Page 38

M y eyes are on the small tent that sits too close to a line of trees.

Why, you ask?

Because inside that tent, getting touched and styled and posed while strangers gawk and drool and plan is my wife. My Lucy.

The crowd is getting anxious and rowdy as the summer sun sits high in the sky.

Because they always do, don’t they?

Some are here for a picture or an autograph.

Some for a taste of fame.

And some— some are here for worse .

I shift my stance, scanning the perimeter again.

Where the fuck are my men? Sigma sent two teams, but it’s not enough.

It’s never enough when it comes to her.

The Volkov name. The spotlight. The headlines.

I should’ve taken her home. I should’ve never let her step foot outside today.

What the hell was I thinking?

I reach for my comms unit. “Report.”

Onyx answers immediately. “Perimeter stable. No visual disturbances. Lucy’s still in the tent, far as I know?—”

But his voice falters. Just for a breath. Just for a second.

“Hey, have you seen Ms. Volkov?” I hear an intern ask him over the comm.

“ Mrs. Cruz is in the makeup tent,” he corrects her.

“No, she’s not. She stepped out a few minutes ago for some air.”

I freeze.

“Tell me everything you know,” Onyx says, but it’s not enough for me to listen.

Sure, I know my crew. They don’t hesitate, but apparently something’s wrong.

I’m already moving, pushing past techs and gawkers, tearing open the tent flap like it personally offended me— and it fucking has, keeping my wife from my eyes —only to find the intern is right.

She’s not there.

Her makeup chair is empty.

The stylist looks confused. “She said she’d be right back. Just stepped out for air.”

Air?

Panic lashes through me, swift and blinding.

I turn on my heel and bark into my mic.

“I want every camera feed from the last ten minutes. Now.”

She’s not in the tent.

She’s not in my line of sight.

Not in the fucking tent.

Not in the vicinity of Washing Square Arch.

“Lucy,” I whisper.

My world narrows to that name.

This isn’t a drill.

This isn’t a glitch.

This is wrong.

She’s gone.

And the only thing I can feel is the beginning of a scream building in my chest.

Because I already lost my shot at a normal life a long fucking time ago.

And I’ll be damned if I lose my wife.

“Boss? What are your orders?”

“My orders?” I snarl, grabbing the fucking guard who dared ask after failing to do his job.

Onyx looks shook but he does nothing to help this moron.

That’s good. Because I’m so mad, I’m spitting.

“WE FIND MY WIFE!”