Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
I’m walking into the clubhouse when Ace stops me. “Have you seen Catfish?” he asks.
“About an hour ago.”
But as his question sinks in deeper, my brain goes on high alert.
“He’s supposed to be here, on duty,” Ace says, motioning to the exit door.
There’s no blood moving through my veins because the pump on the center of my chest has frozen solid. “I left him outside my door, while I met with Prez. He would have still been able to see the exit.”
“He’s gone.” Ace’s usual stony expression shows none of the panic that’s screaming through me.
I take off at a sprint, nearly rupturing a vessel when I find the door to my quarters open.
“Fuck! Gigi!”
The bed’s empty. The floor’s wet. My closet door is open and some clothing is missing.
Where the fuck is she?
“Get the camera feeds up now!” I yell.
Ace is on his phone calling in backup as I prowl through my place looking for anything that might tell me what happened.
The shower smells like my soap. My closet’s been raided. But that’s it. Other than the water on the floor.
There’s no sign of struggle.
“She fucking ran,” I yell.
Ace steps out of the way as I storm out of my room, heading for the gate. I’m gonna kill whoever let Gigi walk out. They fucking knew she was under protection.
The roar of a motorcycle engine tearing down the road, heading away from the compound makes me run even faster.
That brat stole a bike.
The gate’s closed when I blast into the guard shack, snarling, hungry for blood. “Who the fuck let her out?”
A prospect shoots to his feet. “Sir. I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
The other prospect bobbles his head in agreement.
In a fit of rage, I flip the desk over. “Who the fuck opened the gate for her?”
“Sir,” the first guy gulps. “I only opened the gate for the electrician. He was here for an emergency repair in the kitchen. He just left.”
“No one else?” I choke out. “What about the bike I just heard?”
“That was just some rando riding by,” he prospect replies.
“No one else has come or gone?”
“No, sir,” he replies, standing behind the overturned desk.
Fuck. No. Fuck, no.
The guard shack phone rings, and the second guy grabs it, listening grimly. When he hangs up, his rushes out, “They found Catfish, unconscious in the bunk room.”
My spine snaps straight, visions of Gigi being kidnapped flooding my brain.
“What was the electrician driving?”
He stumbles over his words, pointing at the gate. “A black van. He turned right. Maybe five minutes ago.”
“Was there anyone else inside? A passenger? Someone in a hat or glasses?”
“No,” they reply in unison.
Rage scorches through me so hot, I expect the building to go up in flames.
“Give me the keys to that bike outside,” I roar.
For a second they’re both stunned silent, staring at me. Yes, my head is going to fucking explode.
“My bike?” The second prospect squeaks.
“You fucking heard me.” I grab the gun by the door.
“The key’s in it,” he says weakly, his complexion turning bone-white, sweat covering his face.
I’m flying out the door as I yell back, “Tell Ace where I’ve gone, and tell the Prez we’ve had an intruder inside the compound.”
The engine fires, the thunderous noise echoing off the guard shack as the gate inches open. The second the gap is wide enough, I shoot through.
Hang on baby. I’m coming.