Page 24 of For Cowgirls and Kings (The Trauma Bonded #2)

EIGHTEEN

MATEO

Valentina sits across from me picking at her nails, refusing to make eye contact even though she’s the one who called me in here.

The cherry wood desk sits between us like a beacon of wealth, her red bottomed heels bobbing every few seconds as she ticks her ankle.

The gaudy wealth is fucking sickening honestly.

The most important part of this job is keeping up appearances—my image as “ The Boss”.

That’s the way it’s always been with the Reyes family—the men run the business, and the women run the family.

But my father, being the only child of his father, who was the only child of his father, did not count on having a daughter first. And although he loved her, the only way a man with a callus heart and a passion only for business could, Valentina grew up knowing she wasn’t enough.

Even as a young boy I noticed the way he treated us differently.

I always tried to play the secondary role, always offered her the prime seat, and even as she wanted it— and more —my father would never allow her to have it.

A fact she grew up hating me for. I was always the obstacle between her and her rightful place as the first born child and heir to our family empire. One I didn’t even want, and she wanted more than anything.

To make matters worse, my parents were more absent than they were present, and V stepped up often to help take care of me.

For many years I struggled with her hate for me, let it cut me so deeply that I’d do anything for a crumb of kindness from her.

But as I grew up, I came to realize it wasn’t always hate for me, but hate for what I had.

A father who valued me, and a future so full of everything she wanted.

I couldn’t hate her. Not now, or ever. But I had to become numb to her—you can’t pity a snake that strikes first, even if you are standing in its nest. Because to pity it is to be weak—vulnerable.

And as the boss, the end all, be all for hundreds of employees, there’s no room to be weak.

Laws, rules, and punishments begin and end with my say.

Except with matters related to my sister. In the tight black two piece set, diamonds glittering like a collar around her neck, compared to my pressed jeans and black button down, she looks like the boss. But I’m on the power side of the desk.

And I’m the male member of this family. Even if she’s the older one.

Her knee continues to bounce, and I watch her teeth nip at her cherry-colored bottom lip for not the first time since we sat down. She’s nervous.

Which is both interesting and highly concerning. V doesn’t get nervous about anything. She gets even— or ahead.

I lean forward, brow raised, and steeple my fingers in front of my mouth. Her eyes narrow and I can tell she knows I’m onto her. The thing about V is she’s like a cat in a cage—always angry, always lashing out, and always cutting you faster than you can figure out what’s happening.

“Care to share what has you all riled up?”

She snarls at me, and settles father into the plush chair, her thin frame nearly swallowed by the rich leather. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I wait a beat, and then she starts chewing on her lip again, eyes looking anywhere but at me. Like she’s waiting, but for what?

This isn’t good. “V, cut the shit. What’s going on? You called me here.” As I ask the question, my heart instantly kicks up. Something about this, something about how quiet today has been, all of a sudden feels like a trap. Like I’m missing something important.

She sighs, the action deflating her chest. But she still doesn’t look at me.

I stand, the hairs on my neck coming to attention now too. Every alarm bell is ringing, and irrational panic blares in my ears. I take a single step toward her and she sits up straighter, snarling at me, her perfect white teeth flashing.

“The Martinez brothers—” Before she can finish whatever lie she’s about to spin, McCrae bursts into the office. I note Valentina’s skin pale at the sight of him, and her eyes widen for a split second before she averts them once more.

“Sir.”

“McCrae, what the fuck is it?” Normally I wouldn’t stand for him bursting in like that—it’s the principle of respect I like to uphold. But something about this entire situation has me already grabbing my phone and keys and walking toward the door.

“The girl, they were at her house again. About thirty minutes ago.” His words echo through my brain, like a bell in a hollow church and I shiver with the severity of their weight. I jog for the door, and grab his collar as I pass, pulling him with me.

The girl —Dale. They— the man we saw on the camera only days ago.

There’s a gasp behind me, but I don’t bother acknowledging it.

I take the stairs two at a time, McCrae hot on my heels. “Are they still there? What do you know?” I pull out my phone, already calling her number.

It’s ringing as McCrae hisses, “It was three, not one this time. And there were four when they left.”

Four? My blood chills. “They took her.”

“Yes, I believe so. All four had masks and were wearing black sweat suits, so I can’t know for sure. But, the one was considerably shorter than the others.”

I smash the ignition button, the truck roaring to life, my foot already punching the gas.

The tires squeal but I barely hear it over my roaring heart.

The phone rings and rings, and finally goes to voicemail, “Hi, this is Dale. Unfortunately I’m busy, and Queen Tut doesn’t have thumbs so you’ll have to leave a message.

Before you do, enjoy this snippet from my favorite song.

Cheers!” Before I have a second to end the call, the familiar lyrics of a song blares through, singing about a pink pony and dancing at a club—the words joyful and ridiculous for the seriousness of the moment.

I throw the phone against the dash, needing the music to stop.

The memory of that night not long ago, dancing around her living room, for the excuse of being near her is like a knife to the gut.

It’s a happy memory, one I cherish, in that hidden part of my heart that’s quickly filling with memories of only Dale.

