I can’t remember the last time I didn’t do anything other than hang out with Easton. Usually, I’m busy doing laundry, cleaning, and stocking up at the grocery store on my days off. However, today, I’m too exhausted to do any of that.

After a lazy early afternoon and lunch, I decided we both need some sunshine. I have boxes to finish unpacking, and I’m sure I could meal prep some healthy dinners for the week, but I don’t feel like it right now.

I watch as Easton runs around the yard with this oversized bouncy ball that Gracie gave him for his birthday. It has his favorite cartoon character plastered all over it in overly bright colors. He kicks the ball, then falls down, repeating the act over and over again all while he lets out a stream of giggles.

The minutes tick by and I get that feeling of being watched again. Sweat trickles down my back but it isn’t from the warmth of the sun, it’s downright fear that begins to consume me. Standing, my legs feel like Jell-O and I slowly walk toward Easton.

I know for a fact someone is watching me now. I can feel it with every single part of my body. My goal right now is to get myself and Easton safely in the house and locked in.

Once we’re inside, then I’m going to call Snake. I know he’s around, and probably not too far away from the Cash Bar since Ginger is working there today, and he’s never far away from her.

Scooping Easton into my arms, I kiss his fat baby cheek as I swiftly walk toward the sliding glass door. My hand shakes as I reach for the handle, quickly pulling it open, just enough for us to slip inside, then I slam it closed and flip the lock. Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out my phone.

“Now, Hayden, I wouldn’t start calling people if I were you.”

The voice is cold, ice fucking cold and it slithers up my spine making my entire body shiver. I know that voice, I lived with that voice in my ear for months.

“Jack,” I whimper as my head turns to the side.

He’s standing in my kitchen, his ass leaning against the counter, his cold eyes, and his colder gun pointed directly at Easton. He moves his gaze down to Easton, tilting his head to the side and eyeing him. “He looks like me. You fucking took him away from me, you whore,” he growls.

“I didn’t.”

I know Jack, and I know how to keep him from going off of the rails. He enjoyed subservient women, to the point of ridiculousness. I know speaking in anything above a whisper will get me slapped across the face. I know if I don’t attempt to meet his needs before he actually needs them met by trying to read his mind, I’ll get punched.

“You did. I watched you get on the back of their bikes like the dirty little fucking whore you are,” he shouts. Spittle flies everywhere, but his voice is so shrill that it makes me flinch and Easton hides his face in my neck. “Then you let one of them mark your skin, again. You’re not theirs, Hayden, you’re mine. I fucking earned you,” he growls.

Pressing my lips together, I roll them a few times before I speak. “They took me, Jack. I needed to survive. I did what I had to,” I lie.

He walks toward me, closing our distance and the tip of his gun presses against my cheek. My body stiffens, but I try not to show any fear. The man loved scaring me, but if I showed him fear, he would get pissed. Everything pissed him off, and I can see that in almost two years, nothing has changed.

“Are you ready to come home now, Hayden?” he rasps, pressing his lips against my ear.

My heart races against my chest, and I want to tell him no, but I can’t. He has a gun and I have a baby to think about. I wish that Ward were here, but he’s not, he’s not even anywhere close. Letting out a breath, I turn to face him.

“Okay, let me pack a bag for us?” When Jack doesn’t say anything, I decide to add, “Easton needs a lot of stuff, especially if we’re going to be traveling.”

He looks from me, down to Easton, then back up again with a nod. “Go ahead, but hurry up now and hand me your phone.”

I slip my phone into his hand and watch him drop it on the ground before he stomps on it. It shatters into a million pieces, along with my heart. I have absolutely zero faith that Ward will find us because I don’t know where we’re going. He doesn’t even know what Jack looks like.

Hurrying into my bedroom, I pull out a bag and begin to pack some clothes for myself. As I pack, I look around for some kind of way to leave a clue. Jack isn’t stupid enough to allow me to leave a note in the middle of the bed or anything like that, but I need to leave something for whoever comes and checks on me when I don’t show up to work tomorrow or answer my phone.

Easton wraps his fist in my hair and tugs, but I have to ignore him right now. Once I have a bunch of stuff in my bag, I move to the bathroom and begin to pack my toiletries from there. Pressing my lips together, I wrack my brain trying to think of what I could do or leave, that would give whoever comes looking for us a clue.

“You done yet?” Jack’s voice clips from the doorway.

My hand is full of shampoo and conditioner bottles, and I lift my chin. “I just have to pack some things for Easton,” I holler.

