Page 25 of Protected By Razor

A voice, low: “She’s in there.”

Another: “Told you.”

I don’t breathe.

I go very, very quietly to my phone. My hands are steady. I don’t know why my hands are steady. I open the message app and type as softly as I can.

Someone’s here.

Send.

I press my back against the wall of the kitchen. I close my eyes. I listen to the men in the hallway.

And I wait and pray.

CHAPTER 6

RAZOR

I’m three blocks out when my phone buzzes in my pocket.

I pull it out and read it before I’ve registered the motion.

Someone’s here.

The world goes very small and very loud.

I hit the throttle. I’m on the phone to King before I’ve changed lanes.

“They moved,” I say. “On Darcie.”

“Where.”

“Her apartment. I’m two minutes out.”

“We’re coming. Don’t wait.”

“I’m not waiting.”

I hang up.

Carlin’s people have figured it out. They know we’re looking. They’ve decided if the club’s coming then they’re going to get their hands on the one thing we’ve been putting a fence around — either to use her, or to hurt her, or to send a message before we send one to them.

I don’t know which. I don’t care.

What matters is she’s alone. What matters is I’m not there.

I don’t remember the rest of the ride.

I remember my bike roaring. I remember the speedometer moving places it shouldn’t. I remember the brothers joining me and burning after me somewhere behind. But I don’t remember the turns. I don’t remember breathing.

When I get to Darcie’s apartment, I take the stairs three at a time, and as I come round the corner of the second-floor landing I can hear them.

Her door is open.

Her voice. Tight and small, the way it goes when she’s holding something down.

“I’m telling you, I don’t??—”