our shit - Kyan was currently on the phone to his uncle Niall while clenching his jaw so hard that I was fairly certain he was about to flip out. But he pretty much constantly flipped out these days, so I didn’t pay him much attention.
I’d been looking right at Saint when he’d answered that call, the colour draining from his face as the faintest sound of her voice reached me from the speaker for the briefest of seconds before it was cut off. One word was all she’d managed. Saint’s name. A plea for help, a single chance at a lifeline and less than a second of connection between them. But it was all he needed. Because this was Saint motherfucking Memphis we were talking about. One word and a call from an unknown number – she might as well have given him a full address and a time for us to swing by and pick her up. Thank fuck. Although the hour that had passed since that one, momentary, fleeting phone call had seemed to drag on into eternity while Saint worked his magic, pulled the right strings, greased the right palms and now we just had to fucking wait until it paid off.
"Good," Kyan ground out, drawing my attention back to him and his phone conversation. "I'll call you about where to meet us when I know the details." Kyan hung up and I wondered if that was really the best way to treat a man who he had declared a criminally insane psychopath on more than one occasion. But apparently he gave no shits about that and I just had to hope that Niall O’Brien was still on our side despite his nephew’s rudeness.
"He's in," Kyan said, tossing his cell down on the table so that it slid across the polished wood and smacked into the side of Saint's laptop. "Tell me when we're ready to leave."
He stalked away without another word and headed down into the crypt where a bellow of rage escaped him, echoing off the cold stone walls down there before the predictable sound of him beating the shit out of the punching bag came a moment later. He’d managed to split two of them in the weeks that Tatum had been missing, spilling sand all over the floor while he stood there sweating and panting over the carnage, barely even seeming human anymore as the rage in him burned freely.
"I'd better make sure he puts gloves on," Monroe grunted after a few moments passed of us listening in to Kyan's pain in physical form. "If he fucks his hands up before we head out, he'll be no good to her."
Her.
No need for any of us to mention her name. There was only one woman in our lives. Only one. She was the spider that had lured us all in and bound us to one another within her web. We may have been close without her, but with Tatum at the heart of us, we were an unstoppable force. We only needed a direction to point our fury in and we'd be ready to tear the world apart to return her to her rightful place at the heart of us.
Monroe stalked away to join Kyan and I expelled a hard breath as I tried to contain my own frustrations.
"Anything?" I demanded while Saint just continued to stare at nothing on the fucking laptop screen.
"Yes," he replied scathingly, his voice dripping disdain. "My contact within the FBI already traced that motherfucker's number and sent me over all the details. I chose to continue sitting here and not to react in any way because clearly, I don't give a fuck about the welfare of our queen. Perhaps I'll go and take a nap before opening the email."
His cold gaze slid to me for a single second before he went back to staring at his fucking screen, waiting for that email to come in for real and I felt the weight of that look like a fucking sucker punch.
"Alright, alright," I replied, raising my hands in surrender and apology. "I'm just desperate to get out there and find her."
Saint exhaled slowly and nodded once. "We are all equally shattered by our separation from her. Our enthralment with the girl we made our own is something quite astounding, wouldn't you agree?"
"Not really," I replied. "You only have to take one look at the girl - a real look, beyond the fucking stunning exterior to the richness of