Page 63 of Earning Her Trust

“Security feeds. I set them up around the cabin the other day.”

Her lips flattened into a scowl, but the gun lowered slightly. “Why? Does Naomi know you’re watching her?”

“Because I’m a paranoid bastard and didn’t like that she had no security measures here.” He ignored the other question because she wouldn’t like the answer, and they’d already wasted enough time as it was. He nodded to the phone. “Look at the video. I got an alert twenty minutes ago. Last image was two men forcing the back door. Then it went out.”

She watched the video playback, then exhaled shakily and holstered the gun, but didn’t relax. “I’m calling it in.”

He sneered at the idea of police involvement. “Sheriff Goodwin won’t do shit.”

“Not him,” she snapped. “My SAR team. If she’s only been gone twenty minutes, her trail should be fresh. The dogs can find her.”

He almost told her not to bother. They would’ve put Naomi in a car, and the dogs wouldn’t be able to track that. But Greta was already dialing, voice clipped as she ordered her team to roll out.

He grabbed the laptop again, then Naomi’s phone from the floor where Greta dropped it.

“Hey!”

He ignored her and unlocked the phone as he headed for the door, Cinder right on his heels. Naomi would be pissed that he knew her password, but?—

Don’t trust Ghost.

He froze on the front porch and stared at the screen, mind going white-hot with static, and for half a second he couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe. Headlights splashed across the porch as a Valor Ridge truck rocked to a stop in the driveway. He was vaguely aware of Jax and Boone jumping out and also heard Greta talking on the phone behind him, but none of it fully registered.

All he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears.

All he could see was that text.

Don’t trust Ghost.

Cinder butted her head against his leg. She wanted to move. So did he. He shoved the phone in his pocket and tasted metal at the back of his throat as he stalked to his truck, ignoring Jax and Boone’s questions. He yanked his door open and tossed the laptop and phone onto the seat. Cinder leaped in after it.

Jax jogged up before he could peel out. Rain sheeted down his face, plastering his hair to his skull. “Ghost, what the hell happened? Is Naomi in there?”

He didn’t answer. Just slammed the truck into reverse and gunned it, slewing gravel and mud all over Jax’s jeans and boots. He didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything right now except the next step.

A step he’d never wanted to take again.

He floored the accelerator, the engine screaming under him while Cinder braced herself on the seat. She didn’t make a sound but bared her teeth at the windshield. His girl wanted violence. So did he.

Fuck!

He slammed his fisted hands against the steering wheel. He should’ve instantly known it wasn’t just some local lowlife who’d grabbed Naomi. It had been too smooth, too professional to be Bravlin County dumbassery or a couple of tweakers looking for a payday.

This was his world. His old world.

And if they had his Naomi, he was going to burn it the fuck down.

twenty

Naomi cameto with her face mashed against a cold wood floor, but not the hardwood pine planks of her rental. This wood was old, creaky, and splintered as hell, smelling of hay, mildew, and something chemical.

What the…?

Her mouth was full of pennies and her muscles twitched in protest, like she’d stuck her whole body into an electrical socket. Her head pounded worse than any hangover. She spat onto the floor and rolled to her side, instantly regretting it. The world spun, then slammed back into place hard enough to make her stomach clench.

Oh, God, everything hurt.

She forced her eyelids up. The light was thin and yellow, leaking between warped boards overhead. She was in some kind of barn. Not the old battered ones you saw rotting into the ground along the backroads, either. This place was reinforced. Fresh 2x4s bracketed the walls, heavy-duty hardware bolting every slab of wood into place. Not a draft, not a single loose hinge. Whoever built this wanted it to hold. It was nothing like those abandoned barns where high schoolers snuck off to drink beer and make out. This was a cage.