Chapter 20
Loco
Sleep didn’t come easy anymore. My body didn’t feel right not having her draped over me. Sleep wouldn’t wash over me like before.
It hadn’t since DC. Since her laugh in the kitchen. Since the way her body fit against mine like it had always been meant to. Even when I closed my eyes, my mind stayed half-awake, listening for a phone that might ring, a threat I couldn’t see yet.
I had gotten in late. Club business that dragged past midnight, the kind that required presence and patience and too much whiskey amongst men trying to make a deal. I crashed on the couch in my room at the clubhouse, boots kicked off, cut tossed over a chair, body heavy but wired.
The phone rang just before dawn.
I came awake instantly.
Not groggy. Not confused. My hand was already reaching before the second ring hit.
“Yeah,” I rasped.
“Dante.”
Char’s voice.
The sound of it—tight, brittle, shaking—ripped me straight back in time. Hospital hallways. ICU monitors. Blood on tile. Her crying into my chest while a rage built inside me that only a man’s death could soothe.
Something was wrong. I sat up, feet hitting the floor. “Char. Slow down. What’s happening?”
“I—I can’t reach her,” she stammered, breath hitching. “I’ve called her phone, her work line, her apartment. I went by this morning to drop something off and she didn’t answer. Her car’s in her spot, but she’s not here. It’s like she’s gone.”
The room tilted.
“What do you mean gone?” I asked, my voice already cold.
“She didn’t text me last night. She always texts me,” Char said, panic bleeding through every word. “Dante, something’s wrong.”
The world stopped.
Every sound dropped out. Every thought narrowed to a single point so sharp it hurt to breathe.
“Nita didn’t miss check-ins,” I stated. “Ever.”
“I know,” Char whispered. “I know.”
I was already moving. “Go home,” I told her. “Lock your doors. Stay with Eli. Keep the girls home and close. Don’t go anywhere.”
“What are you—”
“I’ll find her,” I said. It wasn’t a promise. It was a fact. “Can’t be distracted worrying over you. Get up with your man, have him home with you and your girls. I’ll be there in a matter of hours and I’ll find her.”
I hung up and grabbed my phone, fingers flying, pulling up the feed Dippy had set for me days earlier.
Her hallway.
Empty.
Timestamp showed hours ago. No alerts overnight. My stomach dropped.
“Shit,” I muttered, scrubbing a hand over my face. Think. Don’t panic. Panic wastes time.
I flipped to the parking lot.
Nothing.
Scrolled back. I was missing something. There—motion flagged around two in the morning. My heart slammed against my ribs.
I replayed it.
The angle was wrong. The camera caught only the edge of the frame, but I could see movement. A shadow. A door opening that shouldn’t have been opening.
Then her.
Barefoot. Coat thrown on hastily. Someone behind her—blurred, masked.
The image shook.
I froze the frame, jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
“Fuck.”
The phone trembled in my hand—not fear, not grief.
Rage.
Cold. Focused. Controlled.
Someone had taken her. I didn’t waste time calling the police. Not yet. I needed answers first. I needed names. Faces. Patterns. And I needed them fast.
I hit Gonzo first.
He picked up on the second ring. “What’s wrong?”
“They took her,” I said flatly.
A pause. Then his voice hardened. “Where?”
“DC. From her apartment.”
“Who?”
“That’s what we’re gonna find out.”
“Say the word.”
“Clubhouse. Now.”
I hung up and called Tower. Then Jester. Then Peanut. Then Dippy.
No explanations. Just urgency.
“Clubhouse. Now.”
They didn’t ask questions. They didn’t need them. By the time I pulled into the lot, the sun was just starting to rise, washing everything in pale light that felt wrong for what was happening inside me. My bike skidded to a stop, gravel spraying as I dismounted.
They were already there.
Gonzo stood by the door, arms crossed, expression carved from stone. Tower leaned against a post, jaw tight, eyes sharp. Jester paced. Peanut smoked without tasting it. Dippy had his laptop open, fingers already moving.
