Page 30 of Vicious Vows

“There,” I say, pointing at the screen. “She’s going to that house.” Strangely, Micah has stopped now, a few houses down from where her father lives. The fact that she kept the ankle monitor on or at least with her tells me she is planning to return, if she isn’t dead. There is no way for me to know if the Bratva or even the Armenians are there waiting, so I pull my weapon and chamber a round as Tony turns up yet another street, closing in on the signal.

“You think there’s going to be trouble?” he asks, and I hear Vic chamber a round in his weapon from the back seat.

“They know she’s the hacker and thief. If they even have a hint that she’s out and about, she’ll be a target. We can’t be too careful.” My eyes train on the street ahead of us, and my limo comes into view, parked half a block away from where I see Micah walking. She’s taking hurried steps, moving at a quick clip, and her gaze is fixed on one of the row houses. “Slow down,” I tell him, and he obeys immediately, bringing the car to a crawl.

“We’re clear, Boss,” Vic says, and I know he’s not looking at Micah. He’s scanning the street for vehicles that appear to be dangerous—ones that have people waiting in them, watching, or vans that look like they might contain a surveillance team.

I see our car parked farther up the block now, watching Mr. DeSantis’s home as we told Micah we would, but I don’t see any cars that look like those of our enemies either, which is a goodthing for everyone. I’m not shy when it comes to spilling blood, but I don’t need any more fuckups or messes to clean up.

“Park here,” I tell him, spotting one space just large enough for our car.

Tony pulls into the space and puts the car in park, but instead of jumping out and following her, I watch her mount the steps to a house and knock on the door. I see a woman, obscured by the frail curtain, peer out at Micah with a surprised expression—as much as I can discern from this distance. The door opens slowly, and soon, Micah is wrapped in an affectionate embrace. My heart clenches at the sight, my fingers tightening around the handle of the weapon in my lap.

The woman's hands move in a sweeping motion over Micah’s back, a soothing gesture only matched by the soft look in her eyes. I can’t hear her words, but I see the curve of her mouth as she speaks, her voice likely filled with gentle concern and perhaps confusion. I watch as tears begin to pool in the corners of Micah's eyes, spilling down her cheeks and staining her shirt. Beside her, the woman too begins to cry, their shared sorrow seeping out onto the porch and filling the air with a tangible heaviness.

Something must be wrong for both of them to be crying, maybe what Micah fears most. She expressed to me more than once how she felt something was wrong with her friend, but he really isn’t my concern. Now I wonder if this is his home, if that is his mother, if perhaps I should have intervened to stop whatever has happened to him.

Suddenly, I see Micah pull back from the woman's embrace. She utters something inaudible, her lips moving rapidly as if she were explaining something of great importance. The womanvisibly flinches at Micah's words, her hands flying up to cover her mouth as she shakes her head in disbelief. Before long, both women are crying again, their tears carrying the weight of shared grief and fear.

Micah steps away from the woman, her face as pale as a sheet. She throws one last look over her shoulder at the house before turning away and racing down the front steps.

My eyes, focused and alert, follow her rapid descent. She takes off at a sprint, a desperate speed fueled by urgency and terror. Behind her, the woman staggers backward into her home, the door left ajar in the wake of Micah's abrupt departure. As for me, I'm left with a decision to make—stay where I am or follow.

"Move," I command Tony, my voice laced with determination. The car rumbles to life, tires squealing against the asphalt as we pull out of our parking spot and begin to chase after Micah.

Her figure grows larger in the windshield as we close the gap between us. She doesn’t look back. She can’t spare the effort for anything but her headlong flight. Her hair springs free of its ties, spilling around her shoulders and catching the weak glow from the street lamps. She’s weeping openly, now—there is no mistaking it. It’s a raw, gut-wrenching sound that I can barely hear over the hum of our engine.

In the rearview mirror, I see the woman—perhaps the boy’s mother—staggering back onto the front porch of the house. She has a handkerchief pressed to her mouth, sobbing into the fabric as she watches Micah climb the steps to her father’s house and open the door, vanishing inside. Tony pulls the car to a stop, and I bark, “Stay here,” as I open the door and climb out.

I stash my gun in my waistband and head for the house determinedly, my boots thudding against the concrete of the sidewalk. I try to tamp down my rage, knowing Micah must be terrified to do something so rash and stupid. Still, she doesn’t even realize the incredible danger she’s put herself in. I follow her path, climbing the stairs to the house and bursting through the door without knocking.

I hear it before I see it—Micah wailing and sobbing. I round the corner and peer through the open archway into the living room. Micah stands wrapped in her father’s arms, a young man who looks strikingly similar to her standing with his hand on her back. I assume it’s her brother.

“He’s gone, Daddy! I know they took him. They had to take him.” Her sobs are choked by hiccupped gasps for air, and her father looks up at me sternly as I move deeper into the home.

“Shh, baby,” the older man says, trying to soothe her, but I don’t think anything will soothe her now. She’s hysterical. And she’s the only thing I see.

I move toward her, and her father backs away. Only then does she look up and see me, and her eyes light up with rage.

“You!” she snarls, swinging her arms at me. One of them connects to my shoulder before I manage to pin them down at her sides. “You did this! This is your fault! Where is he?” She continues trying to strike me even as I pull her against my chest and squeeze her firmly.

“Micah, I didn’t do this.”

“You did this, you asshole! This is your fault.”

“Micah, listen to me!” I boom, and she falls silent, but her chest heaves. I brought her into my world, yes, but I am not responsible for her friend going missing. But I know who probably is. “We’ll find him, alright?”

She relaxes, slumping against my chest and devolving into louder sobs, so hard her body shakes as she clings to me for support.

“He stopped talking to me because I agreed to marry you, and now he’s gone. His mother hasn’t seen him.” I can barely understand what she’s saying, but I get enough to understand why she blames me. She probably blames herself too, which is something I can’t fix for her. If it was as easy as anger directed at me, she could punish and exact revenge the way I do. It never truly makes me feel better, but there is a sense of justice so I can move on.

But self-blame is evil, rooted in guilt and regret, and unless we find her friend and bring him home to safety, she will never move past this. God help her if he ends up dead.

“I’m taking you home now,” I whisper to her, then kiss her forehead. “Mr. DeSantis, I’m setting up more guards around your property. I want you to hire someone to run your shop for you, someone not related to you. Any costs you incur, I will cover, but you cannot leave the house. Have your groceries delivered. Stay inside away from the windows.” I give him a stern look, then direct one at his son. “Do you understand?” Both of them nod at me and look frightened.

Then her brother says, “What about Micah?”

I scowl at him and turn with her in my arms, already moving toward the door. “Don’t worry about her. I’ll make sure she’s safe.”

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