CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
WELLS
W e’re at her mercy, which is presumably exactly what she wants.
Her plans are meticulously exhaustive.
No stones unturned. No frayed ends.
No embers smoldering.
In any other case, I’d have two thoughts: Time is of the essence because every minute missing is another mile into hiding. And given time, even the best accidentally reveal themselves.
But with Ivy, it’s not about her slipping up and mistakenly showing herself or even bridging another mile. She’s summoning us to her—whether it be to fuck with us or test whether I really will chase her to the ends of the earth, I’m not sure.
I could always read her.
By the time I spoke with her that evening at the masquerade party for her eighteenth birthday, I’d been watching her for a month. As far as marks go, I felt I had a keen perception of her, but in our brief moments by the pond, she blew it all away.
She was more.
Stronger.
Pluckier.
Stormier beneath her well-mannered posture.
She aspired to be the tiny, unexpected pebble shaking the pond, and for some inexplicable reason, I wanted to buff every jagged edge to help her skip across those waters.
After that moonlit encounter, she bloomed before my eyes—a night flower in search of illumination. Knowing her deepest motivation and how she held herself when faced with disappointment supplied insight into her thought process. In time, it was like I was in her head.
And she was most definitely in mine.
But her voice on the phone with Ty two days ago was distant. Irate and dejected, as anticipated. But also disassociated. Detached.
The last forty-eight hours, it’s felt like she’s severed my inside view.
Anticipating her next move is more muddled than it’s ever been. And patient stakeouts of my Little Storm are not my style anymore. I can’t twiddle my thumbs and … wait.
But sadly, although we’re exhausting every angle—tracking down every vehicle registered to anyone Ivy’s ever met, combing through traffic cameras and airport surveillance, and examining any other needles we can sift out—the waiting is what it all amounts to.
Waiting until that motherfucking ruby necklace dings in the system like Pavlov’s dog bell to every goddamn hit man in the United States.
Then, we’ll race against the clock, hurdling her barriers one by one. She might have burned our home, but I’ll burn every inch of land leading to her regardless of what it holds, leaving a charred path in my wake.
We’re in Ohio, back at the apartment we occupied to observe her trial. I’m frantically scouring the dark web, refreshing alerts, and eating myself into a sugar coma. No scotch today. I need to be ready.
At four o’clock, as I’m swishing the lemon Skittles juice around my mouth, salivating because it’s reminiscent of Ivy’s flavor, it happens. The ruby necklace flashes in the jeweler’s system.
“There,” I direct Liam, whose fingers prance over the keys in a violent dance.
“Fucking. Goddamn. Asswipes,” he mutters, eyes trained on the screen while my stomach churns in a turbulent spin. The pound of every punched key pierces me as I screenshot the information. He grunts, shaking out his fingers. “Done.”
“Fifty-three seconds,” I say, both of us panting as though we’ve just finished our SEALs workout. “How bad is it?”
He rubs his forehead with worried strokes. “It could’ve been copied for repost later.Anyone with an alert could have it, but it’s been years, so we can hope.”
“New Orleans.” I study the address, a bubble of solace swelling that it’s the jeweler around the corner from La Lune Noire. “Maybe Axel has her.”
Ty and Gage gather our go bags while I connect us to Axel via speaker. The unnerving ring reverberating through the space is like a somber overture.
He answers with a clipped, “Yeah?”
“Is she there?” I rush out.
“No,” he says, his curt response echoing in a way that magnifies the tunnel of loss and betrayal I see us barreling into.
Motherfucker.
“Since you know who I’m talking about, she was,” I snipe.
Three beats of silence on his end and a slew of curses from my crew later, he sighs. “Yes. She was.”
Shoving my chair backward as I spring up, I shout over the clank of it toppling to the ground, “The fuck? I hope to hell for your sake that you know where she is, Axel.”
“I’m tracking Ryker down. He’ll explain.” A frustrated grunt seeps through the speaker. “I wasn’t here, man.”
“Bullshit.” I scoff. “You should’ve called—”
“He’s my brother. You know how it is.” He leaves no room to argue with his sorry-ass excuse for whatever the hell they’ve done, but the divisiveness of his statement is crystal clear.
A minute later, we’re out the door, loading into the Jeep when Ryker booms through the phone, deadpanning, “Wells.”
“Where the fuck is she?” I hiss, nearly wrenching my door off the hinges with the slam .
“That I don’t know,” he says, no urgency and plainly ignoring mine, as though we were discussing what was for dinner.
