Page 26 of Salvation

My eyes burned from staring at screens for nearly twenty-four hours straight, first working on a project for Beast, then trying to locate Salvation’s family. The blue glow of the screens made everything else in the tech room fade to shadows. I blinked hard, forcing my vision to refocus on the facial recognition software as it churned through another batch of potential matches. Time had become meaningless, marked only by empty coffee cups and the growing tightness in my shoulders. None of that mattered. Somewhere out there, Yulia and Clover were being held against their will, and every second I wasted was another second they remained in danger.

The digital clock in the corner of my main monitor flipped to 4:30 AM. Almost eight hours since they’d vanished from the fairgrounds.

I rolled my neck, vertebrae cracking in protest. The tech room had become my prison -- six monitors bathing me in their artificial light, walls covered with printouts of suspects and locations, the air thick with the smell of electronics and stale coffee. On the screens before me, the city revealed itself in fragments: traffic camera footage on one, intercepted text messages on another, potential hideout locations marked on a digital map on the third. The fourth ran facial recognition software, the fifth displayed known gang members from our database, and the sixth showed a live feed from the cameras around our compound.

My fingers flew across the keyboard, cross-referencing data points, chasing the ghost of a lead. Most of the brothers were out searching the streets, following my digital breadcrumbs, while I remained here, eyes peeled for any mistake our targets might make.

“Come on, you bastards,” I muttered, downing the last of my coffee. The liquid was cold and bitter, but it kept me upright. “Show me something.”

The facial recognition software pinged, drawing my attention to the fourth monitor. A partial match on a possible suspect -- 63% confidence. Not great, but better than anything we’d had so far. I leaned forward, squinting at the grainy image captured from a gas station security camera three miles from the fairgrounds, timestamped just thirty minutes after Yulia and Clover disappeared.

The man’s face was partially obscured by a baseball cap, but the program had matched the visible portion to a known member of the Southside Scorpions -- a small-time gang that had been trying to carve out territory on the edges of Reckless Kings’ domain. I pulled up his file: Marcus “Snake” Devlin, arrested twice for assault, once for possession with intent to distribute. Not exactly kidnapping material, but desperate times made men do desperate things.

My pulse quickened as I followed the digital trail, tracking the vehicle -- a black panel van with tinted windows -- through a series of traffic cameras. The van headed east from the gas station, toward an industrial area where the Scorpions were known to operate. I overlaid the route onto our digital map, watching as it wound through the city before disappearing into a blind spot where camera coverage was spotty at best.

“Got you,” I whispered, already reaching for my phone to alert the brothers. But something made me pause, a nagging doubt I couldn’t ignore. I rewound the footage, watching it again at half speed. This time, I caught it -- a brief moment when the driver turned toward his side mirror, giving the camera a clear view of his profile.

It wasn’t Snake. Similar build, similar cap, but definitely not him.

“Fuck!” I slammed my fist on the desk, sending an empty coffee cup rolling to the floor. Another dead end. Another wasted hour chasing shadows.

I leaned back in my chair, pressing the heels of my hands against my burning eyes. The exhaustion hit me in waves, tempting me to close my eyes, just for a moment. But every time I did, I saw Clover’s face -- so much like her mother’s, always ready with a smart remark or quick smile. And Yulia, who’d overcome so much, who’d built a life from the ashes of her past. Who might finally have found happiness with Salvation if given the chance.

No. Sleep wasn’t an option. Not until they were home.

I grabbed the last cold cup of coffee from the desk, grimacing as I swallowed the sludge. The caffeine barely registered anymore, but the ritual itself helped clear my head. I returned to the screens, methodically reviewing what we knew so far.

The kidnappers were amateurs -- that much was clear from their sloppy ransom demand and use of a child messenger. They’d taken Yulia and Clover from the fairgrounds without raising alarms, suggesting they’d planned it in advance. They knew enough about the club to target Salvation’s family specifically. And they were confident enough to set a ransom deadline.

But who were they? What did they really want? And most importantly, where were they keeping Yulia and Clover?

I pulled up the photo that had accompanied the ransom note, the one showing Yulia and Clover bound against a concrete wall. We’d analyzed every pixel of that image, trying to extract clues from the background. Concrete block construction, poor lighting, no windows visible. It narrowed things down to industrial buildings, warehouses, or basements, but that still left hundreds of potential locations across the city.

The door to the tech room creaked open behind me. I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was -- Salvation’s heavy footsteps were unmistakable, as was the weight of his presence. He’d been prowling the compound like a caged predator, alternating between the tech room and the war room, unable to settle anywhere while his family remained missing.

“Anything?” His voice was a rough whisper, stripped raw by worry and rage.

I swiveled my chair to face him, taking in his haggard appearance. His knuckles were raw -- from punching walls, most likely. The calm, controlled Salvation I’d known for years had been replaced by something feral, dangerous.

“I might have something,” I said, gesturing him closer. No point mentioning the false lead with the Scorpions -- he needed hope, not more disappointment. “Not a location yet, but patterns. Come look.”

He moved to stand behind me, his breathing too controlled, too measured -- a man holding himself together through sheer force of will.

“I’ve been tracking cell tower activity near the fairgrounds around the time of the abduction,” I explained, pulling up a new set of data on the center screen. “There’s a spike in activity that doesn’t match normal patterns. Someone was making a lot of calls in a short period.”

“Can you trace the numbers?”

“Burners, most likely. But I’ve cross-referenced with known associates of every gang and crew in the area.” I pointed to a cluster of dots on the digital map. “These calls pinged off towers in this ten-block radius. And three of the numbers have connections to the same group of low-level dealers who operate out of the Westridge neighborhood.”

It wasn’t much. Barely even a lead. But it was all I had after hours of searching.

Salvation’s hand gripped my shoulder, his fingers digging in painfully. “Show me.”

* * *

Salvation

I marked another X on the map with savage precision, the red marker squeaking against laminated paper. Another dead end. Another location cleared. Another hour gone with Yulia and Clover still missing. The war room had become my personal hell -- a space where hope flickered and died with each incoming call, each crossed-out location, each fading lead. I resumed pacing, my boots echoing on the wooden floor as I circled the large table for what felt like the thousandth time, as if movement alone could somehow conjure the answers that continued to elude us.

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