“Call Nick,” I hiss, urging the car to go faster.

We have a three hour drive ahead of us, and I know Dale doesn’t have that kind of time.

Not if I want to find her unharmed. “Get him to her house now. Have him fucking break in if he has to, but figure out if she’s there or not.

Don’t let him touch anything else, I don’t want him ruining anything of hers. ”

I see McCrae nod, but he doesn’t speak. Numbness spreads like wildfire through my body, my knuckles white on the steering wheel.

I stand in the entry of her house, my men and a few local police officers milling around the outside looking for any signs of who might have taken her.

The door remains hanging open, just like it was when Nick arrived, the kitchen table overturned, a bowl of what looks like melted ice cream smearing the floor.

A picture frame lays shattered on the floor— she fought them —Tut’s bowls overturned, cat food littering the tile.

“Fuck,” I growl, barreling into the house. If her cat is gone when I get her back, she’ll kill me. “McCrae, get in here now and help me look for this cat.”

McCrae wanders up towards the open door, his body a little more than a shadow looming in the entrance. He peers inside, his eyebrows racing toward his hairline. “Uh, this is an interesting house.”

“Shut the fuck up, and get in here.” I drop to my knees looking under the velvety couch.

“Boss, I don’t really like cats.”

I close my eyes, baring my teeth towards the hardwood floors. A growl rips from my chest as I stand up. “I don’t fucking care. We find this cat, or you loose your fucking job. Got it, tough guy?”

He grumbles something unintelligible, but I don’t acknowledge him any longer as I move toward the ajar door of her room. I’ve never seen inside, she’s only invited me as far as the main part of the house.

I feel like I’m invading her privacy, and even if I hate the circumstances, and can barely think straight past the panic clawing at my throat, I can’t stop the spike of curiosity about her room. She’s so private.

I push the door open, the hinges creaking, and I cringe. Shadows swirl around the small room, but even with the lights off I can see a plush purple bed with fuzzy pillows piled a mile high at the head. I take another step in, and spot a lamp, which I switch on.

Instead of soft yellow light, like a normal human, she has a hazy purple bulb which spreads plum light like a blanket over every surface. I feel like I’m on the inside of a cotton candy machine.

“Queen Tut?” I drop to my knees to feel around under her bed. I hear a small chirp before I feel the fuzziness brush my fingers, and I drop my head to the carpet. “Hey buddy, you okay?”

I pull the life size teddy bear from beneath her bed, putting him up to the light to check for any injuries. His eyes ping around the room like giant marbles rolling around, but otherwise he looks fine. Nervous but fine.

I sit down, my back leaned against her bed, and pull the cat to my chest. I can tell he wants down, his back paws pushing against my chest, but he doesn’t cry or claw me. So I keep holding him, allowing him to calm my racing nerves, just a little.

“Boss?” McCrae pushes into her room, and I have to keep from snapping at him to get out.

“What?” I look up, Tut still clutched to my chest even though he’s now squirming more. Like he’s nervous of the newcomer—not that I blame him.

He looks down, clearly uncomfortable. “I found her phone.”

Releasing Tut, I stand up. “Shut that fucking front door so he doesn’t get out. If he escapes, it’s still your head.” He nods, and retreats. I open her phone and groan at the photo background.

It’s Dale, Stetson, and Faith, all glassy-eyed and riding a mechanical bull. I wonder when that happened?

With shaky fingers, I open it. There’s no password, which surprises me because she’s so private, but I’m grateful all the same.

I check her messages, more for something important, even though some dark part of me is just being nosy, and then open up her recent calls. Almost all of them are work related from what I can tell, and a couple between Stetson and Faith.

I talked to her only a couple days ago, but the call is so far down in her log, I feel a pang of anger. On instinct, I add my number to the top contact on her emergency numbers— for when I get her back —and then dial Stetson. It rings for several seconds before going to voicemail.

What if Dale’s there, and just forgot her phone?

My chest swells with hope, and I dial it again. And again. And again.

By the end of the fourth call, I can feel the small plastic splintering in my palm. Panic, like an ugly, vicious monster, rears its head once more, barreling into me with violent strength.

I dial again, only this time it clicks on. “Hey Dale, sorry, we were a little busy if you know what I mean.”

I pause, every remaining ounce of hope draining from me like a burst balloon. She’s gone. She’s fucking gone and I don’t know who or how or why.

With so much power my whole life, I’ve never had to feel hopeless. Well, except for when my dad got sick, but that was different. I had months to come to terms with that, to face that reality that there was nothing I could do. This isn’t that.

She’s gone, and I have to find her.

Sucking in a ragged breath, I lean my weight against her bedroom door frame, my legs weak with the weight of these realizations crushing down on me. “Stetson, it's Mateo.”

She pauses, clearly confused,“Mateo? What are you doing with Dale’s phone?”

“Fuck,” I hiss, and drop my chin to my chest.

“Mateo, what the fuck?” Her voice is full of growing panic, and as much as I want to, I have no words that will reassure her. So I tell her the truth, the only words that are on repeat in my brain.

“She’s gone, Stetson. Dale is gone.”