Page 15 of Clover

“Would you like us to remove them, sir?” Clint asks stoically. He’s standing at attention in the corner of the room, waiting for my order. My good little soldier and why he’s the head of my security team. Unlike the Colton’s and their cronies, my security is all ex-military and unlikely to sway in the presence of anything I do. They’ve seen worse shit than me having my way with hot women in a penthouse.

“No need. Just keep an eye on them to make sure they don’t stumble on to something they shouldn’t.” I could care less if they blunder around like the idiots they are, as long as they don’t stick their noses where they don’t belong. Their lack of brain cells for anything beyond punching and inflicting physical pain hinders their ability to do much more. Breaking legs is all they’re good for. Not finding missing girls.

“Yes, sir.”

Handing him back the tablet, I check the time on my watch. Suppose I could get to my meeting a little early since I’m now available.

Chapter 7

Phoenix

It’s day two of our search for Clover. Yesterday we hit all the large strip clubs and gentlemen’s clubs. Today we’re searching all the dance clubs and underground music clubs, along with any warehouses in the area. The others continuing their search in their respective areas. We’ve found nothing. Absolutely. Fucking. Nothing. How can there be nothing? No one has seen her. No one knows who she is. How can someone just disappear without a trace like this? Not in our town. We own this fucking city, and we should be able to find one girl in it.

I’ve only slept for a few hours spread out in minutes here and there. Sitting in the car driving from one location to the other, when we reconvene at Griffon’s office or someone’s house to swap info and regroup. Lily forcing me to eat when she could. Only functioning because of the cocaine in my system that keeps me going. I can’t sleep, not until I find her. Then I can crash, then I can relax. When she’s safe. Until then, cocaine and coffee will keep me going.

With every door I look behind, and she isn’t there, I lose a little more of myself. Lose pieces of me that I just realized she was putting back together. Somewhere along the line, it was no longer about just getting in her pants. I wanted in her heart. I wanted to be there and set up shop, claiming it as my own. Somewhere amid all the sexual innuendos, smart-mouthed comebacks, and teasing, I uncovered a woman full of hopeful optimism, unforgiving determination, and untapped devotion beneath her forced badassery. Then I promptly fell in love with her and just as promptly failed her. I cannot fail her again. Ever.

The rage that dwindled when she was around, the one she doused with her ocean eyes and calmed with her soft touch, fills every atom of my being. A rage that my stuck-up suit of a brother won’t allow me to unleash on anyone. Our business is built on violence, and now I’m not being allowed to do my job.

That’s why I can’t stop myself from bulldozing my way through the guards at the warehouse where I picked up the Harley just the other day, before the fated delivery that set this shit storm in motion. This particular warehouse is not just for storing or distribution but also for production. A cookhouse is set up on one side of the open space of the warehouse. Shelves lined with jugs, bottles of ammonia, and sulfuric acid cover most of the wall space, while drums of kerosine are stacked along another. As well as drums filled with the pre-processed coca leaves used to make the cocaine. Brought over from the McKinney farms and ready to go.

You’d think knowing the chemical components and how this shit is made would discourage me from shoveling it up my nose, but it doesn’t. Snorting a line here and there to make the party that much better has been a part of my life for so long it’s normal. Doing a line off a perky pair of tits then fucking said tits is an amazing high that I think everyone should experience. The only tits on my mind at the moment are Clovers and getting my hands on her again before Braxton does.

Large tables fill the space with cooktops and large pots cooking the drug in its various stages, filtering and straining, filling and draining. No doubt corroding the pipes with all the chemicals we dump down them. The cooks are covered in what looks like biohazard suits with masks.

While on the other side is a counting station. The counters are the exact opposite, stripped down to their underwear, so there’s nowhere for them to stash cash. Most of them women. I always wondered why it was always women counting the cash. It must be because they like to watch them in their underwear. Some of the women have track marks like they’ve been partaking in our products, others look like gangsters, and a few don’t look like anything other than normal. The women either stand or sit on basic stools feeding bills into counting machines and rubber banding stacks together in predetermined denominations.

A large temporary plexiglass wall is built between them with massive ventilation overhead to keep the fumes from killing everyone.

Not that I really think Clover would be working here. I still check under every single face mask and red-haired girl I see. They’re not her. I didn’t expect them to be. Flipping open every crate and box to make sure she’s not stashed inside, I come up empty again. Once Beau and I have finished with those cooking or counting, I head towards the only offices and closed rooms in the back of the warehouse. One of the offices has a window, and I see a head of red hair flash by.

“Clover?” I call out, trying to get her attention. “Clover!”

Slamming open the door, it bangs against the wall, no doubt making a hole where the knob hit.

“Clover.” My hopes are crushed the moment I enter the room, and the one that I stupidly thought could be Clover turns to face me. Wide brown eyes and a shocked open mouth expression on her face. She’s not Clover.

“Did you see her? Is it her?” Beau races up behind me, seeing the non-Clover girl in the room. She’s half-dressed, midway through either removing or putting on her clothes. The room I burst into seems to be an office for the workers to store their clothes while counting.

“C-can I help you?” the poor frightened girl stutters out, clutching a shirt to her chest.

“No, sorry. We’re looking for someone else.” Beau is as disappointed as I am. His shoulders slumping in defeat. The girl scurries past us and out the open door, still half-naked. “She’s not here.”

“I can see she’s not here.” Before I know it, my fist puts a dent in the old metal desk in the office. “So, where the fuck is she?” I scream as I pick up a desk chair and toss it through the window. Glass shatters and sprays all over the floor outside the office with a loud explosion and raining of pieces of glass, creating a cacophony of sounds like rain on a tin roof. Everyone counting money freezes and turns to stare at us. We stare right back at them.

Yelling comes from somewhere to the left. I can’t see who’s yelling from inside the office space. The male voice screams for the workers to get back to counting. Through the shattered window, I see they do as he says. Ignoring us once again like good little worker bees.

“What the hell is going on here? Who broke this window?”

“Hey man, sorry about that. My cousin’s just upset. We’re looking for his girlfriend. You haven’t happened to see her, have you?” Beau intercepts the guard before he gets to me. He knows I’m not in the mood to be polite right now. I’d probably kill the guy just for doing his job. I can’t hear the rest of their conversation as I pace back and forth in the small space kicking chairs and boxes. Knocking over anything and everything that gets in my way. The lack of sleep and progress is starting to get to me. I don’t know how much more of this I can take before I really snap.

“They haven’t seen here. She’s not here. Why don’t we regroup with the rest at Colt’s and—”

“And what, Beau? Sit on our asses and wait for Braxton to just call and say;Oh yeah, by the way, I took Clover. Here’s the address I’m keeping her at?”

“Ok, I get the point, Nix. But we need to take a break and regroup. We’re not getting anywhere this way.” Beau follows me as I storm out of the warehouse towards the car. Still talking about what we should do next and how I need to “rest.”

“It was a slim chance we would find her at one of these places anyways. He’s a self-absorbed asshole, but he’s not stupid. It’s not likely we’re going to just stumble upon her. We need to re-strategize.”

---