Page 111 of Ugly Beautiful Scars

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

My heart is pounding in my ears, engulfing everything except the after-image of Londyn's fearful eyes searching the street for me.

Everything narrows down to this moment, this heartbeat of a decision that will change everything that comes after.

I have one second.

One second to make therightchoice to save Londyn.

I could follow on foot, hoping the car gets stuck in traffic and I catch up to it at a stoplight.

I could try to catch a cab.

I could call the police.

I could wait for her to use the panic button app we installed on her phone.

I could call her and hope this is a giant misunderstanding and Londyn has a date tonight she forgot to mention.

But the streets have minimal traffic tonight and betting on traffic patterns is risky; a cab won't drive fast enough; the police will get here too late; she might not have access to her phone.

And I know what I saw. I know Londyn. The fear in her eyes wasn't "I'm mildly uncomfortable with my coworker." It was pure terror.

The heartbeat passes and I make a decision.

I turn and run in the opposite direction.

"Mike, follow on foot as best you can and get the license plate. See if her phone is tracking. If you get a chance to intercept, do it. Get her out. If you get a clear shot, take out a tire." The words come rapid-fire, my training kicking in. "I'm getting my vehicle. The garage is four blocks away."

I don't wait for Mike's acknowledgement. I'm already running, cutting through traffic, dodging bodies, ignoring the shouts when I shoulder past someone too hard. My muscles burn as I push my legs to work faster and faster. Every second, Londyn gets farther away from me, dragged deeper into a danger I worry I can't pull her from.

My combat boots pound against concrete. The crosswalk ahead turns red, but I don't slow down. Cars honk as I dart between them, narrowly missing a truck that screeches to a halt, the driver leaning on his horn and shouting something about my parentage.

I sprint past the gleaming lobby of One Liberty Plaza, dodging tourists. Just one more block.

My lungs feel like they're filled with shrapnel, but I keep pushing. The parking garage comes into view. It's a dingy concrete structure squeezed between two newer buildings. I paid extra for street-level access; it's a tactical decision that's about to pay off.

My red Ducati sits right where I left it.

The key is in my hand before I fully stop running. I swing my leg over, jam the key into the ignition, and the engine roars to life. The raw power vibrates beneath me as I twist the throttle. I don't bother with a helmet. Every second counts.

The security arm is down, but I don't have time for the ticket machine. I veer right, squeezing through the narrow gap between the barrier and the wall, a maneuver I practiced for exactly this kind of scenario. The tires squeal as I launch back onto the street and the bike tilts at a dangerous angle before righting itself.

"Mike, update."

His voice comes back breathless from running. "They hit… slight congestion. Stopped at a light on Broadway. But I'm too far… too far back and it's clearing up ahead. We're gonna lose them. Hold on—" A pause. "The phone tracker is acting weird. It was moving, then went static. Cross at… Broadway and Fulton. Fuck, they're turning north. I've lost visual."

I lean into a hard right onto Broadway, the motorcycle's edge nearly scraping the pavement. Horns blare as I cut through traffic, running another red light. I don't care. I don't fucking care about anything except getting to Londyn.

"I'll find them."

I'm going to find her.

This won't be another loss. Not Londyn. I don't know how Josh is connected to the Navy Caps, but it doesn't matter. What matters is getting her back.

Wind whips at my face as I push the bike faster, weaving between cars. A speed camera flashes in the dim light as I blow past, but what's a ticket compared to Londyn's life?

The intersection Mike mentioned appears ahead. I make the turn so hard my knee nearly touches asphalt. My eyes scan frantically for a black SUV. There are too many in this city, too many matching vehicles.

---