Chapter Eleven

Cameron

Aweek.

An entire fucking week has passed. Seven goddamn days that Abbie had been missing. Seven fucking days of no contact. Of not knowing where she was. Was she still alive? Was she still in the state? In the goddamn country?

For the past seven days, six hours, and fifty-three minutes since I'd found out she was gone, that she'd been taken—fucking kidnapped—I'd been a volatile mess. My temper was worse than normal, and the tiniest things made me lash out. Everyone had been keeping their distance from me. I was pretty sure Jax had Blakely under strict orders to not come near me. Couldn't blame him. Jax would probably kill me if I so much as looked at his woman sideways.

Blu and Grey looked fucking terrified at the mere sight of me these days, and while I didn't want them to be afraid of me, I also couldn't really bring myself to give two fucks about how they felt.

Abbie was missing. Anything could be happening to her. And I couldn't fucking stop it.

I couldn't fucking help her.

I looked up when Grey tentatively stepped outside, a plate of cookies in his hand. My lips twisted into a sneer before I could stop it. The mere sight of anything sweet reminded me of when I first met Abbie, of how I bought her a donut and made a joke about cops liking donuts. And it made my gut twist uncomfortably. Felt like someone was trying to claw the beating organ out of my fucking chest.

"I, uhm, made cookies," Grey said softly, the plate trembling in his hands. Konrad leaned against the open door, watching us with narrowed eyes. Probably best. I wasn't in the best damn headspace. Even smart-ass Ace had been keeping his mouth shut around me and giving me a wide berth.

"Don't want them," I told him, hoping he took the hint and went the fuck away.

A frown tugged at his lips, and his eyes were sad as he looked at me. I scoffed in disgust and lifted my cigarette to my lips, looking away from him. "But Cam?—"

"Fuck off," I growled, casting a dark look in his direction. "You can't take a fucking hint?"

His eyes watered, and he stumbled back from me as if I'd physically hit him. Konrad surged forward and gripped his boy's shoulders, turning him back to the clubhouse. "Go find Blu, peanut," he said softly.

I stood from the table, already knowing it was coming. And fuck, I was ready for it. I'd been itching for a fight for goddamn days now, and no one had been willing to give it to me.

Until now. Until I lashed out at Konrad's sweet boy.

As soon as Grey was in the clubhouse, Konrad swung on me. I laughed maniacally and ducked his swing as I stuffed my cigarette between my lips. My fist hit his gut, and then I backed up, my arms up, a grin pulling at my lips.

"Come on, Konrad," I taunted. "Come teach me a lesson about how to treat your precious boy."

When he swung the next time, he predicted my move, and his other fist swung out, clocking me in the jaw. Blood welled in my mouth, and my cigarette fell from my lips, falling to the cement beneath us. I spit out blood and then licked my lips, smearing the red liquid across them. I jabbed out three times, sending him stumbling back with my third hit.

Konrad might be damn near twice my size in terms of bulk, but I was quick. I danced on the balls of my feet, too amped up to stand still. His fist slammed into my gut before I could block the move, and then he hit me twice in the face, sending me back against the picnic table I'd been sitting on when I'd made his boy cry. Before I could move, he wrapped his fingers around my throat, pinning me back to the table. I bared my bloody teeth at him.

"Get your head on straight," Konrad growled at me. "Remember how you were always telling me to tamp my shit down when I was ready to rip this world apart and be fucking reckless over my two? You need to do the goddamn same."

I knocked his arm away and shoved him back two steps. I spit out more blood and swiped my fist across my chin, smearing the blood across my skin. Shaw and Arlo stepped out of the clubhouse, Shaw holding his phone to his ear. Arlo sighed, looking at both me and Konrad as if we were his children and he was disappointed in us.

I sneered at him. "What? You wanna fucking Daddy me, Arlo?" I taunted. I wanted more. More blood. More pain. Konrad had quit too goddamn early.

"I'll lay you out flat in two seconds," he coolly reminded me. "Cut it the fuck out, Cameron."

"Anatoly has information," Shaw announced, ignoring the animosity rolling off of me in waves and the fight Konrad and I had just been involved in. "Table. Now."

With that, he turned on his heel and walked back inside. Konrad shot me a glare and pointed a stiff finger at me. "You owe my boy a fucking apology, Cam. And you better eat that whole goddamn plate of cookies to make him feel better, you hear me? I don't give a fuck if eating twelve sugary cookies in a row makes you sick. You'll do it."

With that, he stormed into the clubhouse. I spit more blood out before walking in behind Arlo, heading straight for the chapel. Jax and Ace were already at the table, and Shaw was standing behind his chair, putting his burner on speaker. I yanked my chair out and dropped into it. Ace set a damp cloth in front of me.

"For your face," he muttered.

I grabbed it up without a word and began to wipe the blood away. Once we were all sitting down and the door was closed, Shaw announced, "We're all here, Anatoly."

"She's still in the state," Anatoly said, diving straight in. My shoulders sagged in relief, and I tightened my hand around the cloth I was holding. "One of my informants on the inside let me know she's on the roster to be sold at tomorrow's auction. I don't know what condition she's in. He hasn't seen her—only knows she's on the roster because of the number she was assigned: thirteen."

I fisted my hands around the cloth I was holding as if it would somehow keep me from drowning in my self-loathing. "Thirteen is my lucky number," I rasped, feeling like throwing up.

Konrad gripped my shoulder and dug his fingers in, grounding me. I knew I'd have bruises there later, but fuck, I felt like I was spiraling.

Her number was my lucky number, and that was no goddamn coincidence. If they had access to Abbie's phone, they'd know that. I'd told her a few days before we ended things that it was my lucky number because she'd been irritable that I was being tight-lipped about myself… once again.

"The auction is happening in the basement of Dorman and Associates. Seems the big man himself is auctioning her off personally—Johnny Dorman."

"He's a fucking famous attorney," Arlo snapped, disgust lacing his words.

"Yeah," Anatoly said. "And when I did some digging, seems he is the personal attorney of many politicians and police officers, all who can be tied back to this shit in some way, shape, or form. He runs it and keeps it protected."

Johnny Dorman.

"If we can get our hands on him tonight," I growled, my voice gravelly, my throat thick with hatred for this Dorman asshole and worry for Abbie, "he's my kill."

Shaw nodded once at me. I released my tight grip on the washcloth and reached up, dragging the ponytail holder from my hair before tying my hair back up once again. I then tugged roughly at my beard hard enough to make pain slice through the lower half of my face.

"We need a plan," Jax said, leaning forward and bracing his forearms on the table. "Abbie is our goal, but we need to take out as many buyers, guards, and sellers as we can while we're there."

I nodded in agreement. "Do not," I snarled, jabbing my finger into the wooden table, "under any circumstance, abandon my fucking woman to get at a higher player. Understand?"

Konrad gripped my shoulder again, looking at me with a solemn expression. And I knew if anyone at that table understood the turmoil tearing my insides to shreds, it was him. "We won't," he promised me.

And just like that, Konrad and I were okay again, and I had a goal—an ending point to all this shit.

I would get Abbie back tomorrow night, or I'd fucking die trying.