18. Cash
18
CASH
“ I ’m sick of traveling.” I lean back against the chair, eyes studying the city beneath me.
Duke laughs on the other end of the line. “I can’t believe you made it this long. We expected you back after four weeks, on the dot.”
“Shit was fucking crazy for a while, but it’s gone quiet. I’m gonna tell them this is my last show.” Saying it out loud makes me even more determined that my time on the tour has ended. I have to get away from her.
I had Holden’s hacker contact look into the security guard at the venue, but he said he couldn’t find anything to indicate foul play. It was a stupid mistake, not intentional to cause her harm.
Monroe is safe. Brooks has really stepped up, and after the clear proximity to her with the gifts sent to her, Fidel and Danny seem to have finally taken the security team to the next level. The idea of a traitor on her tour still makes me uneasy, but with the last few weeks of silence, I’m beginning to wonder if I was wrong. My instincts are usually top-notch, but Monroe’s presence throws off all my usual abilities.
Which means she’s better off with someone else protecting her, someone who isn’t clouded by lust and fantasies about her wrapping her thighs around my face. I can’t sleep with Monroe, and I definitely can’t do anything more. My aversion to intimacy that’s more than skin deep dates back to my adolescence. My mother always warned me against burying my emotions. She was the last woman I wasn’t afraid to get close to, and now she’s gone.
So, I’m running, like a yellow-bellied coward.
“I talked to Griff about sending one of his best guys for the rest of the tour. He had an opening starting Monday. I booked a flight for the next morning.”
Brooks steps out of the bathroom we’re sharing in the double queen-bed room. He’s already aware of my plans. We’ve grown pretty close over the time we’ve spent on this detail.
“We miss your grouchy ass. Wish you’d asked me to come. I’d be happy to take the place as Miss Blue’s hot date.”
The urge to plant my fist in my younger brother’s face is a familiar one, but I didn’t expect to feel it so strongly from across the Atlantic.
“Can’t wait to be home and get reacquainted, fuckface. Pick me up at the airport.” I end the call abruptly, pissed off, but not wanting him to suspect that I’ve gotten too friendly with the blonde-bombshell celebrity.
If anyone could catch on, it would be one of my brothers picking up on the streak of jealousy in my tone. They’ve clearly seen the social media frenzy and rumors about us, but I told them it was all the fans’ perception and not reality. Dolly has been texting me links to the videos and pictures of Monroe and me nonstop. I’ve only responded to tell her not to believe everything she sees on Instagram.
“You’re really leaving, huh? When are you going to tell her?” Brooks walks over and collapses on the chair across from me.
“Tonight.” I glance down at my phone, noting that it’s two thirty in the afternoon local time.
We’re escorting Monroe to dinner at a fancy Michelin-starred restaurant tonight. I’m antsy with Danny being the only one on the detail until then, but guarding her in a hotel room is the easiest it gets. I have to ease up, or I won’t be able to get on the plane next week. The uneasiness building in my gut makes me stand and start pacing in front of the bay window.
“Have you talked to Ember? Is she with her?”
Brooks is smiling at his phone, but it fades as he looks up at me. “Uh, she texted me earlier, saying they were just unpacking.”
I nod, staring out the window again as rain pelts the glass. I can’t sit still. My skin feels tight.
“Something feels weird,” I muse.
Brooks’s eyebrows scrunch together. “Like what?”
I scan the street below. “I don’t know. Text her again. Get an update.”
My muscles are cramping up. My heart rate is quickening with each passing moment.
Something is wrong.
“Did she reply? ”
“Not yet, but she read the text.” He frowns at his phone.
Another two minutes crawls by as we wait in silence.
“Still on Read?”
“They’re probably just getting ready, man. You know how women get when they’re doing each other’s makeup and shit.” Brooks stands to look out the window with me.
“Call her.”
He sighs, but I hear the phone ringing as he puts the call through. It rings five times before going to voicemail.
“Why don’t you call Monroe?” he asks.
“I don’t have her number. Let’s go.”
She rarely has her phone anyway. My steps are quick and determined as we exit the room and march toward the elevator.
“What do you think the problem is? Let’s just call Danny. He’s on detail.”
“Call him then,” I bark out.
That fucker had better have eyes on her.
I hear Brooks’s phone ringing the call through as the elevator rises to the top floor. It goes to voicemail.
“Motherfucker,” I swear under my breath.
Something is very wrong.
As soon as the doors ping and open, I run. I pull the key card to her room out of my pocket and slide it into the door. It beeps before the light turns green. The handle twists open before I have the chance to grab it, revealing Danny on the other side of the door. His eyes are wide, and his face is pale.
“Is she with you?” he asks.
My mouth runs dry. “What the fuck happened?!” I shove his chest back into the room .
For once, he doesn’t get defensive.
His eyes shift around us, peering into the hall before scanning the suite. “I have no idea! They were unpacking, and I went to take a shower. I wasn’t in my room long, but when I came back out, they were both gone! I didn’t hear a sound!”
Shoving him again until his back is against the wall, I roar, “You’d better pray she’s okay, bitch. It’s on you if one fucking hair on her head is harmed.”
I spin around, marching toward the door. My hand trembles as I reach for the nine millimeter strapped to my hip to make sure it’s still there.
“Call Ember again. Don’t stop calling her till she picks up.”
Rage rolls off my chest and shoulders as the elevator climbs down the twenty-seven floors at a glacial pace. My hands are tingling with the desire to strangle Danny.
