Page 13 of Salvation (Reckless Kings MC #6)

I studied the map again, tracing the routes we’d already searched, the buildings we’d already cleared. My vision blurred momentarily, fatigue and worry creating a haze I forced myself to blink away. I couldn’t afford weakness now. Not when Yulia and Clover were counting on me.

Yulia. The last time I’d seen her, we’d been so close to crossing the line we’d danced around for too long.

Her gaze had met mine with such warmth, such promise.

And Clover, my daughter in every way that mattered, her future stretching bright and limitless before her.

Both of them, taken from me in an instant because I’d let my guard down.

Because I’d forgotten, just for one day, the constant vigilance that kept our world safe.

My phone vibrated again. Hawk this time.

“Downtown’s clear,” he reported without preamble. “We’ve hit every location on Shield’s list. Nothing.”

“What about the building on Parkway? The one with the loading docks?”

“First place we checked. No one’s been there in months.”

I pressed my fingers against my closed eyes, the pressure doing nothing to relieve the throbbing headache building behind them. “What about informants? Someone has to know something.”

“Everyone’s scared silent or genuinely clueless.” Hawk’s frustration matched my own. “We’ve twisted every arm, called in every favor. It’s like they vanished into thin air.”

But they hadn’t. They were somewhere in this city, being held by men who’d been bold enough to take them but hadn’t been heard from since missing their own deadline. What did that mean? Were they having second thoughts? Changing plans? Or…

I shut down that line of thinking before it could fully form. I couldn’t afford to consider the worst-case scenarios. Not yet.

“Keep pushing,” I told Hawk. “These guys aren’t professionals. They’ll surface eventually.”

After disconnecting, I braced both hands against the table, letting my head hang for just a moment.

Exhaustion pulled at me like quicksand, threatening to drag me under.

I’d been running on rage and fear for hours, and both were starting to wear thin, leaving only a bone-deep weariness in their wake.

My gaze fell on the photo again. I reached out with unsteady fingers, tracing Yulia’s face through the glossy paper.

Her eyes, so blue they seemed to pierce right through you.

The slight curve of her lips that had taken years to appear after I’d first brought her to the compound, a frightened girl with scars on her wrists and emptiness in her gaze.

Eleven years we’d been married. All those years, I’d kept my distance, telling myself it was for her sake. That she needed security, not complications. That friendship was enough.

What a fucking waste.

My jaw clenched as I stared at her face in the photo, the weight of unspoken words sitting heavy in my chest. If -- when -- I got her back, I wouldn’t waste another day. Another moment.

A sound escaped me, something between a growl and a sigh.

I pushed away from the table, resuming my pacing.

The floor creaked beneath my boots, the sound oddly comforting in the too-quiet room.

Outside, the compound was eerily empty, most of our brothers still combing the city.

Those who remained moved with purpose, gathering information, coordinating search parties, following whatever leads Shield found.

I paused at the window, staring out at the early rays of sunlight. Somewhere out there, Yulia and Clover were waiting. Counting on me to find them. To bring them home.

“I’m coming,” I whispered, the promise fogging the glass briefly before fading away. “Hold on just a little longer.”

I turned back to the war room, to the maps and photos and fading hopes. Sleep wasn’t an option. Rest wasn’t an option. Not until my family was safe.

The door to the war room creaked open, breaking my dark thoughts.

Prospero stood in the doorway, two steaming cups of coffee in his hands, his expression calm despite the chaos that had engulfed the club.

The treasurer had always been the steady one -- analytical, composed, a counterbalance to the more volatile temperaments that filled our ranks.

Right now, that steadiness felt like both a blessing and an irritation, highlighting my own fraying control.

“Thought you could use this,” he said, crossing the room to set one cup on the table near me. “It’s the good stuff, not that sludge from the main pot.”

I nodded my thanks, wrapping my fingers around the warm mug. Prospero didn’t speak immediately, giving me space as he surveyed the room, taking in the maps, the photos, the growing evidence of my desperation.

“Any word?” he finally asked, his voice carefully neutral.

“Nothing new.” The coffee scalded my throat as I swallowed. “Shield’s working an angle with some cell data. Beast and Hawk are still out searching. But we’re just…” I gestured at the map, the red Xs mocking me. “We’re going in circles.”

Prospero leaned against the edge of the table, studying me over the rim of his mug. Unlike most of us, he looked relatively put-together despite the crisis -- his blond hair combed, his clothes unwrinkled. Only the shadows under his blue eyes betrayed his own exhaustion.

“You should get some rest,” he said. “Even an hour would help. You’re no good to them running on fumes.”

“I can’t.” The words came out sharper than intended. “Every time I close my eyes, I see them. Bound. Afraid. Wondering why the hell I haven’t found them yet.”

Prospero didn’t flinch at my tone. “They’re strong, both of them. Yulia especially. She’s survived worse.”

“That’s the fucking point,” I said, setting the mug down so hard coffee sloshed over the rim. “She’s been through enough. She deserves better than this. Better than --” I cut myself off, turning to stare at the wall of information that had yielded nothing useful.

“Better than what?” Prospero pressed gently.

I pressed my palms against my eyes, the pressure building behind them threatening to erupt in a way I couldn’t afford. When I lowered my hands, my gaze caught on the photo of Yulia and Clover again.

