Page 34 of Saint's Preciosa
My jaw tightens. Something feels off. The compound is secure, locked down tight. Luna wouldn't just wander off, especially not without telling anyone.
A cold feeling spreads through my chest, icing my veins. This isn't right.
Ten minutes later, I have a grid search set up. Blade, Ghost, Hawk, and the prospects fan out across the clubhouse after I bark orders at them.
"She wouldn't just leave," I mutter, more to myself than to Angel, who's still standing beside me, brow furrowed in thought.
"No, she wouldn’t.” Angel’s eyes narrow on something.
I follow Angel's gaze across the main room, landing on Cherry, who's perched at the bar nursing a drink, fidgeting with her phone.
"I don't like the way she looks,” Angel murmurs.
I can’t say I disagree. Something about Cherry's demeanor—the set of her shoulders, the way her eyes dart around the room—sets off alarm bells in my head.
“She’s acting entirely too smug,” Angel announces. “Like she knows something."
Cherry notices our attention focused on her and quickly turns her barstool away, her posture changing subtly, shoulders hunching as if she's trying to make herself smaller.
"Cherry,” I call sharply.
She jumps, nearly spilling her drink. "What?"
"C'mere," I gesture authoritatively.
She hesitates, clearly reluctant. My suspicion deepens. After a moment she saunters over, a fake smile plastered on her face.
"Have you seen Luna?" I demand without preamble.
“No. Of course not.” Her eyes sliding to the side. “I know you’re looking for her. I would have said something."
She's lying. I've interrogated enough people to recognize the signs—the avoidance of direct eye contact, the subtle changes in pitch, the artificial casualness in her tone.
Before I can press further, Angel steps forward, seemingly sweet and casual. "Cherry, honey?"
Cherry blinks, caught off guard by Angel's friendly tone. “Yeah?”
Angel's smile turns predatory as she grabs Cherry's upper arms with surprising strength for someone so petite. "Where. Is. She?" Each word is punctuated with a little shake.
"I don't—" Cherry begins, struggling in Angel's grip.
"Cut the bullshit," Angel snaps, shaking her harder. "I can tell you know something. Luna wouldn't just disappear. What did you do?"
Cherry's face flushes, a mix of anger and fear. As Angel gives her another rough shake, something falls out of Cherry's low-cut top—a folded piece of paper that flutters to the floor.
I snatch it up before Cherry can react, unfolding it quickly. My blood turns to ice water as I read the typed message:
CLUBHOUSE WIRED WITH EXPLOSIVES. GET LUNA MARTINEZ TO PIER 17 ALONE BY 11 AM OR WE DETONATE. TELL ANYONE AND YOU ALL DIE. REMEMBER HOW GOLDEN TOUCH SPA WENT BOOM?
"What the fuck is this?" I demand, rage building inside me like a gathering storm, my voice deadly quiet. "What. The. Fuck. Is. This?"
Cherry's façade crumbles. "It was slipped under my door last night," she admits, her voice suddenly small. "I was scared!"
"So you gave it to Luna?" Angel's voice rises in disbelief. "Instead of showing it to the brothers?"
But she’s lying. The bitch is still lying.
"The note said they'd know!" Cherry cries, tears spilling now. "It said they were watching. I didn't know what to do.”
