you find her," Jax reassured him firmly.
Nash added, "You know we've got your back, brother."
"Thanks," he replied, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. He had no idea what he'd do without them.
"Let me see if I can track her down," Jax chimed in over the phone, his fingers tapping rapidly on his keyboard. "Just give me a sec—got it. Her phone's at . . . Oh, shit. She’s at the Lucifer Club."
Blake's heart hammered in his chest. She’d gone there alone? He needed to go find her, but he knew he couldn't barge in there alone, not with the cops after him and potentially more danger lurking inside.
"Okay," he said. “We need a plan, stat."
"Leave it to us," Nash declared, determination evident in his tone. "We'll round up some trustworthy help and meet you there. Just hang tight, Blake. We're going to get her back."
"Thanks," Blake managed, his voice thick with gratitude and fear.
"Stay safe, brother," Nash told him. "We'll be there as soon as we can."
As the call ended, Blake got back in the car and drove to the Lucifer Club, his jaw clenched in anticipation.
Outside the club, the pulse of neon lights and thumping bass assaulted his senses, teasing him about the horrors that lurked inside. He knew he had to be patient, but every fiber of his being screamed at him to rush in and save his Little. But he couldn't risk getting caught without backup or putting her in more danger.
"What are you up to in there, Savvy?" he whispered into the darkness, his eyes fixed on the club's entrance. "Whatever it is, just hold on just a little longer. I'm coming for you."
Just then, there was a knock at his car window. Three quick taps in quick succession. Paladin Security's signature knock.
Blake unlocked the car and his brothers climbed in.
"Any sign of her?” Nash asked.
“No,” replied Blake. “You get help?”
“Yeah. I had an idea. If we call the police, they might send a dirty cop our way. Instead, I contacted my old DEA buddies and reported that there are illegal drugs on-site at the Lucifer—which, let's face it, is almost guaranteed."
“You fucking bet it is,” replied Blake, gritting his teeth. "As long as the DEA knows what's going on, the cops can't sweep this under the rug."
"Exactly," Nash replied. "Backup will be here in five. Let’s sit tight until then.”
Blake glanced at the club's entrance again, watching all kinds of horrible-looking characters go inside. Minutes stretched into hours as Blake waited, growing more restless with each passing moment.
He appreciated his brothers' careful approach, but his Little was inside that building. He’d sworn an oath that he would do anything—anything—to protect her. With her distinctive red hair and eye-catching looks, she wouldn’t last a minute if she’d gone in there expecting to be a hero. He had to make sure she was safe.
“Fuck it,” he said. “I can’t wait any longer. I’m going in.”
“Blake, they’ll be here any minute—”
“Good. Then you won’t be far behind me.”
“Bro, it’s really not a good idea,” warned Jax.
“Maybe not,” said Blake. “But I’m her fucking Daddy. And sometimes, Daddies have to act on instinct.”
He opened up the glove box of his car and took out his gun. Then, he got out of the car, tucking the gun into the back of his jeans, and walked up to the club’s entrance. This was it. The most important mission of his life.
The steady thump of bass vibrated through Blake's chest as he entered, his narrowed eyes scanning for any sign of his babygirl.
The place was full, bodies dancing, lost in the music. Neon lights flickered across the room, casting vibrant hues of purple and blue onto the sleek, modern decor. The air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and the faint, lingering sweetness of tropical cocktails.
Blake pushed his way through, passing clusters of people lounging on plush leather sofas, sipping drinks, and nodding their heads to the beat.
He looked constantly, obsessively, for his little girl, But she was nowhere to be seen. Blake ducked into a dark corridor, away from the dancefloor. Just then, a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.
"Blake Marks." He turned to see the voice's origin. It was Vincent DeLuca—Scarface—the man who had recognized him at the gala just days ago. "You're all over the news, buddy. The cops will be real happy to find you here."
For the third time this evening, Blake didn't hesitate. He lunged forward, slamming his fist into Scarface's jaw with a satisfying crunch. The man crumpled to the floor, unconscious. Thankfully, there was no-one nearby to see.
“Looks like I have a knack for that,” remarked Blake, cracking his knuckles. He’d thrown so many punches tonight it felt like he’d done his hand some real damage, but there were plenty more punches in him yet if there had to be.
Time was running out, and he couldn't waste it on small talk.
"Stay down there where you belong," he muttered, stepping over DeLuca and continuing deeper into the club.
He focused on Savannah, pushing away the dark thoughts that threatened to consume him. She needed him, and she needed him now.
"Where are you, Savvy?" he whispered under his breath.
Finally, Blake found himself in front of a nondescript door at the back of the club. The one that he and Savannah had once tried to enter together. His gut told him this was the place. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever he might find inside, and pushed the door open.
"Please, Marcus, let me go," Savannah's voice drifted to him, weak but defiant.
Relief washed over Blake—she was alive.
In the dark room, he saw her bound tightly to a chair, her body slumped and her eyes glazed from whatever drug they'd given her.
A sickly man in his sixties sneered down at her, his bony hands gripping her arm as if she were a possession.
Shit. She’d just called him Marcus. That was the name of her abusive foster father. Fury surged through him as he aimed his gun at Marcus, every fiber of his being screaming out for justice.
