to protect me, to lay down their lives for the Sparrow world, for Sterling Sparrow, and for each of the women—Araneae, Laurel, Madeline, and me—the women they loved.
Slowly, I made my way along the cold concrete until I reached what I presumed was a wall. I whimpered as shearing pain radiated from my torso, and I moved to sit. The tears came without thought, soaking the blindfold and tracking down my cheeks until they dripped from my jaw. The salty liquid and running nose burned my dry, cracked lips. By the time I was sitting, with my hands secured behind me, I laid my head against the rough wall and sighed.
If I was here—wherever here was—what did that mean about my husband, family, and friends?
Had they laid down their lives?
Was I the last one left?
I silently prayed that everyone else was safe, that this was only me. If that were the case, I had confidence in the Sparrow men. They wouldn’t stop until I was found, until whoever dropped me upon the hard floor paid.
If I was right, I would see the dawn, but my captor wouldn’t.
“Oh God. Reid,” I whispered, this time aloud, to the damp darkness and solitude.
The sound of movement came from my side.
I wrenched back, unable to judge distance.
Would I encounter rats or large insects?
Unwanted images with fangs and claws filled my thoughts.
“Lor-na? I-is that you?”
My neck snapped upward as I turned my face to the familiar voice.
Oh dear God, no.
“Lor-na?” My name came between sobs. “I-I thought I was alone.”
My kidnapping would result in death. Of that I was certain. The abduction of the king’s wife, the queen of the Sparrow outfit, would result in all-out war.
Would Chicago survive?
“Lor-na?”
“Araneae?” I asked the darkness.
Reid
“What else do we know?” Patrick asked aloud to the screen protruding from the large table within Sparrow’s bird plane.
At the moment, as the four of us—Sparrow, Mason, Patrick, and I—flew thousands of feet above the ground, my colleague and friend Patrick Kelly was the only voice of reason. I sure as fuck wasn’t. My wife, Mason’s sister, was unreachable, as was Araneae, Sterling Sparrow’s wife.
“Sir,” Garrett said through the screen, “Mrs. Kelly and Mrs. Pierce are safe. They’re groggy, but the doctor has confirmed they’re all right.”
Groggy meant one thing—somehow, they’d been tranquilized.
Patrick stood taller.
“And Mrs. Kelly’s baby wasn’t affected.”
We all looked his direction. It must be a difficult place for him to be, to be happy when two of our wives were missing. “Where are Mrs. Pierce and Mrs. Kelly?” Mason asked.
“They’re secured within the main house office.” As one of our most trusted capos, Garrett had been the one charged with protecting all of our wives. The reason the ladies were in Montana was a long story. What mattered right now was why no one could reach Lorna or Araneae.
I looked over at Sterling Sparrow, the kingpin of Chicago’s underground. His suit coat and tie were missing. The sleeves on his starched white shirt were rolled to his elbows, and his dark eyes simmering with rage met mine. The stress he was unsuccessfully hiding showed in the strain of his muscles—tendons pulled tight in his neck, his jaw rigid, and a vein bulging on his forehead.
“Where the fuck were you?” Sparrow bellowed.
The leader of the Sparrow outfit has run the gamut of emotions in the last few hours, as I have. Currently, our plan was to stay on topic and save our rage for those who deserved it.
“Mr. Sparrow, I was at Seth’s. As I said, he’d reported a problem with the security. We thought it was a power issue. There had been a lightning storm the night before. We thought maybe a breaker was blown or a line down. He’d sent out some hands to check the wires. The women were in the main house. When I left them, the house was still online.” He paused. “And I’d left Antonio to watch the immediate grounds.”
I shook my head. Seth was a ranch hand turned ranch manager who cared for Mason’s land and livestock as if they were his own. Antonio was a Sparrow. Yes, was. Upon Garrett’s return to the main house, Antonio was discovered in one of the outbuildings with a bullet through the back of his head.
Laurel, Mason’s wife, was a bio-researcher. Madeline, Patrick’s wife, was thirty-three weeks pregnant. Prior to the house going off-line, Laurel had been in the secure office and Madeline had been upstairs napping. They were present and accounted for. The two ladies