“I fucked up,” I admitted, my voice rough with emotion. “I had years to tell her how I felt, and now…” I shook my head, unable to finish the thought.

Understanding dawned in Prospero’s eyes.

Unlike some of the newer brothers, he’d known the full story from the beginning -- how I’d married Yulia to protect her from her father’s enemies, how our arrangement had been on paper only.

He’d been there when I’d brought her home, a terrified girl who flinched at sudden movements and couldn’t sleep without a light on.

He’d watched as she slowly rebuilt herself, as our relationship evolved from protector and protected to something more complex, more meaningful.

“You’ll get the chance to tell her,” he said with quiet certainty. “We’ll do whatever it takes to get your wife and daughter back.”

“It shouldn’t have taken this.” I gestured around the room, at the evidence of our desperate search.

“Eleven years. Eleven fucking years of living under the same roof, raising Clover together, and I never had the balls to just say it. To tell her that somewhere along the line, that marriage license became real for me.”

Prospero set his coffee down and stepped closer, placing a firm hand on my shoulder. “You were respecting her boundaries. After what she’d been through, you didn’t want to pressure her.”

“Maybe at first,” I conceded. “But these last few years? That was just cowardice. Fear that she’d reject me. That I’d lose what we had.” A bitter laugh escaped me. “And now I might lose her anyway.”

“That’s not going to happen.” Prospero’s grip on my shoulder tightened. “Listen to me, Salvation. We will find them and bring them home. And then you can spend the next fifty years making up for lost time.”

Something about his certainty, the absolute conviction in his voice, eased the vise around my chest just slightly. This was why Prospero was our treasurer, our voice of reason. When he spoke with that tone, you believed him, no matter how dire the circumstances.

Before I could respond, the shrill ring of the club phone cut through the room like a physical presence. We both froze, eyes locked on the ancient landline that sat on a side table -- the dedicated line we never disconnected, the number known only to club members and a select few allies.

My heart slammed against my ribs as I crossed to it in two strides. Prospero was already moving, grabbing a pen and pad of paper from the desk.

“Put it on speaker,” he said. “Might be able to hear something in the background.”

I nodded, lifting the handset and pressing the speaker button in one motion. “Talk,” I demanded, my voice controlled despite the adrenaline surging through me.

“Reckless Kings.” The voice was digitally distorted, unrecognizable. “You missed our deadline.”

“ You missed it,” I countered, my knuckles white around the handset. “Hard to deliver money when you don’t provide instructions.”

A mechanized laugh grated through the speaker. “Just testing your resolve. Seeing how serious you are about getting your family back.”

Prospero pointed to his watch, mouthing “Keep him talking” as he scribbled something on the pad and walked out. Tracing the call, most likely, though we both knew it was probably a burner.

“I’m dead serious,” I said, emphasizing each word. “But I need proof they’re alive and unharmed. Now.”

“They’re fine. For now.” The distorted voice paused, and I heard muffled sounds in the background, like someone moving around. “But that could change if you keep stalling. Two hundred thousand.”

“I want to talk to them first.”

Another pause, longer this time. “Not happening. You’re not in a position to make demands.”

My free hand curled into a fist, nails digging crescents into my palm. “Then how do I know they’re alive?”

“Fair point.” The voice seemed to consider this. “I’ll send you a photo. One time offer. Then you deliver the money, and this ends happily for everyone.”

“When and where?” I asked, struggling to keep my voice level. Prospero came back into the room but didn’t say anything. I hoped he’d given the information to Shield and we’d have a location from this phone call.

“We haven’t seen any movement on your end to gather the cash, which means you’ll need more time. You have forty-eight hours. I’ll text instructions to your number.” A pause. “Don’t try anything stupid. We’re watching. And we’re not alone.”

“If you hurt them,” I said, each word precisely enunciated, “there won’t be a hole deep enough for you to hide in. I will find you. And I will end you.”

The digitized laugh came again, sending ice through my veins. “Big talk from a man who can’t even find his own family. Forty-eight hours. Be ready.”

The line went dead.

For a moment, neither of us moved. The silence in the room felt oppressive, broken only by our breathing.

“They’re still alive,” he said finally, his tone cautiously optimistic. “And we’ve got more time.”

I replaced the handset with deliberate care, fighting the urge to rip the entire phone from the wall. “What did you get?”

Prospero slid the pad toward me. “Background noise suggests some kind of mechanical system. Maybe a furnace or generator. And I caught what sounded like a train whistle, very faint. I asked Shield to trace them, but the call probably ended too soon.”

I stared at his notes, mind racing. “Industrial area near the train tracks.”

“Narrows it down.” Prospero nodded. “And the new deadline gives Shield more time to trace the photo when it comes in.”

I straightened, a cold clarity replacing the fog of exhaustion and despair that had clouded my thoughts. Two days. We had two days to find them before the kidnappers expected their money.

“Get Shield,” I said, already moving toward the door. “Tell Beast and Hawk to regroup. We need everyone back here within the hour.”

“Where are you going?” Prospero called after me.

I paused at the threshold, my hand on the doorframe.

“To wake up every informant, snitch, and lowlife who might know something about abandoned buildings near the train tracks.” I glanced back at him.

“We’ve got forty-eight hours to turn this city upside down.

And that’s exactly what we’re going to do. ”