16. Savage
Chapter 16
Savage
It’s only been ten minutes when the feeling that had been growing in my gut becomes too intense to ignore anymore. And it’s not just me. When I take out my phone and message Samuel, Vito doesn’t even protest. Maybe he’s just as worried about Nyx as I am, or maybe he can’t stand me scowling anymore.
He takes out a pair of Tauruses—Dolce and Gabbana—and puts them in the glove compartment. After a pause, I put my Beretta in there too. No one’s going to let us through the door with guns. Every man entering the club is patted down first.
“We gonna wait for backup before we go inside?”
“I can show you which direction they went,” Andy says, grabbing the top of Vito’s seat to pull herself closer. “And if you give me a gun?—”
Vito holds up his hand. “You’re not going back inside, babe.”
“Ex-cuse me?” Her voice could have ushered in a new ice age.
“It’s gonna be dangerous.”
“Let me guess. You assume just because I’m a woman that I can’t handle?—“
“None of you are going inside,” I say, interrupting what sounds like the start of a fantastic argument. They’ve had several today, and I’m not sure if it’s my imagination, but I get the feeling they enjoy yelling at each other. “I’m going alone. I’ll let you know when to send in backup… if I need it.”
“No ways I’m letting you—“ Vito begins.
I turn to him, grab the back of his neck, squeeze. My voice is a threateningly deep growl. “People could get hurt. Innocent people.”
Vito’s gaze flicks to me, then he nods stiffly. “No backup.”
Andy sits back in her seat, eyes wide, lips tight. “She went down a passage next to the restroom. Looked like a staff only area. There’s a red exit sign above the entrance to the hallway.”
There’s a moment of silence in the cab.
I turn to meet her eyes. “Thanks, Andy.”
“You gotta let me come,” Vito whines. “You’re not even dressed right.”
“And you are?” I glance at his clothes, noticing them for the first time today. “Jesus, you are.”
He’s wearing a navy blue suit, a tan knit polo, and two-toned loafers. I glance down at my leather jacket and the same dirt-and-dust stained jeans from when I chased down said wife at the Zen Garden. It’s still got my cum on it, and a few streaks on the thigh where she’d pleasured herself while holding a knife to my throat.
Vito flattens his lips when I meet his eyes again. “Yeah. You wouldn’t even make it past the door.” He stabs a thumb over his shoulder. “Let me get my bag out the back.”
I grunt in sour defeat, already stripping off my jacket as I climb out the car. Vito hands me a dark blazer and a button-up shirt. I slide into the blazer, ignoring him when he sighs as I hand back the shirt.
“Your jeans are?—”
“Fine.” I flick away the cigarette I’d been smoking. “Let’s go.”
“I was going to say disgusting,” he mutters as he hurries to catch up with me. “Think I don’t know those are jizz stains?”
“Your pants are too tight.”
“Tailored. They’re tailored . Just let me do the talking, okay? And stay far enough back that they can’t see that fucking scowl of yours.”
We cross the road, and I reluctantly let Vito take the lead. I’ll be the first to admit he’s more diplomatic than me. If one of those bouncers even looks like they want to stop me getting in, I’ll put a fucking bullet in their head.
If Patrick’s put a single bruise or scrape on my wife, I’m going to make him watch while I feed slices of his face to my dogs.
Vito walks right to the front of the line, cocking his head to call aside one of the bouncers. There’s a quick exchange of words, cash, and a pat on the shoulder before my cousin turns and beckons me to follow him inside. We’re in a wide passage illuminated by The Foundry’s neon logo on one wall and a series of lightboxes showcasing upcoming DJs and events on the other.
“Impressive,” I mutter. “It’s like they just let you walk in.”
He gives me a sour look. “They felt sorry for you when I told them you were mugged.”
“Jesus.” The noise of the club slams into me as a third bouncer opens the club’s main door for us. I tilt my head in the direction of the bar, and Vito follows as I make a beeline for it.
The amount of eyes on us is insane. I can feel people tracking me, even in the erratic lighting of the strobes, the dim area between the bar and the dance floor. I make as if I’m going to the restroom, pulling up short just in front of the passage.
“Clear?”
Vito turns as if he’s trying to find someone in the crowd. “As good as it’ll ever be, I guess.”
“Stand guard.”
“Savage—”
“Your job was to get me through the door.”
His face hardens, but he doesn’t come after me when I dart down the passage. It’s darker here than out there, perhaps to discourage party goers wandering inside. So dark, in fact, I wouldn’t be surprised to find a couple making out against the wall.
Thankfully, the passage is empty. The doors are all closed and marked.
OFFICE
STOREROOM
There’s an unmarked door that opens when I turn the handle.
“Bingo.”
I slip inside, quietly closing the door behind me. It’s pitch black, but I’m hoping this is just an anteroom to a space deeper inside the club where Nyx is waiting.
My first clue should have been the fog of chemicals and stale beer. As soon as I reach out a hand and feel the dried strands of a spaghetti mop, I take out my phone and turn on the screen.
I’m in a fucking broom closet.
The office is locked, as is the storeroom. But neither need a keypad, so all it takes is a hard shove with Vito’s switchblade jammed into the lock for them to spring open.
There’s no one inside either room.
“She’s gone,” I tell Vito as I step out of the passage.
Vito looks up at the glowing red EXIT sign above our heads. “I mean, Andy could have gotten it wrong. It’s pretty dark, maybe?—“
“She’s not here anymore.”
How can I explain to my cousin that I didn’t need physical proof? That I sensed Nyx slipping through my fingers back in the Expedition before Andy was tossed out the club?
It’s not the first time I’ve had this feeling, this ephemeral sensation of loss, before realizing it wasn’t just my imagination, but something deeper.
He watches me and then looks away quickly, jaw clenching. “They smuggle her out in a disguise or something?”
I shake my head. She didn’t leave via the entrance, not with me watching. And unless Matias turned a blind eye, I’m pretty sure she didn’t leave out the back.
“Service entrances?”
Another shake of my head. “Not according to the blueprints.”
“Then she’s still inside somewhere.”
I just stand there.
It’s been a fuck-long day. My brain is refusing to come up with answers beside the obvious—wait for the club to clear out, and then come back in full force. Search every inch of this place for my wife, and take her home.
At that stage, anyone caught in the crossfire only has themselves to blame. It’s the safer option, but one with a higher chance of Nyx slipping past us.
I’m in half a mind to go back to Liam’s apartment and beat the shit out of him until I’ve exhausted every memory that kid has, in case there’s some tidbit that will help me find her.
But I already know it’ll be a waste of time. He was being honest when he said no one told him anything. It makes sense. If he’s only the low level runner he’s claiming to be, ‘knowing shit’ would be above his pay grade.
I keep coming back to that feeling of loss.
She’s not here anymore. It’s gut instinct.
Nyx wanted to handle this herself, and that’s exactly what she’s doing.
Maybe it’s time I accept that she and I will never be family. That we’re merely two flies caught in the same web.
At least she’s trying to break free.
Meanwhile, I’m just coiling myself tighter.