32. Thayer

The cityalways felt like a concrete jungle, but now it seems like an impenetrable fortress. From the back of the van, I can feel my pulse in my throat as I try to keep the rising panic at bay. Vogue's in trouble, and it's because of us—because of me. We should've never left her alone, even for a second. That's the first rule we learn: never underestimate the enemy, especially when he shares your blood.

Quen's theory seems solid; Aaron would want to flaunt his power, not skulk around in the shadows. It's all about appearances with him, and what better way to show his strength than to have Vogue by his side? But that doesn't squash the bad feeling clawing at me.

I'm not used to this unabating fear for someone else. For so long, it's been just me. But Vogue crashed into my world like a hurricane, tearing down walls I didn't even know I'd built so high.

That kiss meant everything, and I can't lose her now. None of us can.

We weave through traffic; Harry's driving borderline insane—but insanity is what you need when time is slipping through your fingers like sand. He's moving into spaces that aren't even there, just to get one car ahead. Two cars. It's taking for-fucking-ever.

I dial again, not even looking at Quen. I can feel his presence behind me like a wrathful god. He is going to kick some serious ass when we find her. We all are, but Quen is, well, violently unhinged, is the only way to put it. Aaron has pulled off a dick move, and Quen isn't going to let him being her father or the fact that he is the head of The Crowned Syndicate stop him from exacting vengeance.

The ringing cuts through the tense atmosphere again, filling us with despair. We all look at the phone, silently urging Vogue to pick up, to just fucking say something. But again, it goes to voicemail. I shove my phone back into my pocket, feeling useless.

Harry's knuckles are white on the steering wheel as we finally turn onto the street where Aaron's office building sits. Modest by city standards, it's a cover-up for the power that moves and shakes within its walls. It's a monument to power and corruption, and somewhere in there is Vogue—a girl who came from nothing and could potentially be swallowed whole by this world she's been thrust into.

"We're at the wrong fucking end," Harry snarls, slamming his fist on the steering wheel as we get snagged up at the lights. "Fuck these one ways!"

"Don't," Cal says, shaking his head as he pre-empts Harry's veer into the opposite lane. "You'll cause a collision; the police will be here, we'll be held up even longer… it's a whole thing. Just stay the course."

Harry nods, gritting his teeth, muttering under his breath.

"Go around the back," Quen states. "Less eyes."

Without a word, Harry swerves at the last second, taking a sharp right down an alleyway that runs parallel to the main road. We all jostle in our seats as he manoeuvres down the narrow space, dodging skips and stray cats.

The rear entrance of Aaron's building looms ahead. There is no pomp or fanfare here—just a heavy metal door that, to most, would be impenetrable, but not to me. Harry slams on the brakes, and then we stop and stare at the goliath that steps out in front of the van, resting his hand on the bonnet.

With a twisted grin, he shoves, and the van skids back a couple of inches.

"Fuck," Callum growls. "Fucking Adam. Forgot about him."

"How in the fuck did you forget about the man built like a fucking mountain?" I hiss as Adam decides this is fun and does it again, pushing a two-tonne van with four, not small, blokes inside back a fraction.

"He's like the furniture, you know," Callum says with an amused laugh as we are jostled from side to side now, the suspension creaking under the force. "You don't really see him unless he wants you to."

"Like you," Harry pipes up.

"Jesus," I growl. "We aren't getting around him."

"Then we go through him," Harry says grimly, clamping his hands around the steering wheel again.

"Oh, bad idea," I mutter as Adam decides fun time is over and levels a shotgun at us that would blow us out of the park.

"What the fuck do we do now?" Quen asks, his tone bordering on frantic, as if I didn't know better.

"Duck!" I yell as the shotgun blasts off, smashing the windscreen and covering us all in a million shards of glass.