Page 22 of Shattered Souls
Murmurs of thanks echo off the steel walls before everyone disperses, the other girls slowly filtering out of the warehouse. Tara bounces up to me, a bundle of energy despite the grueling workout.
“I’ve gotta bounce if I’m going to have time to shower before work.” She gives me a quick hug. “Text me, yeah?” She’s already walking away when she spins and points a finger at me. “And I want to be kept in the loop.”
As the steel door slams shut behind her, Royce approaches. His eyes bore into me as if searching for answers to unasked questions.
“You were right,” I tell him when he’s close enough. “I do feel better.” I feel stronger and more empowered, knowing that if I end up in a situation like I did with Ben, I’ll be able to get myself out of it—or at the very least fight back.
“You did well today, Riley,” Xander says, joining us with a soft smile pulling at the corners of his lips and sympathy warming his pale blue eyes. His attention slides to Royce, and he jerks his head toward the back of The Depot. “Dax is here. Wants to talk to you.”
My hand squeezes Royce’s, who glances down at me before nodding to Xander. Placing his palm at the base of my spine, he escorts me across the room and down the hallway to Xander’s office.
I step into the cramped space with my heart lodged in my throat, barely registering the paperwork piled atop the desk or the two seats wedged between the desk and wall that occupy most of the space.
My entire focus is on Dax, sitting behind Xander’s desk with a laptop open in front of him. He’s impeccably dressed in a suit. His jacket is neatly hanging over the back of his chair, allowing an unobstructed view of his crisp, white shirt as it stretches across his chest, the top two buttons undone and offering aglimpse at the tattoos visible beneath. More of the artwork inked into his skin can be seen along his muscular forearms, where his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. He shifts in the chair, stretching, and I swear I hear the seams of his shirt tear as they’re pulled to their limit.
There’s the same ruthless edge about him that I recall from the time I briefly met him at Rogue. A savagery oozes from his pores, a brutality that makes your palms instantly sweat and urges you to flee.
This room is far too small for a man like him, who sucks all the oxygen from the air. Even sitting behind the desk, he dwarfs it, practically spilling out of the chair, which creaks beneath his weight.
“Have you been back here all morning?” Royce grunts. “Why didn’t you join us for the self-defense class?”
Xander snorts from the doorway. “Idiot is scared of a certain five-foot-six, black-haired woman with psychotic tendencies who I have the misfortune of calling my sister.”
Royce arches a brow as Dax glares at Xander. “You’re one to talk—scared of your own sister,” he drawls in that deep voice edged with menace. Honestly, everything about Dax is honed into a deadly weapon intended to cut you out at the knees on the first swing.
“She can be terrifying,” Xander defends. “But I go out of my way to ingratiate myself to her.” He pierces Dax with a meaningful look.
Dax merely grunts. “It was years ago. We were children.”
I’m unable to participate in this conversation. Can barely even follow it, knowing he might have information that could help us find my daughter.
“Well, I’ll leave ya’s to talk,” Xander says, rapping his knuckles against the doorframe before pushing off it. “Let me know if you need anything.”
With that, he disappears, and Dax slides his penetrating gaze my way. “Riley,” he greets, standing and flattening a hand down the front of his shirt before holding it out for me. “It’s nice to see you again. I’m sorry it’s not under better circumstances.”
It’s with a numb awareness that I shake his hand, searching his face for clues as to why he wants to speak to us before I finally just blurt it out. “Did you find anything?” I know Royce gave him a phone he and Logan found amongst Lydia’s belongings at Bertram’s new house, but that was only a few days ago, so it seems quick that he’d have something from that so soon.
Unless it gave up nothing.
He shakes his head, and something fundamental inside me shatters.
I’m distantly aware of Royce stepping up behind me as though fearful I might collapse. His heat engulfs my back as his hand moves to rest on my hip in a reassuring move.
“My guy is still working on the phone,” Dax explains. “Other than that one message, it was clean. So far, he’s traced the text to another burner phone, which has since been disconnected, but he’s doing some tech mumbo-jumbo to trace where it was sent from. If we have a location, we might be able to narrow it down—check traffic cams for the area, that sort of thing.”
Swallowing around the suffocating lump in my throat, I drop my gaze and nod in understanding.
“What did you want then?” Royce directs.
“I have to head back to New York. I put off my last fight, but I can’t delay it any longer. However, I just wanted to let you know I’m still working on this. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Understand, man,” Royce answers, holding his hand out to shake Dax’s. “Appreciate it.”
With a curt nod, Dax gathers his laptop and moves to leave the office.
“Thank you,” I blurt, my voice strangled with emotion. He stops at the threshold, turning to look at me. “For everything you’ve done. For what you’re doing. I—I can never repay you, butthank youfor helping me find my little girl.”
Dax’s hard, shuttered gaze bores into mine for a long moment. He merely nods before striding away.