I walked in and shut the door behind me.
“She’s been taken,” I said. “Two, maybe three a.m. Masked male. Gun.”
The room went deadly quiet.
“Fed?” Tower asked.
“Federal connection I think, but not certain,” I corrected. “Which means whoever did this isn’t stupid even if it came from her affiliation with me or her job.”
Dippy spun his laptop around. “I pulled the feed the second you called. That camera angle sucks, but it’s not nothing.”
I leaned in, hands braced on the table. “Enhance what you can. I want every frame cleaned. Every shadow sharpened.”
“Already on it,” he said.
“Route,” Gonzo said. “They didn’t just snatch her for fun. There’s a reason.”
“She works high-level investigations,” I shared. “Someone at her job made a comment about the Saints. About me.”
That got their attention. “Who?” Jester asked.
“She didn’t give a name,” I said. “Which tells me it’s someone she didn’t want me handling.”
Tower’s mouth flattened. “That’s a problem.”
“Yeah,” I said. “It is.”
Peanut exhaled smoke. “If this is a message, it’s a loud one.”
“It’s not just a message,” I snapped. “It’s leverage.”
Dippy looked up. “I’m pulling traffic cams around her building now. City feeds, private feeds, anything unsecured. If a car rolled out of there at that hour, I’ll find it.”
“You do,” I said. “Gonzo, I want a list of anyone we’ve crossed in the last year with reach in DC.”
“Already thinking it,” he replied. “Cartels. Contractors. Feds with dirty hands.”
“Tower,” I continued, “call in every favor you’ve got. I want eyes on back roads, safe houses, storage properties. Anywhere someone might think they could stash a person in that area.”
Tower nodded once and stepped away, phone to his ear.
My chest felt tight, like something was clawing its way out.
Char’s voice echoed in my head. Nita didn’t answer.
I forced myself to breathe. “She’s smart,” I said aloud, more to myself than them. “She’ll stay alive. She’ll be watching. Leaving a trail.”
Dippy snapped his fingers. “Got something.”
We all leaned in.
“A dark sedan,” he said. “No plates on the back. That narrows nothing, but—” He typed fast. “Wait. Front cam caught a partial reflection. I can work with this.”
“How long?” I demanded.
“Minutes,” he said. “Not hours.”
I straightened, hands curling into fists. “Good.”
Because I didn’t have hours.
I had one job.
Get her back.
And whoever thought taking her was a smart move?
They were about to learn exactly how wrong they were.
The ride to DC barely existed in my memory.
It was just asphalt and rage muted by the roar of the engine under me, the bike eating miles like it knew time was the enemy.
My hands ached from how hard I gripped the bars.
My jaw stayed locked, teeth clenched so tight my head throbbed.
I didn’t remember the wind. Didn’t remember stopping for gas. Didn’t remember crossing state lines.
I remembered one thing.
Nita needed me.
Tower rode at my back, close enough I could feel him even when I didn’t look.
The rest of the club stayed behind in North Carolina, running phones, digging records, pulling every crooked thread they could find.
Dippy’s voice still rang in my head from the call that finally broke the night open.
The Upper Marlboro charter of the Saints Outlaws MC met us at the Maryland state line and escorted us into town.
With a short pause at their clubhouse I touched base with Dippy getting the information I needed.
“I’ve got an address. DC suburbs. House is listed for sale. Showing last week had the listing changed to pending. Cash buyer. Shell company. It’s clean on the surface, Loco. Too clean.”
Too clean meant dirty underneath.
By the time the skyline came into view, my adrenaline had sharpened into something cold and lethal. This wasn’t panic anymore. This was hunt mode. The part of me I had tried to bury under years of badges and rules and restraint.
The house sat on a quiet street lined with winter-bare trees and tidy sidewalks. White siding. Black shutters. A realtor’s sign staked into the front lawn like a lie.
