With my men cleaning the mess upstairs to keep the cops from turning into another fucking problem, I race down the hall and shove open the door marked Security. Passing by the office last night while searching for a place to fuck my beautiful wife. Panic wells up in stomach like I’m a motherfucking pussy. Never imagining that less than twenty-four hours later I would be here. Needing some wanna-be cop's help.

A tall man in a black tee and jeans steps out from the back room. His guarded expression reveals nothing as his gaze roves from me to my father and brother. "What can I help you with Mr. Deveraux?"

Good. He knows who the fuck I am because I don't have the time or the patience to explain myself. "I need to see the video from the past hour. Penthouse to driveway."

"I don't‒"

"Pull up the god damn fucking video!"

He doesn't flinch from the Glock I yank out and ram into his forehead. With his chiseled body and calm demeanor, I'm guessing former military. Must have stared down death before. Maybe he has his own regrets. Right now I don't give a damn. I'm in the position I fucking loathe the most - dependent on another man. Either he helps me or he dies. It's that fucking simple, and we both know it.

His palms flip up. Acquiescing to my threat. A mutual understanding passing between us, and I stand down, allowing him space. He retreats to the room he came from, motioning for me to follow. Tucking my weapon back into my waistband while he navigates the keyboard. Silent and efficient. Which I appreciate on both accounts.

I can’t stop scanning the screens stacked four by six across the wall. Ready to fucking detonate from my sweet sunshine unconscious in that motherfucker’s arms as he carries her inside, trailed by the two dumb asses who let it happen and got what they so fucking deserve.

With a few more clicks, the images speed forward and the door swings open again. Butcher appears to be working alone, exiting our suite with only two gigantic black duffels the size of punching bags swinging from his hands. Relaxed yet focused, he hustles down the hall, bypassing the elevator to emerge from the stairwell into the bustling lobby. Side-stepping an overloaded bellhop cart and a group of women, surrounding a tour guide pointing to the tin ceiling, to glide through the glass doors. Looking side to side before jogging up to a white sedan parked twenty feet from the entrance. He casually tosses one sack inside the opened trunk before slamming down the lid.

The other one he sets gingerly on the back seat. Pushing the fabric firmly against the cushion to keep the duffel from tipping over.

Motherfucker.

Ire like I’ve never felt blasts through me. My beautiful, sweet, delicate wife is in that god damn fucking bag. Trinity’s waif-like body crammed into a nylon sack like fucking dirty clothes. “That son of a bitch.”

“I guess you got what you need.” The security guard spins around in his chair. Smart enough not to ask questions I won’t answer. “My visual coverage of the property ends about two hundred yards past the entrance gates on both sides. You’ll have to get your own team to track him after that.”

I nod. Well aware what needs to be done. Long, slow torture before I kill that motherfucking bastard.

“I hope you find her and she’s okay.”

Me too. Because that’s the only thing that will keep me from going fucking insane.

* * *

"The car was tracked to a parking garage where it was abandoned. We're sweeping it now, and they're doing high resolution scanning and thermal imaging on the videos of each exiting vehicle. Once they ID them, we'll be able to start tracing their route again."

My chin lifts in response to my captain's update. Too fucking frustrated to actually bother speaking. Lots of explanation that doesn't mean jack shit. Meaningless words until she comes back.

My office's been turned into a war room. Which is exactly what this is. War. Some arrogant bastard thinks he wants a fight. I will take on any family - every family – that’s been fucking stupid enough to be involved with Trinity's disappearance. We've been at peace for so damn long, I got fucking complacent. Assuming no one would strike. Believing no one is fucking foolish enough to challenge us. I mean hell we're the motherfucking Deverauxs for fuck’s sake. We’ve ruled this fucking city for more than a hundred years, and they sure as hell aren't going to overtake us now.

Whoever has the balls enough to infiltrate my team and turn Butcher against me will pay. With his life and everyone he loves. Normally, I only fuck back with the man who crosses me. But right now, with my wife missing, nothing's off the table. His father, brothers, cousins, in-laws. One by one they will die until I get her back.

All the muttering quiets down as Leanna brings in more sandwiches. Well aware the difference between what’s legit and what’s dirty in my business, but she doesn’t need to be exposed to all the harsh details. Besides I can’t fucking stand the fear lining her face. Matching my Mom and Trish’s. All of them terrified it might be too late. That our efforts are in vain. Which I refuse to acknowledge.

