The only certainty is that I'm too far gone to stop now. For the first time in my life, I'm terrified not of dying, but of living without something… without her.
And that makes her the most dangerous person I've ever encountered.
I'm toweling off when my phone lights up. Claire Langford. Reality crashes back like a bucket of ice water over my head.
Claire: Any updates on Brian? I need to know what's happening.
Just like that, I'm yanked from whatever fantasy world I've been building with Lila and dropped back into the cesspool that is Brian Langford's life. The asshole with the perfect smile and dead eyes who might have done something to Sarah.
Dane: Working on it. Will call this afternoon.
Fuck. I'd give anything to crawl back into bed, surrounded by Lila's scent, pretending for a few more hours that I'm a normal guy with normal problems. But men like Brian don't stop. They keep taking until someone makes them stop.
I dress quickly—dark jeans, black t-shirt, leather jacket, gun holstered at my side. The uniform of a man with ugly work to do.
The universe was the worst fucking sense of irony, giving me something beautiful right when it's about to demand the highest price. Like Lila is the sugar to help the poison go down.
Twenty minutes later, I'm back at NYU, knocking on Sarah's dorm room. Her roommate—Jess, according to the whiteboard on their door—opens up, looking like she hasn't slept.
"Hey," she says a mixture of release and worry in her expression
"Found anything?"
She glances down the hallway before speaking. "Her phone was under her bed." She hands me a rose gold iPhone with a cracked screen. "I charged it, but I don't know her code to get in Could you… ?"
I take Sarah's phone from Jess, turning it over in my hands. The cracked screen seems symbolic—a damaged window into whatever happened. The roommate's eyes dart nervously to mine, her meaning clear without spelling it out.
"You don't need to say it," I tell her. "I can get in."
There's relief in her face, followed immediately by the shame that comes with knowing you're bending rules. Good people always feel that weight. The ones who should feel it never do.
"I called campus security yesterday," she says, hugging herself. "Then the actual police this morning. They practically patted me on the head."
"Let me guess. 'College students are unpredictable. She's probably crashing with a friend or a new boyfriend,'" I mimic in a mocking official tone.
"Exactly." Jess's eyes widen. "They said they need to wait before filing an official report. Like, how long? Until she's dead somewhere?"
"The system's designed to protect people like Langford," I say, pocketing the phone. "Rich, connected people slip through the cracks while the rest of us smash against the walls."
"What now?" Jess asks.
"Now I do what the cops won't."
The weight of the gun against my ribs is reassuring. Rules exist to protect society from men like me. But sometimes society needs men like me to deal with men like Langford. It's a paradox I made peace with long ago.
"Call me if you hear from her," I say, heading for the door.
She nods.
On my way out, I text Milo. I need to bring him the phone. He can get whatever information we need from it, if there's any to be found.
I'm halfway to my car when a flash of auburn stops me in my tracks. Lila stands twenty feet away, clutching textbooks and looking at me like I'm a ghost.
Fuck. What are the odds?
"Dane?" Her voice carries confusion, a hint of pleasure. "What are you doing here?"
My mind races through potential lies, but something about those green eyes makes bullshit harder than it should be. I pat the phone in my pocket.
