Picture Perfect - Page 161

“Absolutely.” Her confidence is a beacon in the darkness we’ve been stumbling through. “It’s not safe for her in that house. We need to act now.”

But can we? I mean the man is a sitting senator. It wouldn’t look good on us if we broke into his house just because we wanted our girl back and she wasn’t answering our messages.

The tension in Saint’s bedroom is a live wire, crackling through the air, making my skin prickle with every erratic step I take. Saint’s face is stone, his dark curls a wild halo around his head that matches the turmoil in his eyes—the same turmoil that’s been eating at me since we realized just how badly we fucked up.

“Dammit, we have to do something!” I snap, slamming my palm against the wall, feeling it reverberate through my bones.

Saint’s head whips toward me, and I see it—the break. The usually unflappable, observant Saint is fracturing before us. “Do what, Dre?” he snarls, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. “We’re caged animals here, useless!”

I’m pacing again, the knife in my hand an extension of the restless energy that refuses to be contained. Each click of the blade marks time, measures out my desperation. “I want to rip apart anyone who’s keeping her from us.” My voice is a growl, barely recognizable. “I want my Snowflake.”

Chess is silent, but his hands clench and unclench as if he’s fighting his own inner battle. We’re all on the edge, ready to leap into the abyss for her.

And then, without warning, the shrill alarm cuts through the room. As one, our heads whip toward the sound: the emergency signal from Chess’s app—a cry for help from Addy herself.

No one moves. No one breathes. Time congeals around us like thick molasses. That sound—it’s a beacon, a siren song, and a death knell all at once. It means she needs us now more than ever.

“Chess,” I say, my throat dry, my heart pounding against my ribcage like it’s trying to escape. “Is it—”

He nods, his face pale. “It’s her. It’s the signal.”

“Jesus,” Saint whispers, the color drained from his face, but his eyes are ignited with a fierce light. “We need to get her. Now.”

“Then let’s get out girl.” I close the knife with a sharp click and meet their gazes. “We can’t let her down. Not again.”

“Then we move,” Chess says, determination replacing the despair. “Now.”

“Right behind you,” Saint says, standing tall, the leader in him rising to the surface despite the cracks in his armor.

“Let’s get our girl,” I echo, and the weight in my chest lifts just enough to let me breathe. We’re coming, Snowflake. Hold on.

??????

I pace the length of the conference room, my knife flicking open and closed in an endless, rhythmic loop. It’s a small comfort, that familiar click and snap, but it’s something to hold onto when everything else feels like it’s spiraling out of control.

“Sit down, Dre,” Chess murmurs, his own leg bouncing with nervous energy.

“I can’t.” My voice is a growl, barely recognizable. “I need to be doing something.”

Saint stands sentinel by the window, arms crossed, his dark eyes tracking my every move. He doesn’t say a word; he doesn’t need to. His presence alone is enough to remind me we’re not alone in this.

The door swings open abruptly and Mason strides in, followed by a group of men who exude danger from every pore. I recognize some of them by sight, if not by name—the elite team Mason’s called in.

“Ranger,” Saint nods to Xander as he enters. The man acknowledges him with a sharp nod, his gaze sweeping the room like he’s already calculating exits and entries.

“Wolf,” Chess greets Kai with a tight smile, one that isn’t returned. Kai’s focus is on the task at hand, his expression unreadable.

“Hawk,” I acknowledge Dalton with a tilt of my head, noting the way his eyes linger on my knife before meeting my gaze.

“Okay, let’s get to work,” Mason declares, his voice filling the room with authority. We gather around the large table, maps and screens flickering to life with a tap of his fingers.

“Here’s what we know,” Mason begins, and everyone leans in. “Addy’s at the Winthrop estate. Security’s tight, but not impenetrable. We need to extract her safely and quickly.”

“Get in, get her, get out,” Ranger summarizes, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Obviously there are complications. It’s not just the security, this is a senator’s home. No matter how slimy the man is, we need to tread carefully.

“Nothing matters more than getting her back,” Saint says, steel in his voice. “She’s…she’s everything.”