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“Juan won’t let this slide,” Pedro murmurs, his voice quivering with the weight of what’s coming. “He’ll come after us.”

“Let him try.” My words cut through the tension, sharp and unyielding. “The UVMC doesn’t bow to cartel scum. If you want protection from him, you have it.”

Maria’s eyes search my face, seeking the truth behind my promise. She finds it in the steely resolve that has defined my existence since I swore allegiance to this club.

“Vamos con Fang,” I instruct, gesturing to where Fang waits by one of the vans. “He’ll take you to the safehouse.”

“Can we trust you?” Pedro’s question hangs between us, a challenge and a plea rolled into one.

“Your life depends on it.” My tone leaves no room for doubt.

Relief washes over their faces, trust crystallizing in the moment they step toward Fang. He nods once, a silent guardian ready to ferry them to safety.

“Go,” I urge, watching as they disappear into the vehicle.

“Let’s go home,” Vapor says when we get outside.

As he gets on his bike, the rest of us follow suit. I take my spot behind him, second in command as we roar toward his house.

The Garden District is too quiet as we roll up. Wrong kind of silence. The kind that watches. When we reach his house, I immediately know something’s wrong. The front door hangs off its hinges, splintered wood and shattered glass strewn like breadcrumbs of chaos across the porch.

We pull up, cutting our engines abruptly. The sudden quiet gnaws at my nerves. A jarring sense of unease wraps around me as I survey the scene.

“Blue!” Vapor bellows her name like a man possessed, storming into the wreckage of his home. His slicked-back hair and piercing eyes are wild with fear, his towering frame a weapon primed for destruction.

I follow close behind, every muscle coiled tight. The sight that greets us chills my blood. The living room is a battlefield of overturned furniture and scattered belongings. It’s the aftermath of a struggle.

One name pounds through my mind: Isabella.

“Vapor?” Blue’s voice, tinged with relief, cuts through the silence.

“Baby?” Vapor leaves the living room and goes into the hall.

Blue and Babet step out of the library, twin ghosts, covered in cobwebs and smeared with grime.

“Jesus, Blue,” Vapor exhales, pulling her into his embrace. He inspects her as though she might crumble to dust, his hands tracing the contours of her face, assuring himself she’s real.

“We had to hide.” Her emerald eyes meet mine before flicking away. “Under the house, in the crawlspace.”

“Where’s Isabella?” Her name bursts from my lips.

“Juan’s men took her,” Babet says.

“Damn it.” I grit my teeth. “When?”

“I don’t know. A hour ago?” Blue says, trembling.

“We were too afraid to come out. We didn’t know if they were still here.” Babet’s mournful tone stills my heart.

“Where did they take her?” Vapor asks.

“I don’t know.” Tears fill Blue’s eyes. “You have to find her.”

“We need to go to the safehouse,” I tell Vapor. “Pedro might know something. He gave us the lead on the warehouse with the kids. He might know where Juan took her.”

“Let’s ride,” Vapor growls.

Minutes later, we’re a fury on wheels, speeding toward the safehouse. The thrum of the engine vibrates through me, a rhythm syncing with my racing heart. Blue clings to Vapor, her body pressed against his back like a shield, while Babet, surprisingly light, holds onto me with a strength that defies her age.