“I hate you,” she said woozily to the man, mustering up all the energy she had left to spit in his face.
That’s my girl.
Still standing in the shadows, Blake drew the gun out of the back of his jeans with practiced stealth. When he had the gun pointed right at Marcus’ head, he spoke out, his voice deep and commanding.
"Cover your ears, Savvy," he ordered.
Savannah and Marcus turned toward him in surprise.
In an instant, Marcus whipped out a gun of his own and pressed it to Savannah's temple, his eyes gleaming with malice.
"Come on, hero. Shoot me if you dare," Marcus taunted, tightening his grip on Savannah. “The second I see that finger move, mine goes too. And then your little ginger-haired freak ends up all over this wall.”
Blake cursed under his breath. He hadn’t anticipated this. Should’ve waited for his brothers to bring back up. He was hot-headed, always too quick to act. Too brave for his own good. Just like Savannah.
As he tried to figure out his next move, he saw something in Savannah's eyes—trust and determination. She nodded ever so slightly, encouraging him to take the shot despite the risk. His eyes locked with her defiant gaze. He tried to communicate everything to her in that one look—anger, love, understanding.
He let out a slow breath. Sweat dripped down his temple. Everything in him screamed to pull the trigger and end Marcus for good.
"Do it," Savannah whispered, her faith in him unwavering.
Killing Marcus would be easy. He was pretty sure he could pull the trigger much faster than that old bastard. But he couldn’t risk Savvy getting hurt. Not in a million years. And something else was making him hesitate, too. He wanted Marcus to suffer, to pay for his crimes. The fucker deserved more than a quick death.
"What's the matter?" Marcus asked, his voice mocking and cruel. "Don't have the guts. That's good. Savvy here deserves to be with a real man. Someone like me, who's not afraid to do what he wants to—"
Blake couldn’t listen to another word of it. He clenched his jaw, and then, dropped his gaze for a moment. He noticed Marcus drop his guard just for a moment, and then, in a flash of speed, he threw his pistol, hard, straight at the bastard's head. It hit his forehead with a sickening crack, and Blake was already on him, smacking the gun clean out of his hand, then kicking him in the balls, knocking him to his knees. If there’s one thing that guy deserved, it was a damaged dick.
"Stay down," Blake growled at the writhing man, grabbing his weapon and training it on him.
"Blake . . ." Savannah murmured, her voice weak from the ordeal.
"Shh, it's okay now, Savvy," Blake reassured her, putting his arms around her. "I've got you, babygirl."
As he carefully untied the ropes binding her wrists, he couldn't help but notice the bruises and marks marring her delicate skin. Fury bubbled inside him, but he pushed it down, focusing on freeing her. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" he asked, concern lacing his voice.
"Nothing major," she replied, trying to sound brave despite the tears pooling in her eyes. “I’m not really sure what happened. I went to see Marcus . . . and I ended up here.”
“He drugged you,” said Blake through gritted teeth. “We’ll talk more about that later. Right now, just let me hold you, darling. I need to keep you warm.”
Sirens wailed in the distance, growing closer by the second. Relief washed over Blake as he helped Savannah to her feet, supporting her weight against him.
Moments later, the door burst open, and two DEA agents swept through with Jax and Nash. they swiftly handcuffed Marcus, checked his pockets and pulled out a bottle of clear liquid that was almost certainly GBH.
"Good work, Blake," Nash said, nodding in approval. “You could have killed the man, but you didn’t. It’s better this way.”
Blake nodded. “Yeah.”
"We've got this now, buddy," said Jax, squeezing his shoulder. “Go look after your girl.”
"Come on, my Little warrior," he murmured, helping her walk towards a new beginning. "Let's speak to the police and then get you home."
“Back to the safehouse, Daddy?” she replied groggily.
“No, pumpkin,” he replied. “Home.”
"I'm so sorry," Savannah whispered into his ear, her breath warm against his skin. “I was trying to help. I thought if I got some more information then we could bring down this whole—”
"Shh, it's okay. I get it," Blake replied, his gruff voice filled with understanding. "You're a fighter."
He gently cupped her face in his hands, caressing her freckled cheeks. The tenderness in his touch was a stark contrast to the fierce determination that had driven him to save her.
"Can't stop that side of you, Savvy," he murmured, "and I don't want to."
"Blake," she breathed, her eyes shining with unshed tears.
"I love you, Savannah," he confessed, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "My fierce Little."
With that, he captured her lips in a passionate kiss, pouring every ounce of love and devotion he had into the embrace. Savannah responded with equal fervor, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck.
"Love you too, Daddy," she whispered when they broke apart, her voice full of warmth and affection.
Their world momentarily narrowed to just the two of them, as if the chaos surrounding them ceased to exist. They shared another deep, soul-stirring kiss, sealing the bond that had grown between them.
"Let's get out of here," Blake said once they finally pulled apart, his blue eyes burning with an intensity that sent shivers down Savannah's spine.
"Lead the way," she replied, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
Taking her hand in his, Blake navigated through the hectic scene, never looking back. They were leaving behind the darkness that had threatened to consume them—and stepping forward, together, into the light.