Page 52 of Logan
The thought circles my head like a buzzard, slow and steady at first, then sharper, picking at me. I pace the length of the clubhouse’s back hallway, boots heavy against the scuffed wood floor, phone clutched so tight in my hand it feels like the plastic might crack.
I’ve already called her six times, straight to voicemail every damn time.
Texted her. Nothing.
It’s not like her.
Not after the way she looked at me before she left this morning.
Like she needed to prove something.
Like she had unfinished business.
The hall smells faintly of old oil and leather polish, the faint murmur of voices from the bar bleeding through the walls. It’s all background noise, nothing I can focus on.
“You alright?” Cain’s voice comes from behind me, low and careful, the way you’d talk to a dog strung too tight on a leash.
I turn to face him. “Mac had an interview this morning. Said it wouldn’t take long. She left before nine. It’s past eleven.”
Cain’s brows pull together, his expression unreadable but heavy. “She goin’ off the grid on purpose?”
“No,” I say too fast, sharper than I mean to. I drag a hand down my face, the rasp of my stubble grounding me for half a second. “No. This was important to her. She would’ve called. She always calls.”
Dom appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame like he’s been listening for a bit. His eyes flick between us, sharp and assessing, the way they get when he’s already cataloguing possible threats. “You think something happened?”
“I don’t know,” I bite out, the words tasting like rust. Then I force a breath, dialing my voice back a notch. “But I’ve got a knot in my gut I can’t shake. Something’s off.”
Dom folds his arms. “You know where the interview was?”
“She said the address once, but I didn’t write it down. Just said it was for a hotel management job outside of town. Near the interstate, maybe?”
He nods and pulls his phone from his pocket, already thumbing across the screen with fast, practiced motions. “If I can get a hit on her license plate or phone GPS, I’ll find her. Give me ten.”
Cain steps closer and sets a hand on my shoulder. His grip is steady, grounding. “You’re not crazy, brother. Your gut’s saved all our asses more than once.”
“I should’ve gone with her,” I mutter, jaw tightening until my teeth ache. “She said she wanted to do it on her own, prove she could stand without looking over her shoulder. I didn’t push. I let her go.”
“You didn’t let her do anything. She’s her own woman.” Cain gives my shoulder a squeeze. “But we’ll get her back.”
Dom’s eyes are glued to his phone, his fingers moving quick. “Got a last ping from her phone about forty minutes ago. Warehouse district. Not exactly a five-star hotel.”
My blood runs cold. A low hum starts in my ears. “That’s not right.”
Dom glances up, his expression darker. “It gets worse. The phone’s off now.”
Cain steps in front of me as I lunge toward the door. “We go smart. We go together. We don’t let emotion get us killed.”
But it’s already boiling in my veins, hot and blinding.
If someone touched her, if someone lured her in, thinking they could break her again, they’re about to find out just how much worse I can be when the gloves come off.
Cain’s saying something behind me, probably about waiting for backup, but the words don’t stick. I’m already moving, shoving through the door into the sharp daylight. Theair is cold, but I barely feel it. My bike’s waiting, chrome catching the sun.
I jam my helmet on, fingers fumbling with the strap, and kick the engine to life. It roars under me like it’s hungry too, like it knows exactly what we’re going to hunt.
I peel out of the lot before anyone can stop me, tires spitting gravel, the clubhouse shrinking in the mirror.
The warehouse district.
