Chapter 30

30

Rogue

R ogue looked down at the stain on the carpet, where Dark had been lying in a pool of his own vomit when they found him.

It had been three hours, and Dark still hadn’t recovered consciousness. They knew some of what had happened, of course. They’d seen the burns on the man’s neck. He’d been tasered—hard, and for a long time. By someone who managed to get close enough to him to do so.

That thought scared Rogue more than he was willing to admit. Because he’d seen Dark fight—so he knew whoever had gotten the drop of him had to be a scary motherfucker.

And that motherfucker had Bea. His Bea. Fuck. Rogue wanted to punch something. The wall. The window. Thorne, as he stood there so fucking calmly by the door. Three hours, and Dark still hadn’t recovered consciousness. Three hours, without news of Bea.

“Slate is with him in the hospital,” Griffin said, as if reading his thoughts. “He’ll let us know as soon as he wakes up.”

Rogue felt like a heel. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about Dark. Of course he did. But the thought of Bea in danger left him unable to breathe.

“I said, I want to see those cameras,” Thorne said on the phone, his voice calm, as if he were discussing his dry cleaning. “You have five minutes to bring me the footage, before I bring Interpol down on your hotel.”

And Rogue knew he should be grateful, that someone was still thinking straight. The cameras. Thorne was talking about the hotel camera. But there were other cameras, out on the street. Because nobody had seen them walk out. And women didn’t get carried away in broad daylight in Amsterdam. Whoever took Bea, must have driven out of the garage.

If he could find that vehicle, he could follow that vehicle. Because Antwerp, like most European cities, was heavily monitored by both public and private surveillance cameras, most of which could be hacked by someone with the right incentive.

Rogue grasped Griffin’s arm. “I need my laptop.”