Page 162 of Outlaws of Tulsa

“According to her text, she’s way down at the end of the drive. The dogs are barking at her car. She’s scared.”

“Get dressed,” I instruct. “I’ll ride my bike out there and make the dogs leave her alone.”

After brushing my teeth and shoving my feet into my boots, I rush out of the house to grab the Harley. We had a chilly Thanksgiving, but today is cold as fuck. I should have grabbed my leather jacket on the way out. Once I have the bike rumbling in the garage, I ride out along my long driveway. Sure enough, at the end of the road, my dogs are going nuts barking at a beat to hell Kia. A young woman who favors Stormy peers out of the windshield, her eyes wide with terror and her phone pressed to her ear. I give her an awkward wave before I holler at the dogs.

“That’s Calla, brats,” I bark out. “Get back to the house if you want a treat.”

They go from vicious guard dogs to spoiled babies in three seconds, tearing back down the driveway in a race to get to the house. By the time we get back, Stormy is bundled up in my leather jacket looking hot as fuck as she waits for us. The dogs bolt into the house as Stormy makes her way down to her sister’s car.

Calla climbs out—a tiny version of her sister—and runs over to Stormy. Stormy hugs her tight, love shining bright on her face. But when Calla pulls away, Stormy’s face falls.

Something’s wrong.

I shut the bike off and rush over to them, concern washing over me in a wave. “What is it?” I demand.

Stormy’s blue eyes are wide and horrified. “Cove.”

Calla bursts into tears, burying her face in her hands.

“What happened to him?” I grind out. “Is he…” Dead?

“Missing,” Stormy chokes out.

“I’m sure he’s just with a chick or a buddy or something,” I try to assure the women.

Calla turns toward me, tears streaking down her cheeks. “He’s not.”

“Come on,” I growl. “It’s cold as fuck out here. Let’s get inside and talk about this.”

Stormy curls an arm around her sister and guides her into the house. I follow after them and close the door behind us. Once I’ve started the fire in the fireplace, I meet them in the kitchen where Stormy is fixing us all three a cup of coffee. Calla’s tears have dried some.

She seems so young.

Hardly a college student.

Maybe it’s because she’s so small. It makes me wonder if Cove is small too since they’re twins. Calla is several inches shorter than her older sister, doesn’t have tits to speak of, and skinny as a rail. The only reason you can tell they’re sisters is they have the same big blue eyes and wild blond hair.

“Why do you think he’s missing?” I ask, trying to keep a level head. Stormy sure as hell isn’t. Her eyes are blazing with worry.

“I don’t think it,” Calla snaps. “I know it.”

Stormy’s brow furrows. “Did he leave on his own or…?”

“Or.” Calla starts to sob again. “Brenda, they took him.”

Stormy and I both tense up.

“Who took him?” Stormy demands. “Spit it out, Calla.”

“I told him it was stupid. He’s too short to be a model,” Calla wails. “He didn’t listen. He just wanted someone to see him.”

My blood runs cold and Stormy’s face pales.

“Who?”

“These guys,” Calla shrieks. “We met them at a party last night. They were recruiting for a modeling agency. They said twins are really popular and they could make us stars. I’d walked away, annoyed at their scheme, but Cove fell for it. He left with them.”

“Oh my God,” Stormy chokes out. “Copper.”

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