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CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

THIS ROOM FELT like a fucking tomb. A single bulb swung above the table, throwing jagged shadows across the concrete walls. It flickered, that weak-ass stutter, just enough to piss me off more than I already was.

My boots boomed as I paced, each step hitting the ground like a threat. My fists clenched, nails biting into my palms. The restless energy coiled inside me, waiting for a reason to explode.

I stopped dead. Turned toward Drago.

And slammed my fist against the table.

The cheap wood groaned, but it was Drago I wanted to hear snap. Instead, the bastard just sat there, unreadable—too damn calm for a man who usually ran hot. Too fucking calm.

“You’re tellin’ me she’s gone?” My voice came out raw, scraped with rage. “She’s not at the clubhouse anymore?”

Drago leaned back in his chair like he had all the time in the world. Too fucking in control. How the hell was he so calm when Zeynep was still in their hands? This wasn’t like him.

That smug, blank mask of his just poured gasoline on the fire already raging in my chest.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” he drawled, voice smooth and deliberate, every word calculated. “Our informant claims she slipped out, quiet as a ghost. No one caught a glimpse. Not the club. Not the prospects. Not even her lover Spinner .”

He let that name hang between us like a taunt.

Like he wanted me to snap.

And fuck if I wasn’t close.

My fists curled, rage coiling tighter in my gut. Zeynep was still locked up, and this bastard was acting like nothing was out of place. What the fuck was going on?

Like losing her didn’t mean shit.

“This wasn’t part of the plan, Drago,” I snarled at him. “She was supposed to be there. And those fuckers were supposed to turn her over.”

Drago spread his hands, ever the picture of patience, but it was bullshit. “And yet,” he said smoothly, “she’s not.”

My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached. Heat clawed up my throat, burning, needing an outlet. I needed to hit something. Needed to break something.

Then it dawned on me what was happening here.

“You think she’s runnin’ with Zeynep?”

“That’s the word.” Drago tapped his fingers on the table, casual as shit. “The club’s been tight-lipped, but our little spy says Lucy took off alone. Another informant says Zeynep’s with her.”

A cruel laugh tore from my throat. No humor in it. Just raw, bitter frustration. “She’s leadin’ us on a goddamn chase.”

“Good.”

I froze. The word taking me by surprise.

My head snapped toward him. “What the fuck did you just say?”

Drago pushed his chair back with a slow scrape. Stood up. His boots were heavy against the concrete as he stepped closer, closing the space between us.

“Let her run.”

My stomach twisted. My rage turned cold. “The hell are you talkin’ about? We need her, Drago. She’s the key to getting Zeynep.”

His eyes locked on mine, dark, giving nothing away. The kind of stare that saw ten steps ahead while I was still swinging punches at the first obstacle. I hated when he pulled this shit, because he was usually dead wrong.

“You’re plan is to chase her and grab her right away.” His voice dropped low. Dangerous. The kind of tone that made lesser men second-guess their choices.

But I wasn’t most men.

I squared my shoulders. “You got a better plan?”

Drago’s smirk was slow, knowing, the kind of thing that made the hairs on my arms rise. “Lucy’s smart. She’s trying to draw us away from the clubhouse, from Zeynep, from the club itself. But that’s her mistake.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Mistake?”

His grin sharpened. “She’s out there, alone. No backup. No Devil to swoop in and save her. She’s a lost kitten, Fang. We let her keep running for a while and then we’re gonna cage her.”

The fire inside me turned to ice. Hunting prey was one thing. Making them think they were in control? That was something different. That was a fucking art.

“So,” I said, letting my own smirk stretch slow and deadly, “we hunt her, but at a distance.”

“Not just hunt her.” Drago leaned in, voice a near whisper. “We make her believe she’s winning. Let her think she’s leading us on a wild goose chase. The farther she gets from the Devil’s House, the better. And when she’s good and tired, when she’s run herself into a corner…”

I finished the thought, my grin widening. “We take her without a fight.”

Drago nodded. And in that moment, I saw it—the same vision he had. Lucy, exhausted. Desperate. Mine.

“She thinks she’s smart,” I murmured, my excitement uncoiling like a blade being drawn. “But once she’s exhausted, she’ll slip up and be easy to capture. Too tired to fight.”

Drago smirked. “And once we have her, Zeynep won’t have a choice but to come crawling back to save her friend. We’ll give her a refresher on what we’re capable of, and it can’t happen soon enough. I’m going fucking crazy without her.”

I started pacing again, my mind already working through the angles, the cracks in the road ahead. I needed leads. Needed to get my hands around her throat. To feel her pulse underneath my fingers.

Drago’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Get the men ready. And tell them to stay focused. Lucy might be clever, but she’s not invincible. She’ll make a mistake. And when she does, we’ll be there.”

I nodded sharply, already heading for the door, blood thrumming in my veins. This was gonna be fun.

A low chuckle rumbled from my chest as I stepped into the hallway.

Drago didn’t laugh.

I did.

I lived for the hunt.