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“She’s fucking alive,” I snapped. The alternative was too horrible to think about.

“Guys,” whispered Ronan, face tightening.

“Where could she have gone?” Asher questioned. He glanced at the bodies, and I knew he was searching them for any signs of her familiar dark curls. He wouldn’t find her down there; I was sure of it. My baby was a fighter.

“Guys,” repeated Ronan.

“You better make sure her damn cat is alive,” Ryder continued, either oblivious to his brother or choosing to ignore him. I was beginning to believe it was the latter. “When she gets back, she’ll skin your nut sack if something happened to him.”

“The cat is fine,” Tam said dizzily. He grimaced in pain and grabbed at his stomach. The crazy son of a bitch decided to fight a Rager by hand after his gun ran out of ammo. It was a miracle that he was still alive.

“Guys!” Ronan’s voice broke through our conversation sharply, a contrast to his normally indolent tone. Sarge’s eyes narrowed on his face. He hated being interrupted, especially by his subordinates.

But Ronan wasn’t paying our group leader any mind. No, his trembling finger was pointing towards the edge of the highway where a metal gate separated a low forest from the highway.

“I painted that on her hand,” he mumbled. I turned to see what had captured his attention.

Across the silver railing, painted in a bright, cranberry red, was a haphazardly drawn crown. A single “A” rested above the design.

Only one person would be stupid enough - or smart enough - to draw a design instead of writing her name. Why the hell did she feel the need to be so secretive?

Addie.

Baby, hold on. We’re coming for you.