Gage steers us toward the highway, leading to our jet that’s stationed only minutes away at a nearby hangar—closer than the other one for emergencies like this—while Ty and Liam crack into all security footage in the jeweler and surrounding area, and I deal with Ryker.
“Start fucking talking.”
His middle finger is audible, his voice like stone. “She was only here for dinner. I took good care of her, and she went on her way.”
He’s got to be fucking high.
I try another way. “Know anything about a necklace?”
“Sure do,” he quips. “But probably no more than you.”
“Ryker, goddammit!” I bark as Gage swerves around traffic. “We don’t have time for your fucking around!”
Ryker isn’t an easy personality, but he’s our friend and confidante. We’ve been on the same side of countless deals, so I’m failing to grasp his glitch here.
He balks. “Your girl had something I wanted, and I dropped her necklace off at a jeweler.”
“And you let her go? Un-fucking-believable,” I drone, gearing up to tear him apart, limb by limb, with my bare hands. “Without fucking calling me?”
“I did,” he sneers. “ You told us as far as she or anyone else was concerned, you four don’t exist. Remember? So—”
“Fucking bullshit!” I bellow, punching my fist into the dash, not even caring that my knuckles are cracked and bloody again.
“Let me lay it out like this, Wells.” His pitch deepens with indignation.
“Remember when I wanted to finance everything for Mercy’s escape, and she begged you to take her on pro bono so she could do it her way?
I’m sure you do because that’s what you fucking did.
I know she’s taken care of, but you kept me out of it. Consider the favor returned.”
“She was a victim of abuse and desperate for control,” Ty snaps. “Fucking different! That was a matter of integrity and compassion. This is spite!”
“Fuck off, man. It wasn’t spite.” Ryker grunts, rearing for a fight I should have seen coming. He’s been livid about Mercy, but this is too goddamn far. “Your girl might not have been physically beaten, but that hollow look in her eyes was unmistakable. Like I said, I followed your lead.”
Motherfucking prick.
“Difference is,” Liam growls, “Ty has eyes on your girl, Mercy, at all times.”
“You fucking sent ours off alone, asshole,” Gage adds as he veers into the far lane, weaving between cars as horns blare around us, his knuckles blanching on the steering wheel.
“Fucking hell. I gave her three hundred grand, my number, made sure she was armed, had a safe vehicle and a burner phone. I didn’t call you because I don’t know what the hell you guys are messed up in.
Your girl had shown up here, asking for me .
If she wanted you, she would’ve hung near whatever the fuck she burned to the ground.
” Despite the accusation inside that observation, his tone has tempered considerably.
But I don’t have the patience for this bullshit. The Noire brothers, especially Ryker, don’t give assistance for free. Ivy paid for that help one way or another.
So, I don’t dance around it. “What the fuck did she give you?”
No hesitation. “Hailey Holden and a smoking gun.”
Ty gasps. “How the hell?”
How in the hell is right? Jesus Christ, Ivy is running circles around us all. A goddamn cyclone. Why was she even digging for that?
“She’s brilliant and a little scary.” Ryker’s boisterous laugh fills the car.
Looks like the Little Storm won him over, which explains his attitude.
He’s not just spiteful regarding Mercy; he’s protective over Ivy.
“Kinda fucking crazy in the best sort of way. I already set what she gave me in motion. I fucking own Monroe Montgomery, and Dalton is finished. Ivy earned her place with me, so if you’re trying to bleed my loyalty, it’s already spent. ”
“Loyal?” I choke on a dubious roar. “Jesus Christ, you know she’s being hunted.”
“So does she,” he says with serene confidence. “My money’s on her.”
We’re pulling into the hangar, so I suppress my urge to threaten his life and move us forward. “Give me what you know so we can protect her. Plate number? Direction? Appearance changes? Anything.”
He rattles off the plate number before tacking on, “She was planning to buy a new car. Don’t know where she’s headed.
Brown hair now. Everything else the same.
Skinny jeans, black sweater, and boots. She left you a note at the jeweler, and she’ll be hacking into the security system there.
We’re also monitoring it for any suspicious activity or shady customers.
She wants to see who’s after her. Doing your fucking job for you. That girl has skill.”
My anger toward him dissipates as I hear his words, laced with the loyalty he mentioned. And pride. For my wife. I might not appreciate him letting her go, but he looked out for her nonetheless, and I can’t fault him for being dragged under her spell.
“We’ll be there in about four hours,” I tell him. “You’ll detain anyone inquiring about the ruby necklace?”
“Will do,” he says. “Already planned on it.”