“Hurry the fuck up. You better not be stalling,” he grinds out.

I shake my head, swiftly walking back to my bag and dumping the containers inside. I hope they don’t bust open and leak everywhere, but I suppose that’s the least of my worries right now.

Slipping past Jack, I hurry toward Easton’s room. I set him down so that I can move a bit faster. Luckily, he has some toys in here and he toddles right over to them and begins to play.

Throwing clothes, shoes, and as many diapers as I can fit into his bag, I grab a handful of socks before I freeze. Looking at the doorway, I then look back toward the closet. As quickly as I can I spell out JACK with Easton’s socks on the floor of the closet. Hopefully, someone will open the door and be able to read it.

I close the door, putting the rest of his socks in the bag. I grab his favorite blanket and stuffed animal off of the bed, shoving those into the bag, then take a few of his favorite toys and do the same. Hopefully, this will be enough to keep him from fussing too much.

Picking him up off of the floor, I walk out into the living room where Jack is lounging on my small sofa. “I can’t carry our bags, and I need to pack some snacks for Easton,” I murmur.

“I’ll start loading shit in the truck,” he barks.

I blink. I didn’t know he had a truck here, but I don’t dally. I hurry into the kitchen, grabbing a tote from a shelf in the pantry and begin to fill it with some snacks for Easton. I don’t bother packing anything that needs to stay cold, in hopes that Jack will at least take care of him, even if he abuses me and punishes me by restricting access to food. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s done that, so I don’t put anything past him, especially since he’s so angry with me right now.

Once the tote in the kitchen is finished, I carry it into the living room and set it down next to my feet, waiting for him to come back inside. I’m surprised when the front door swings open and he walks inside. Peering behind him, I see there is indeed a pickup truck. I send a prayer up to whoever is listening that Fish or Gracie, anybody has seen this truck parked in front of my house.

“Time to go,” he growls, wrapping his fingers around my bicep.

Jack tugs me harshly, my head snapping back before he drags me outside. I bite my bottom lip, trying not to whimper in pain as I attempt to keep up with his swift steps. He wrenches the pickup door open and tosses me toward the passenger seat.

Climbing inside, I sit down and look around for a car seat, which of course he doesn’t have. When he finally makes his way toward the driver’s side, I glance over to him.

“You don’t happen to have a car seat, do you?” I whisper, trying not to speak too loudly.

“Where we’re going it won’t matter, you’re never leaving there again, so he won’t need one. Hold onto him on your lap,” he announces.

I nod, sitting straight-backed in my seat, placing Easton firmly on my lap and then pulling the seatbelt over both of us. If we get in an accident, I doubt it will do much to save us, but it’s better than nothing at this point.

My stomach twists. I don’t know why, but something doesn’t feel right. I glance behind me, but I’m completely alone. I know that Free is on the other side of the warehouse door, but it doesn’t ease my sudden anxiety.

Stomping over to the door, I yank it open. Free twists his head to the side and glances at me. “Croon?” he asks, his brows furrowing.

I look at him, then look past him, before shaking my head. “Got a feeling,” I explain.

“Need me to do a perimeter to ease your mind?” he offers.

Letting out a breath, I lift my hand and rub the back of my neck. “Nah, just nerves or something, all this talk about that compound up north,” I shrug.

Free’s concerned gaze meets mine, but he doesn’t say anything else. Turning away from him, I can’t shake the feeling that something really fucking bad just happened. Slipping my phone out of my pocket, I glance at the time.

It’s late, after the day and night Hayden had yesterday, she’s probably fast asleep by now. I think long and hard about calling her, but in the end, I shove my phone back in my pocket.

Turning back to my inventory, I get back to work. I need to get this shit done, the faster, the better. The quicker I work, the sooner I get home to Hayden and Easton.

I scroll through the contacts on my phone, finding Fish’s name before tapping send. It rings a few times, and he groggily answers which can only mean one thing, that he slept over at the clubhouse last night and didn’t go home, again.

“You home?” I ask anyway.

He grunts. “Nah, slept at the club. What’s up?”

I glance around the bar, frowning. “Hayden didn’t show up for work today. Wondered if she dropped off East or not. I’m going to head toward her place, meet me there?” I ask.

Something in my gut tells me I’m going to need some backup, and she’s comfortable enough with Fish.

“I’ll call Gracie and be on my way,” he says, sounding much more alert than he was just a few seconds ago.

