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It’s Savina’s fucking tracking device.
“Fuck!” The word explodes from my mouth as I stand up. Raw anger and abject fear hit me square in the chest. With a roar, I upturn the table full of tools. They go flying and land wherever the fuck they do.
Whoever took her knew about the tracker and cut the goddamn thing from her arm. They fucking put their hands on her. Came into my house and took her away from me. They made her bleed. Made her feel pain. And made her feel the one emotion I swore she’d never feel again.
Fear.
How in the hell did they even know about the tracking device? The only person, other than myself, who’s aware of it is Dr. Markus Bale, and I’m positive he wouldn’t have opened his mouth. The shit I’m blackmailing him with ensures that. There’s not a chance he would have given away that secret.
I shove the small tracker in my pocket and spin on my heel, leaving Marcelo in the room. I go to the one next to it and check that room over. Finding nothing, I go to the first one Marcelo checked. I don’t expect to find anything, but I’m not taking the chance of missing something.
When that room comes up empty as well, I stalk out of the lighthouse and go back to the car. Marcelo follows without being told. I spin away from the structure, leaving a cloud of dust behind.
“There’s a black envelope in my safe in my office,” I tell Marcelo as I speed back toward my estate. “Grab it and meet me back at the car.”
He nods in my peripheral vision. I grip the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white. Rage, hot and blinding, courses through my veins, and the need to eviscerate the person or people who took my wife fills every thought in my head.
I slam to a stop in front of the estate and get out of the car. Marcelo heads toward my office as I run up the stairs to Savina’sand my bedroom. I have multiple safes in several rooms of the house. This one is where I store most of my guns and ammo. I grab out a Glock that matches the one I’m already carrying and put several clips in my pocket. I don’t bother closing the safe before stalking out of the closet.
Marcelo is just exiting my office when I hit the last stair, the envelope I requested in his hands. We go back to the car and speed away.
“Message Bishop and Cassio and tell them to meet us at their parents’ place,” I order.
“Already done.”
I glance over to my guard, and the closest person I have to a friend. The muscle in his jaw is tense, his pupils dilated. I’ve known him long enough to recognize the anger on his face. He may have been working on my order when I hired him to be Savina’s bodyguard two years ago, but I know he’s grown attached. Outside of the males in her family and Tomas—and only him because he likes dick—he’s the only man I’d allow to form a bond with my wife. In fact, I welcome that bond because it means he’d do anything to keep her safe.
I know he’s feeling the loss of Max, the guard I assigned to my mother years ago, and I feel it too, but I keep that emotion locked tight for the time being. I need to keep a clear head.
It takes half the time than normal to get to the Rivers’. I don’t knock, I just barge through the front door and go straight for Alexander’s office, where I know he’ll be. Savina’s father is sitting behind his desk, and his head jerks up from whatever document he’s reading when his office door slams against the wall.
“What the hell?” he barks, getting to his feet.
I get right to the point.
“Savina’s been taken,” I growl.
“What do you mean, she’s been taken?” he asks, slowly getting to his feet.
“I mean,” I grab the envelope from Marcelo. “Someone broke into my house and fucking took her.” I toss the envelope on top of his desk. “Look through those and tell me if anything stands out.”
He doesn’t even spare the envelope a glance as he orders, “Tell me what happened.”
“The details will come after you look in the fucking envelope,” I grit out, my patience wearing thin.
I don’t know what the fucker’s plans are with Savina or what his end goal is, but time is of the essence.
With jerky movements, Alexander slides out the stack of papers and pictures. He riffles through them, reading each message and looking at the pictures. Some of those shots are of me fucking his daughter, but I don’t give a fuck if her father sees them, not if it means he can use this information to find her.
A muscle tics in his jaw when he looks at one of the photos. It was taken the night of the ball. From the angle of the shot, he had to have been hidden in the bushes that are just off the terrace. The quality of the shot is nice and clear, even with it being taken at night. Savina is down on her knees in front of me, her mouth stretched wide as she takes my cock down her throat while I fist her head.
Alexander lingers on that picture for too long, and I see the anger building on his face. The hand holding it fists the glassy paper. I snatch it out of his hands.
“Look at the others,” I bark.
If looks could kill, I’d be bleeding out on the floor right about now. But I couldn’t care less whether Savina’s father is pissed at the way I fuck his daughter. She’s an adult, and what we do is private. The only reason I felt it necessary not to filter thesepictures is because maybe he’ll see something I haven’t that’ll give us a clue as to who sent them.
“Who sent these?” he demands after he’s looked through them all, tossing them on the desk.