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FORTY-SIX

BANE

Moira is gone.

It’s the first thing I know when I wake up, and it’s the only thing that matters.

I sit up in bed, my hand shooting out to the cold space on the mattress beside me where she’s supposed to be curled up like a little snoring kitten.

I can’t believe I let those fuckers last night convince me she’d left me. I came back home and fell into bed with a whisky bottle, full of despair.

I drag a hand down my face.

What the fuck was I thinking?

Even if she ran, so the fuck what?

She thinks she can disappear on me?

She fucking can’t.

She’s my wife.

I stare at the empty sheets for a long time, forcing my breathing to stay measured. The possessive rage that coils inside me—dark, lethal, waiting—wants to tear through the walls and rip apart everything standing between me and her.

The Moira I know wouldn’t just run. No note. No message.

I know I was her first… everything. Relationship. Attempt at commitment. And she can get freaked out. She can get manic, her decision-making becoming erratic.

That’s just all the more reason to find her and remind her of all that’s so good between us.

But I don’t move. Not yet. Not until I have a plan.

Five minutes later, I finally swing my legs over the side of the bed, planting my feet firmly against the floor.

My phone is in my hand a second later, my fingers already dialing Domhnall’s number. It barely rings before he picks up.

“What?” His voice is sharp, groggy. I don’t care if I woke him.

“Where is she?”

There’s a pause. “Bane?—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

A slow inhale, like he’s bracing himself. “I don’t know.”

“Find out. You run a super security business, right? Well, let’s see you put it in gear. Help me find your sister.”

“I don’t?—”

“I wasn’t asking.”

Silence. Then, a muttered curse. “Fuck. You think I’d let my own sister disappear?”

I breathe through my nose, forcing the fury into something sharper, something useful. “I’d fucking hope not, but I don’t know what kind of man you are, do I? Help me find my fucking wife.”

Another pause. Then, begrudgingly, “After you came to the club last night, I tracked her credit card.”

That gets my attention. My grip tightens on the phone. “And?”

“Last charge was at a bar yesterday afternoon. She went there after lunch with Kira, and it looks like she ordered a shitload of drinks all at once at two in the afternoon. I’m sorry, man. I told you, she just went on a bender.”

“What bar?”

He exhales sharply, then gives me the name. A place on the west side of the city.

I’m pulling the phone away from my face to hang up when I hear his voice again, “And Bane?—”

I put it back to my ear.

“What?”

“Check back and let me know what you find. I still think she’s just fucked off, probably with some bloke she met at that bar. But I do care about my sister. If she’s in trouble, I wanna know.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” I hang up, furious at him for not giving a shit sooner.

I don’t have any more time to waste. I’m moving with a singular purpose, jumping in my car and putting in the bar’s address, then stomping on the gas.

The bar smells like stale beer and regret. It’s dimly lit, the kind of place where the floor is perpetually sticky, and the patrons have long since stopped caring about anything but their next drink. The bartender eyes me warily as I approach, polishing a glass with a dirty rag. “What can I get you?”

“Information.” I slide a bill across the bar. “Moira. Auburn curly hair. She was here yesterday afternoon around two o’clock.”

The bartender looks at the money, then at me. His fingers hesitate before he takes it. “Yeah, I remember her. She was with another girl. They looked close.”

Another girl? Kira said she got a text from someone. Everyone at the club last night just assumed it was a man. But it was a woman?

“Can you tell me any more about the woman?”

The bartender shrugs. “Good tits.”

I roll my eyes.

“You said they looked close?”

“Maybe. They were having a good time. Until they weren’t.”

My fingers flex against the bar. “What do you mean?”

“They left in a hurry. Looked spooked.” He shrugs.

Spooked?

“What else?” I demand. “Did you overhear where they said they were going next? Anything?”

But he just shrugs again. “That’s all I know. The other one was dragging your girl out and then they was gone. But your girl had a shit-ton of tequila in her. Kept ordering shots.”

What the fuck has Moira gotten herself into? Why didn’t she come to me? Who was the woman?

“Can I see your security footage?” I demand of the man, already pulling out my wallet. I know enough from my former life that money is the oil that smooths the hinges of the world. And there’s a giant camera hung over the bar pointed straight at the register.

But the bartender just shrugs again and chuckles, silver crowns on his front teeth gleaming as he leans in like he’s telling a secret. “Man, that thing’s just there for show.” His sour breath rolls over me, and I pull back, disgusted.

I storm out of the bar and look in both directions, wondering which way Moira and the mysterious woman went. Then my eyes go up.

The bar’s cameras might be fake, but other places around here give an actual shit about security.

Like the jewelry store halfway down the block. If they went that way, maybe I can catch a glimpse. I’m heading in that direction when my phone buzzes in my pocket.

I yank it out and quickly check the text.

Domhnall: Moira’s at my door. She looks fine.

Relief floods me.

Bane: What’s your address?

I’m already halfway to my car by the time he responds.