Ending the call, I glance around the bar for any sign of life. There’s nothing other than the cook who’s firing up the grill. Scrolling through my contacts again, I find Baby.

“Pres,” he rasps.

“You’re working the bar today, get the fuck down here,” I bark.

There’s a small moment of silence before he speaks. “Where’s Hayden? The baby sick?” he asks sounding awfully concerned.

I don’t know what happened between them, but it doesn’t matter. She wears Crooner’s mark, which makes her a death wish for anyone who even looks at her sideways.

“Don’t know yet. Not any of your fuckin’ business either. The cook is down here getting everything ready on his end, but I need someone to man the bar. Be here in five,” I state before ending the call. I let the cook know that someone is on their way, and I head out.

It only takes me a minute or two to ride to Hayden’s new place. It looks empty just from the outside as I pull into her driveway. Before I can shift off of my bike, I hear Fish come barreling down the street. He kicks his stand down quickly and disengages before stomping toward me.

“Gracie’s been trying to call her all morning. Said, she figured she’d be coming by any second, but she hasn’t seen or heard from her. She ain’t answering her phone either,” he announces.

I glance back at the front door, then at Fish and lift my chin as I reach into my shoulder holster and pull my handgun out. I watch as he reaches into the back of his jeans and pulls his piece out of his waistband.

Together, we silently walk toward the front door. I listen, trying to hear any movement inside but it’s still and quiet, and fucking eerie.

I wrap my hand around the front door knob and gently twist it, surprised to find it unlocked. Hayden wouldn’t leave the front door unlocked, not with her past.

Opening the front door, we’re met with more silence, so much fucking quiet that it’s deafening. Both Fish and I clear the house, finding it completely fucking empty. We meet back up in the living room and just kind of stare at one another for a moment.

Something shiny catches my eye and I look to the left, it’s a phone—a completely shattered phone. Crouching down, I pick up a couple of the big pieces before lifting my head up to look at Fish. His eyes are dark, and I can tell that he’s on edge.

“That her phone?” he growls.

I nod once, dropping the pieces back on the floor. They’re fucking useless right now. I look around, again, except this time I’m not searching for people, I’m searching for signs.

“Call Motorhead. Let’s keep this close to the vest for now but get him here to help us look around. I don’t want to send anybody into a panic quite yet,” I instruct.

Fish already has his phone to his ear and I hear him murmuring, then he shoves it in his pocket. “He’ll be here in about two seconds,” he states.

We don’t move around the house quite yet. I’m content to scan the living room for anything else.

“Pantry door is open,” Fish mutters.

I spin around and we both walk toward the open door. Wrenching it the rest of the way, I look around.

“Boxes on their sides, but only a few,” I mutter. “All snack food, like she’d feed Easton. She was in a hurry,” I point out as my eyes scan the small space.

I hear the refrigerator door slam. “She didn’t take milk or his yogurt snacks,” Fish mutters.

“Where’s our girl,” Motorhead growls, stomping through the house.

I frown, looking over at him. “Let’s all take a room, comb through it, see what we can discover.”

Splitting up, I take the master bedroom, Fish takes the master bath, and Motorhead takes Easton’s room. Five minutes into the search, Motorhead shouts for us to hurry into Easton’s space. We run, our boots moving us quickly through the small house.

Motorhead’s back is to us, the closet door open, and his head is bent as he looks at something. We come in closer, and I swear to fuck I expect to see their dead bodies. Instead, I’m met with socks.

“Socks?” Fish asks, voicing my own thoughts.

“Jack,” Motorhead growls. I blink, looking at the socks again, damned if they don’t spell out JACK. “That’s the name of the fuck who had her and ditched her when the nomads came around, wasn’t it?” he asks.

“Fuck, it is,” I breathe.

Fish clears his throat, but it’s Motorhead that speaks first. “Hayden’s a smart fucking girl, a survivor,” he says, sounding almost baffled.

“She is, but she’s ours, under our protection and we need her back before she’s hurt by that sick racist motherfucker,” I bite out.

“What do we do now?” Fish asks, his voice sounding as fucking defeated as I feel.

Failed.

We’ve failed to protect her and Easton.

I cannot fail on finding her, not only because I’ve promised to protect her but also because she’s Crooner’s Old Lady. He’s gone, and it’s our fucking job to watch her while he’s away. We’ve fucked up on so many counts right now, but it doesn’t matter anymore, the only thing that matters is getting her and East home and safe.

“We find our girl,” I state.