Page 27 of Claimed By River

Neither of us speaks. My blood turns to ice.

“Royal. Tell me she’s not been in that shop alone.”

His voice is suddenly deadly serious. “I wouldn’t have left if I knew she was alone.”

I don’t even remember dropping the flowers.

“She’s probably still there,” he says quickly, though I can hear the uncertainty creeping into his voice. “Maybe she’s in the bathroom or—”

“No.”

I already know. I don’t know how. I just do. “Check the cameras.”

“I’m on it.”

The call stays connected as I unlock the shop and make my way to the basement entrance beneath the tattoo shop and practically throw myself down the stairs. Royal’s workstation lights the room with dozens of glowing monitors, and I drop into his chair before he even tells me what he’s seeing.

“I’ve got remote access.” His keyboard clacks rapidly through the speaker. “I’m pulling up the security footage now.”

“Hurry.” My heart is in my throat.

“I’m trying.”

I can’t sit still. I’m up and pacing before I’ve decided to be, phone against my ear. Every step I take is another second of the nineteen days I spent knowing this man was patient and doing nothing about it.

Seconds feel like hours. Then Royal’s voice comes back, strained. “River.”

Every muscle in my body locks. “What?”

“I found them.”

I can’t breathe.

“Damir came into the shop.” The words barely register before another follows. “He took her.”

Everything inside me goes still. For one impossible second, I hear nothing. For half a heartbeat, I let myself believe she left on her own. Pure rage explodes through my veins.

I stop pacing and slide back into the seat facing Royal’s computers. I slam my hands onto the keyboard before forcing myself to think. Thinking saves lives. Panic gets people killed.

“Her phone. She never goes anywhere without it,” I mutter almost in reassurance.

“Okay. Do that.”

I set the phone down and put it on speaker. Then, I open the tracking software I’d used countless times as a detective, fingers flying across the keyboard faster than I thought possible. It’s been years since I’ve used the program, but muscle memory takes over.

I enter Nadia’s number, authenticate the emergency access protocol, and stare at the loading screen. A blinking dot appears.

“There.” Oh, thank fuck.

Royal exhales sharply. “You got her?”

“I’ve got a location.”

The map zooms in automatically. She is in an upscale hotel in downtown Atlanta. Penthouse level. I call the group line and give them everything in about nine seconds.

“She’s at Hotel Crescent.”

Raiden answers first. “On our way.”