Page 115 of Hendrix

“You got your weapon ready, Prospect?” I asked.

He jerked a nod, spinning the steering wheel to take the turning at speed. “Always, boss. Now, hold on ‘cause I’m not slowing down.”

I grabbed hold of the ‘Oh shit’ handle and held on for dear life as Gopher bumped us over the grass toward my aunt’s old house.

My knuckles turned white as I gripped tightly, trying to hold my shit together. We approached the house from the back, where the windows glowed with what appeared to be candlelight.

Motorcycle engines growled as we pulled up outside the house, and I jumped out of the car. I didn’t wait for the others; I sprinted for the house while reaching inside my cut for my Glock and pulling it free.

I tried the door, but it was locked, so I lifted my booted foot and kicked hard three times until it flew open on its hinges.

I surged inside, pointing my gun into the room to see it was deserted. “Clear!” I shouted before moving swiftly into the dining room next door and repeating the process.

Nothing.

Heart sinking, I moved into the living room and carefully aimed my gun inside. “Anna!” I hollered, but nobody answered. All I could hear was the stomping of boots as the boys entered behind me.

“I’ll check upstairs,” Iceman’s voice muttered.

“It looks clear,” Gambit called out.

Dropping my hand, I scanned the room, my eyes falling on something shoved in the corner. I moved closer, getting down on my haunches to examine the leather.

“It’s Anna’s purse!” I shouted. Pulling the zipper open, I scanned the contents, seeing her money wallet, keys, lipstick, a small perfume bottle, and the small picture folder where she kept her baby scans.

I stood up, and my eyes caught on the carpet. “What’s that?” I asked.

Gopher dropped down, touched it, and grimaced. “Vomit.” Neck twisting, his eyes lifted to meet mine. “Looks like there’s blood in it, Prez.” He turned back, and his fingers went to another dark spot. “That’s blood, too.”

My throat constricted painfully.

“Prez!” a voice called.

My head whipped around, my jaw clenching so tightly I thought it would shatter. “What?” I barked.

Picasso stood outside, his head sticking through the window. “This was open, and the ground outside’s been disturbed. I think she came out this way. Gonna start tracking her movements.”

“That’s good, right?” Gopher said, glancing at our brother. “Anna may have escaped.”

“We need to find her.” I turned back the way I came and stalked through to the kitchen, my prospect at my side.

Within seconds, we were back in the car, and Gopher was bumping us over the grass toward the trees in the opposite direction of the river.

“This way leads to the clubhouse,” he pointed out. “She was moving in the right direction.”

The car swayed precariously on the uneven ground, and I grabbed the handle to steady myself. My eyes automatically scanned the horizon, but all I could make out through the headlights of the GMC were trees and bushes.

Motorcycle pipes roared behind us, and I checked the side mirrors to see my boys catching up.

“Sit tight,” Gopher called out. “This could get bumpy. Can’t see much in the dark.” As he said the words, he accelerated, and we headed up a grass slope leading to some trees. Then, suddenly, he jerked his head closer to the windshield. “Is that a car?”

My gaze followed the direction his finger pointed, and I saw the moon lighting up a silver SUV in the distance.

“Looks like an Explorer,” Gopher muttered.

My chest twisted.

I jumped out of my skin as gunfire punctured the air, but it was a distance away, and it wasn’t coming from the SUV that was fleeing from the scene. Somebody was firing on the car, not from it. I could pick out the tiny flashes of light coming from the thick cluster of trees in the distance.

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