“I’ll get more drinks too.”

“That’s fine. They can get‒”

The buzzing on my desk steals my attention. Please fucking god let the text be from Trinity.

I guess you got my message.

Fucking Senator. I don’t give a fuck about his bullshit. Those contracts are the least of my fucking worries. I start to toss my phone on my desk when it vibrates again.

Keep our agreement and you’ll get back what’s yours.

God damn son of fucking bitch. This stupid motherfucker has Trinity.

I almost laugh with relief. This privileged, prep school mamma’s boy has no idea what the fuck he’s doing. Who the fuck he’s messing with. I’ll have her back within the hour. Make sure she’s safe and sound, and then I’ll cut off his dick and shove it so far up his ass he’ll think it’s his tongue.

I’m on my way.

* * *

An energetic vibe pulses in the air. It’s been a long time since we’ve attacked, and the guys are hungry for a good massacre. Most of them are sick fuckers who get off on the heady blend of fear, piss, and blood. They also know they’ll be rewarded handsomely afterward with all the booze, cash, and women they want. “Kill anyone who resists, except for McAdams. That bastard is mine.”

Grunts and head bobs of agreement. Anxious to just get going. Only two last details needed before we strike. My cell buzzes with the confirmation.

Security cameras cut.

Gate guards eliminated.

I give the signal to circle up and move out. A convoy of black SUVs roll silently toward the mansion. The funeral procession before the death.

Less chaos than I’m expecting once I get inside. Under Weston’s guard, three men lay face down in the living room amidst the glass and wood shards. Their feet and hands tied together. Bright enough to surrender after Harry rammed the front door going thirty miles an hour.

The bodyguard points past the demolished staircase. “Senator’s headed out the back boss.”

Good. I love it when they run like pussies. Makes beating their asses that much more fun.

I jet through the doorway and see his dumb ass stumbling on the deck. He’s got nothing on the adrenaline racing through me, and I catch him before he reaches the garden. Ramming him from behind, he crumples instantly. Stupid fucker doesn’t even put up a fight.

I flip him over and pound him with three hard punches. Breaking his nose, jaw, and eye socket. The snapping bones reverberating through my fist and up my arm. God damn, it’s fucking good to be king.

Now I’m the one eager to dole out more torture. To make this fucking moron suffer. But I have to get Trinity’s location while he can still talk. “Where is she?”

He moans through his cries. I can’t make out his gurgled response through the blood gushing down his nose and filling his mouth. I shake him again but he just heaves, rolling onto his side. Fuck it. I yank him up by his hair and force him onto his knees. Waiting while the blood and vomit drain through his lips. Cascading like a waterfall against the cobblestone path. “Where the fuck is my wife?”

“I don’t know.”

Weak, hoarse, and full of bullshit. “How the fuck can you not know? This is your fucking plan. Now where is she?”

“B-Butcher drugged her…at the spa…” He sways and tumbles over again. Barely audible with his hands covering his mutilated face. “…inserted the device and then took the…”

What the god damn fuck? Genuine fear slices through me sharper than a blade. “What device?”

“In her arm…giving her amnesia…said it would be easier that way...to control her.”

They’ve hurt her. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. I need to kill this bastard so fucking bad. Both of them. But I have to hear the rest. No matter how fucking horrible it is. So I can find her.

“…took the cash and disappeared…cut off all contact…don’t know where he took her.”

He falls limp. His hands droop to the ground revealing the damage that’s not nearly savage enough. That doesn’t punish him enough for harming my sunshine. Unconscious but I don’t give a damn. I’m not fucking finished yet. I fist his shirt and jerk his sorry ass awake. “How much?”

His head lolls side to side from the force. “What?”

“How much did you pay him to take her?”

“Five million.”

Son of a fucking bitch. I toss him to the ground. Almost falling on my own ass with dread. Nearly vomiting from my own terror.

That’s enough to go anywhere. Do anything. For a long time. He doesn’t need McAdams anymore. He has plenty of cash to live comfortably for the rest of his life. The rest of her life.

She’s no longer a pawn.

She’s his prisoner.

And he doesn’t want anything to set her free.