HARDCORE: Storm MC(44)

Without church, we’d all been hard-pressed, and I don’t think anyone knew what was really going on. But now, he’d come clean about all of it. And we were all of one mind now: find Zoe through Ronn and Fielding somehow, and nail those two bastards to the wall.



We had our brotherhood back. I felt like the very air had been purified. And I needed to share this feeling with my woman. She was intrinsic to this revolution, and I was feeling happy and grateful.



The problem was, when I got home, Sienna wasn’t there.



I saw her note almost immediately, and I groaned. Damnit, she was not supposed to go back to her place without me.



Okay, so I hadn’t said so to her in so many words, but I didn’t figure I’d have needed to.



I tried calling her, just to hear her voice, make sure she was all right. She never picked up.



I didn’t have the number for her landline—hell, I didn’t even know if she had a landline. I figured I’d best get my butt on the road and head over to her complex. I knew she’d only been gone a few hours at the most, but I did not have a good feeling about this, especially since she wasn’t answering her phone.



I grabbed my helmet, checked my gun in its holster, and headed back out. I powered up the bike and was on the road in seconds flat.



When I got to Sienna’s, I saw her car still in the lot. That didn’t signify much. I needed to see her, to know she was okay. I headed to her door—and noticed it was ajar when I got there.



That was not a good sign.



I went in with my gun in my hand. I didn’t call out for her, just in case Fielding was in there with her; I didn’t want to give him a heads-up. It didn’t take long to learn that no one was in the apartment. That’s what I had already begun to fear. My breathing started to come fast, and I realized the worst had probably come to pass. He had taken her. I fucking knew it.



Of course, I had no proof of it; it was just a gut feeling. But it was the only thing that made sense of her car being in the lot and her door open and her not answering her phone. Goddamnit.



I was back on the bike and on the road without thinking. I headed to the only place I could think he might have taken her, although it was a Hail Mary shot in the dark as to whether it would pan out. I’d only ever seen Fielding at Hardcore and at his gargantuan fugly McMansion of a home. I figured the house was my best shot. If he hadn’t taken her there, then maybe I’d find a clue as to where else he might have her; or maybe I’d find him, and get it out of him somehow.



I had to think this through, but I barely had enough time to do so. If they weren’t at the house, would it be best to not let him know I was there, and then follow him back to her? Presuming, of course, that he had her in some other undisclosed location. Or would it be best to overpower him and force him to tell me where she was? He was a cagey motherfucker, lowest of the low, a slick bottom-feeder.



I figured I’d just go with my gut and see where the moments took me. I couldn’t think to plan it well.



Damn, the woman had me near panic level.



Once I arrived at the gate to the suburban monstrosity, I left my bike parked behind a large berm that hid the property from street view but wasn’t too far from the wall. The dude had a freaking brick wall around the property; it probably rose about ten feet up off ground level, so it wouldn’t be an easy jump. I followed it around a corner, off street side, and finally found a section where a tree on the outside reached over some branches to his side. I figured this was going to be my best shot at bridging over, so I took it.



Success—god bless my regular workouts. Once over, I assessed the house and decided to just walk in direct. At this point, I was beyond covert ops. I wanted and needed action and result.



I approached the front door and tried the handle. It opened. No beeping of an alarm, no laser lights. I didn’t even see any cameras pointing at me. For being a rich freak sick-as-fuck depraved-porn killer, this guy was seriously lax about security. I guessed the fuckwit thought his big gate and pretty wall were enough to deter any unauthorized entrance. Well, let today be his unlucky day to realize otherwise.



The house was silent when I went in, and there were no immediately obvious signs nor sounds of movement on the first floor. With my gun in my hands, I began to search the house, approaching each room like it was booby-trapped and/or had military- or guerrilla-type guard. My careful approach ended up being unnecessary; I didn’t encounter anyone, friend or foe, in my search. I had gone through from the foyer to the living room through the dining room to a kind of service hall to the kitchen and looped back around through a hallway to a kind of den/TV room, and finally found myself in the library/study where the computer and books were, the scene of my hard-drive heist from less than twenty-four hours ago. Nada. No sign of life, no clues as to Fielding or Sienna.