Empty.
That was what it wanted to look like. But something wasn’t right.
I killed the engine a block away. Tower did the same. With the other Saints moving in behind us but giving a wide berth. None of us wanted to spook the man holding her. We moved on foot, silent, circling the property. No cars in the driveway. No lights on. Curtains gone from the windows.
A house stripped to be shown. Or a house scrubbed to erase evidence. I pressed my palm to the front door.
Cold.
Unlocked. That was the first real sign. People lock empty houses. They don’t lock places they think no one will ever check.
We slipped inside, boots whispering against hardwood. The air was stale, tinged with bleach and dust. No furniture. No pictures. No life.
But the hum.
Low. Constant.
Basement.
I didn’t wait. I moved toward the door at the back of the house, my gun already in my hand, heart pounding so loud I was sure it would give us away. Tower took point behind me, his presence steady, lethal, trusted.
The basement door was closed.
And from the other side— A man’s voice.
Calm. Educated. Annoyingly patient. “…you’ve done excellent work, Banks. Truly. But you’ve pushed this far enough. And now you’re forcing my hand.”
My blood went ice cold.
Nita.
I took the stairs two at a time, gun raised, vision tunneling.
The basement was finished but bare—concrete walls, exposed beams, a single overhead bulb casting harsh light. She was chained to a metal post in the center of the room. Bruised. Pale. But upright. Unbroken.
Her eyes lifted—And locked on mine.
Relief slammed into my chest so hard it almost dropped me.
The man stood a few feet away from her, tablet in one hand, a gun hanging loose in the other. Middle-aged. Expensive coat. Politician-clean. The kind of man who never got his own hands dirty and thought that made him untouchable.
“She wouldn’t listen,” he said conversationally, not even turning to face me yet. “Some people confuse integrity with stubbornness.”
I didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe.
He finally turned, surprise flickering across his face before he masked it with a thin smile.
“Well,” he said. “You must be Dante Verdone.”
Nita’s mouth trembled. “I knew you’d find me,” she whispered.
That was it. That was the last thing holding me together. The man lifted the gun.
I fired first.
The sound was deafening in the enclosed space. The recoil ran through my arm, but I stayed locked in, trained, controlled. He went down hard, the tablet shattering against the floor as his body collapsed.
Tower moved instantly, clearing the room, gun sweeping corners, but my focus was already gone.
I was on my knees in front of her in seconds, hands shaking as I reached for her face, the chain, anything.
“Nita,” I breathed. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
Her skin was cold. Too cold. I shrugged out of my jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders, my fingers fumbling with the cuffs.
“I’m sorry,” she said hoarsely. “He—he made me type it. The resignation. He said if I didn’t—”
“Hey,” I cut in, pressing my forehead to hers. “Look at me. You did what you had to do. You’re alive. That’s all that matters.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks, silent and exhausted. “He wanted me to cite you. Us. Said it made it clean. Said it would discredit the case.”
My jaw tightened. “What case.”
“The senator,” she whispered. “The money laundering. The shell nonprofits. Hampton Stanley’s connections and scams ran deeper than just Dreadnought, North Carolina. I was closing in on another politician. This one holds a senate seat. The man over there said he was the fixer.”
Tower spoke quietly into his comm behind us. “Local PD en route. We’re clear.”
I finished unlocking the chain and lifted her carefully, cradling her against my chest like she was made of glass.
She clung to me, arms tight, breath shuddering. “I wasn’t scared,” she admitted softly. “Not the whole time. I kept thinking you don’t quit. You don’t let go.”
I pressed a kiss into her hair, my voice breaking for the first time since the call came in. “Never. Not you. Not ever.”
As sirens grew in the distance, I held her tighter, grounding both of us in the truth we’d clawed back from the dark.
She was here.
She was alive.
And anyone who thought they could take her from me had just learned exactly how wrong they were.