7. Kovu
Itap the steering wheel impatiently as I watch the warehouse the GPS on Kaos’s car led me to. There’s been no movement since I parked here two hours ago, and remaining still is more of an issue for me right now than it normally is.
I’m not a stagnant person. I always need to be on the move. Even in my sleep, I’ve always been restless, or at least I was until Camilla came along. The nights I’ve spent beside her have been the most peaceful of my life, and the idea that the next time I’m forced to close my eyes she may not be beside me, makes my fucking skin crawl.
I never thought I could feel this kind of contempt toward Kaos. He’s my best friend. My brother. The only person who truly accepts my deranged need for blood. But he handed over my little lamb. He drove her to the fucking slaughter without even bothering to tell us what was happening. If we’d known, I could have put a tracker on her. I could have done something to make sure we could bring her home, but as it is, we have no fucking plan.
Two guys push through the side door, and I sit up, watching as they move toward the SUVs parked nearby and climb inside. I don’t recognize either of them, but I don’t pretend to know every bit of muscle these assholes employ. I only bother learning that kind of thing if there’s a kill involved.
The cars pull up beside the door, and I reach for the ignition. I watch as the door swings open for a second time, but the tinted windows make it impossible for me to see who they’re ushering into the car, which makes me think it’s Camilla.
I hit the hands-free option on the car and listen to it ring twice before Crew’s voice fills the line. “What you got?”
“They’re moving her. I’m assuming to the penthouse, but I’ll tail them and confirm.”
There’s silence on the other end of the line for a moment, and I double check he hasn’t hung up. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s hung up on me without saying goodbye.
“You okay?” I ask.
He laughs, but there’s no humor in the sound. “No. You?”
“Not even a little bit,” I reply, watching as the cars turn around, heading toward the road in a convoy. I take a few seconds before I follow, keeping some distance between us so they don’t immediately notice me trailing them. “How’s Bishop?”
“He has a nasty concussion, but he’ll be okay in a couple of days.”
I nod even though I know he can’t see me. We’re going to need all hands on deck to get Camilla back, and now that we can’t trust Kaos, we can’t afford to be missing him as well.
“We’re on the move. I’ll call you back once I figure out where they’re taking her.”
“If I’m on a call, just shoot me a text.”
I end the call and change lanes, ensuring I keep the same distance as we drive further into the city. It’s early on a Friday morning, the sun just starting to peek between the high-rise buildings.
Fatigue is beginning to weigh on me, but it will be a long time before I consider closing my eyes. The idea of climbing into bed without Camilla has my skin itching and my stomach churning. She’s the only thing that’s ever kept the nightmares at bay, and while I’ve tried not to analyze that too much, now that I’m faced with the possibility, I may have to start.
The cars pull up out front of Davenport’s building, and I park my car a few spots down from them, keeping myself as inconspicuous as possible.
He’d be an idiot if he didn’t know at least one of us was following him, but he doesn’t bother looking around as he climbs out of the back seat of one of the cars.
Camilla’s tiny body is dragged out of the backseat, and I grip the steering wheel harder to keep myself rooted in place.
She’s still dressed in only my old band shirt and her tiny fucking sleep shorts, the same ones I’ve thought about tearing from her more times than I can count. Her feet are bare, and the protective instincts only she seems to drag to the surface flare to life. It may be February, but the early mornings in New York are still cold and the streets are filthy.
Her eyes dart around, and when they settle on my car, there’s a moment where I swear the tension melts from her shoulders. She has to know we’re coming for her, but there’s a part of me that’s terrified she’ll blame us all for Kaos’s mistakes. As long as she’s safe, I don’t give a fuck if she hates me, that’s an issue I can tackle once she’s back in my arms where she belongs, hidden behind more security than the fucking White House.
She’ll be lucky if I ever let her out of the complex again after this.
Camilla drags her attention away from my car and follows Davenport, her eyes trained on the ground as she walks. I fucking hate seeing her bow to anyone. My woman was born to lead like the fucking queen she is, and seeing her head hanging low is as much as a kick to the stomach as her walking into another man’s home.
Don’t worry, Little Lamb. I’ll get you home soon.