“It’s going straight to voicemail. She read my message, so I know she has her phone.” Brooks’s mouth is set in a hard line.
“Can you track her location?”
He nods, tapping on the screen. “One sec.”
When we finally reach the ground floor, we jog through the lobby, stepping out into the rain on the cold street with no jackets. I don’t know which way to go. We’re in a strange city with no clues as to which way she was taken. I step back through the hotel entrance to speak to the doorman. Danny follows us, rubbing his hands together nervously.
“Excuse me, did you see two women leaving here in the last twenty minutes? One blonde, one with dark red hair. They were probably with two or three men. They might have gotten into a van or an SUV out front.”
My stomach churns at the suggestion and the implication.
The doorman frowns. “Ah, no, monsieur . I only see these women leave by themselves. Just, uh, ten minutes past?”
“So, you saw these women leaving alone ten minutes ago?” Brooks pulls up a photo of Ember and Monroe on his phone and shows it to the doorman.
He tilts his head, studying the photo. “Ah, I cannot be sure. I see so many patrons, monsieurs . I don’t remember these two. Is that Monroe Blue?”
I exhale, attempting to slow the nausea rising in my stomach.
She’s gone. Holy fuck, she’s gone.
Brooks nods. “Yes, it’s Monroe Blue. Did you see her? Alone or with companions?”
The man shrugs. “I do not remember seeing these women, no. I would have noticed a big celebrity.”
I nod, pushing through the exit before I start to question the man with more violence. “Did you get her location?”
Brooks steps out with me. “I have shit service, so it won’t load. Let’s walk a few blocks and see if it gets better.”
We stomp through the downpour, getting soaked through our long-sleeved shirts. I don’t register the chill as adrenaline pumps through me. Finally, Brooks’s phone picks up a few bars.
“Here she is! It says she’s just five blocks away.” He shows me the blinking blue dot on the digital map.
We take off at a sprint. The locals stare at us as we fly by, stomping through puddles of rain and dodging pedestrians. I don’t think, except to count the blocks as we bulldoze past them. Sweat mingles with the downpour, but I’m able to control my rapid breathing from years of Special Forces military training in high-stress situations.
She will be okay. I will save her. I won’t let anything happen to her , I chant to myself as we round the street corner.
Brooks grabs my arm as we reach the blue dot on the map. “Here! It’s here.”
We slow down to observe our surroundings. To the left of us appears to be a clothing boutique. Straight ahead is a historic cathedral. To the right, there’s a bakery, a bar, and a dry cleaner. The downpour makes it difficult to see around us. There are very few vehicles on the street, and none of them look suspicious or large enough to kidnap two women easily.
“Maybe they’re in an apartment over the businesses,” Brooks says.
Our eyes drift up to the intricately detailed window frames over the bakery and the bar.
Would someone really kidnap her and hold her only five blocks away?
“Let’s find the phone,” I tell him.
Brooks looks down at the screen, following the blue dot to its exact location. He walks toward the entrance of the bar, entering through the large wooden door. Once inside, we’re greeted with a dozen sets of curious eyes taking in our American attire, which is now soaking wet. We’re tall, built, and arguably scary-looking. The interior of the bar is all wood tones and mood lighting. The locals are wearing bland, plain colors. Smoke floats in the air from cigarettes stuck between the lips of a few of them as they study us.
My chest rises rapidly from the adrenaline coursing through my veins. My hand is on my hip, ready to draw my weapon if necessary. She’s here—I know she is.
Then, in the corner of the dive bar, I see a head of bright, curly blonde hair.
Blue.
She’s laughing, her head tilted back with the motion. A wave of relief rolls over me, but it doesn’t calm my racing pulse. Sitting next to her in the rounded booth is Ember with her violet-red hair. They’re not alone. My fist clenches tightly around the handle of my weapon.
My muscles tense as the two men sitting across from them come into focus. They’re both wearing suits, their shirts unbuttoned at the neck with loose ties. Their long hair is damp from the rain, and they seem wholly unaware of the three beefy American men glaring daggers at them from the doorframe.
“Well, at least they’re unharmed,” Brooks grumbles.
“Thank fuck,” Danny mumbles. “I’m calling Fidel.” He turns to leave.
An adrenaline rush has strange effects on the body. Even once the mind registers there’s no danger, it takes several minutes for the message to be conducted to all the proper channels—muscles, heart, lungs, nervous system.
My steps toward the corner booth are slow and steady, opposite of my pounding heart and screaming lungs from the run.
Ember spots us first, her smile fading abruptly. She peers up at me, wide eyes jumping from my face to Brooks’s, then back again. She visibly gulps.
Monroe either doesn’t sense us standing a few feet away or purposely ignores our presence as she leans forward and continues flirting with the blonde-haired Frenchman across from her. Her delicate fingers are curled around the stem of a wineglass. The man smiles, leaning forward as he reaches for her other hand. He makes the royal mistake of grasping her fingers and pulling them up to his lips. My tolerance for the situation crumbles when his mouth makes contact with her skin.
I reach for the glass of amber liquid on the table in front of him. He gapes at me as I lift it to my lips and drain the contents in one gulp.
“Ay! Who the fuck are you?” He rises from his seat.
I slam it back down on the table, rage clouding my vision and hindering my ability to think through my actions. I leave the gun in my holster, craving the opportunity to use just my fists to communicate all my complicated feelings about what’s happened.
A smile curls across my lips. “You fuckers ever been in a bar fight with a Texan?”