Page 158 of Resurfaced Passion

Logically, Reaper understood it all and the boys could rip Grigori to shreds and scatter his innards across Denver, but he wanted his girl far away from that shit first.

Turns out no strategic planning was needed, not after the call he picked up from an unknown number minutes later.

“Reaper?”

His gut tightened. “Baby? Where’s your phone?”

“They took it from me. So, listen…”

Oh, fucking hell. He imagined her taken hostage by the fucking whole Russianbratva. His vision bled into murderous red. He’d slaughter all of them, whatever he had to do, Reaper had no ceiling where it came to Paige. He’d kill—

“I don’t want you to worry, but I’ve been arrested. Can you… can you come to the sheriff department, please? I need you.”

The bottom of his belly fell out.

Three pairs of eyes looked on as Reaper froze.

Arrested. Not kidnapped. Fucking arrested.

Dammit, ladybug. What did you do?

A swell of panic hit Reaper’s chest as he rushed out of the door.

She’d been taken from him again, was his only thought.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

“Once…twice in a lifetime.” - Paige

Reaper was a snarling demon of a man storming through the electronic double doors of the local sheriff’s department. His only objective was to get to Paige.

The guy at the reception desk eyed him warily.

“I’m here for my wife,” he all but bit out through his clenched teeth. “Paige Ren…Simmons. She called and told me she was here.” The little dipshit didn’t even look at the booking sheet to see who Reaper was talking about. He only had eyes for Reaper’s cut.

“Sir, if you’d just take a seat.”

“I don’t want to take a fucking seat. I want to see my fucking wife.” Regarding the younger guy in front of him in his tan uniform, all Reaper saw was the obstacle keeping him from his Paige and his insides chewed like glass.

“Sir, you need to calm down.” Was the absolute wrong thing to say to Reaper, who was on the knife edge of panic.

“Fuck calming down. Get me Charlie Timmons down here now.” He’d string the sheriff up by his boot laces if he didn’t do something. Reaper could give ten fucks if the guy was on friendly terms with the club.

Nothing mattered other than getting to Paige.

When a man had so much to lose it meant he was willing to do anything.

She must be so damn scared.

Right then, as the cop put a call through, hopefully to Charlie, maybe a pile of other inept cops to throw Reaper out, he heard an almighty roar outside from several bikes all parking at the same time.

“I want to see my fucking wife!” He snapped again, teeth bared, eyes wild.

“Sir… you’ll be removed if you don’t calm down.”

“That’s not going to be necessary.” A hand landed on Reaper’s shoulder, and as he turned to snap some fuckers fingers off, assuming it was another cop, he reined in his thunder seeing it was the club lawyer.

Archie wasn’t all that tall, but he had a stature that made people take notice and when he stepped up to the desk—the suit fit him perfectly, holding a leather briefcase, he arched a brow at deputy dickface, his voice resonated calmly, authority burning from his eyes. “I’m here to see my client, Paige Simmons, I trust you haven’t questioned her without my being present.”

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