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Thorne and Rose.

Or, more specifically, Mimic and Kytten.

“August?” Diana frowned. “What is it? Did I say something wrong?”

Sitting up, I reached for my phone, quickly dialing a number I knew by heart, waiting impatiently for it to connect. When it did, I didn’t bother with any pleasantries and put the phone on speaker so Diana could hear as I jumped from the bed and searched for my pants.

“I need you to lock down Mimic and Kytten. Do not let them leave the clubhouse.”

“And why the hell would I do that?”

“Baby, I need you to get dressed,” I quickly said before answering King. “Because they are my kids!”

King groaned. “Bane, your kids are Dante and Amber. Mimic and Kytten’s parents are Justin Peterson and Vivian Greenbush.”

“NO!” I shouted, zipping up my jeans. “I mean, yes, they are, but Mimic and Kytten are my kids with Diana. With my wife!”

“You’re married?”

Growling, I snapped, “Would you fucking listen to me, asshole, and just do what I ask?”

“I’m getting real fucking tired of people telling me what to do in my own fucking club. You do realize you are talking to the president of the Silver Shadows, right? I’m not some fucking newbie, Bane.”

“August?” Diana said, getting my attention as she buttoned up her shirt. “Do you know where Thorne and Rosebud are?”

“Who the hell is that?” King asked.

“My wife!” I shouted into the phone. “Weren’t you listening? I said I am married.”

King growled.

“Ask Mimic or Kytten. Diana has a tattoo on her left arm. It’s of Asclepius, the God of Medicine. It’s very distinctive. If they remember it, will you lock them down then?”

“Gonna need more than that, Bane. Anyone could have that tattoo.”

“Thorne has a birthmark. It’s in the shape of a heart. It’s on his right butt cheek,” Diana cried, rushing over to me.

“Did you get that, King?”

“Yeah, I got it,” the man grumbled, then yelled, “MIMIC! Get your ass in here!”

Holding onto Diana, I picked up my phone, took it off speaker, and placed it at my ear before saying, “King, there’s more.”

“Of course there is,” the man groaned.

“Valhalla is working with Dakota Stone. They were behind my wife’s disappearance, and if I’m right, they are headed your way to kill them,” I stated just as I heard Mimic’s disgruntled voice.

“What?”

“Drop your pants.”

“Excuse me!”

“You heard me, drop ’em. Now.”

“What the hell is going on now?”

“This motherfucker wants me to drop my drawers!” Mimic shouted, appalled.