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As everyone chimes in with ideas, my gaze slides toward the door. I’m itching to get the fuck out of here and get back to Isabella. I need this meeting to end—now.

“You got all that, Ice?” Fang asks. When I blink at him, he smirks. “I emailed the notes. Try to read them when you’re done boning her.”

Tank snickers until Vapor shoots him a look. Bones rolls his eyes, while Diablo snorts.

“I’ll talk to her. See what she can tell me. Let’s meet up again tomorrow.”

“Done.” Vapor pounds his fist on the desk, ending the meeting.

“Thanks, brothers,” I murmur my gratitude.

This meeting went better than expected. With the weight of the club behind us, Isabella and I have a fighting chance of not only saving those women and kids, but of saving her too. I can’t wait to get back to our room so I can tell her the good news.

Chapter 12: Isabella

As I pace back and forth in Ice’s room, my stomach churns. With each passing minute, my anxiety spikes another notch. I can’t believe my brother had someone following me. Why? Did I say or do something that made him suspicious? And why hasn’t he called to check up on me? If he sent one of his men to watch me, he should know I’m missing. None of this makes any sense.

I glance at the clock on the nightstand. Ice has been gone too long. My mind can’t help but concoct a thousand terrible scenarios that might be keeping him. His club brothers didn’t look happy to see me when I arrived. Fang, the grumpy one with the silly t-shirt, kept studying me like a virus under a microscope. I get the sense Fang considers me to be potentially deadly. He’s not wrong, but I hate feeling so out of place.

I wasn’t ready for this—running, hiding, throwing my lot in with a motorcycle club whose members’ faces I’ve just begun to memorize. The thought of leaving behind the little life I’ve eked out sends a fresh wave of panic through me. My savings, meager as they are, lie hidden beneath a loose floorboard back at my cottage, a futile attempt at a safety net now left behind. If Juan truly thinks I’m working against him, then there’s no way I’ll be able to go home to get the money.

The door swings open and Ice appears. I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Isabella.” His voice cuts through the silence as he closes the door behind him. He locks it and slides the flimsy security chain across it. As he steps deeper into the room, his silver-blue eyes search mine, as if he’s trying to assess my mood.

“What happened?” I ask.

Attempting to read his expression is pointless. He’s too good at keeping a neutral expression regardless of what’s happening. Well, unless I’m naked. In that case, he can’t keep the look of longing out of his eyes.

“Every man in the club is with us. Their loyalty isn’t in question. They’re committed to two things: getting those women and kids out of the cartel’s clutches and making sure you’re safe,” he says.

“Safe” feels like a foreign concept. But there’s comfort in his words, a reassurance that isn’t entirely hollow. Still, the problem of finding those kids looms large, an insurmountable wall blocking our path.

“I have no idea how we’ll ever find the warehouse where they’re holding the children.” A labyrinth of warehouses sprawls across the city. They could be in any one of them, but which one?

“Have you ever been to any other cartel locations besides the drug cutting place?” Ice probes, leaning against the worn dresser, arms crossed.

“Only the cutting warehouse,” I admit, feeling helpless. “Juan never involved me until he forced me to work there.”

Ice’s eyes narrow slightly. “But you must know something that can help us.”

“Nothing,” I insist, though a flicker of an idea sparks in my mind. It’s not much, but it’s all I have, a sliver of hope that I’m clutching onto with both hands.

“Think,” he says softly. “Can you remember him ever mentioning which part of the city he was going to?”

As I try to recall anything Juan may have let slip, I pace the length of the dimly lit motel room. I shove my hands into my jeans and try to calm my racing heart. Nothing comes to mind. I can’t think of a single instance where Juan mentioned going to another warehouse.

“I don’t know. He never told me where he was going when he left the compound.”

Ice watches me, silent and brooding, his presence a solid anchor in the storm of my thoughts. “Then we’ll have to find the location another way.”

“I’ve been thinking… staying with the MC isn’t a good idea,” I say, finally halting before him. My mind races with plans and possibilities, each more dangerous than the last. “I have an idea about what we should do next.”

“Lay it on me,” he says, his voice low and edged with skepticism.

“I go back to Juan,” I blurt out, my plan sounding reckless even to my own ears. “I tell him about tonight, about how an SUV was following me after work. That I drove to Jackson Square because I was scared, and some guy on a motorcycle saved me.”

Ice stares at me as if I’ve completely lost my mind. “And why would Juan believe this story?”