“At first I thought it was nothing, but if she left you last night and you haven’t heard from her today…”
“Casey, for the love of God, spit it the fuck out.” She flinches at my tone. Guilt swirls in my chest, but not enough to make me apologize, because right now I need answers.
“She didn’t come to class this morning or rehearsal this afternoon.”
My fingers rip through my hair before settling at the base of my skull. Panic beats against my ribcage. Fear squeezes my lungs. My first thought is to go to her apartment and check on her. Except I can’t. I can’t take Noah with me without knowingwhat I’m walking into.
I’ve never felt like this in my life. There’s no reason for it now. Deep down, I know that. She could be perfectly fine at home.
But…
That niggling feeling of impending doom thrums harder. Between her midnight vanishing act and the unanswered messages and calls…
Dread. It weaves and winds, cinching around my bones, seizing my muscles. Through everything that’s happened to me, I’ve never felt like someone was reaching inside my chest, trying to tear my heart from my body. Air refuses to enter my body. My lips go numb. Pain wraps around my limbs. The edge of my vision blurs.
I don’t understand it. Getting this worked up over a girl I’ve known for less than a month seems ridiculous. Impossible even. Even with admitting how I feel, this feels extreme.
Yet, my heart won’t stop racing, thundering against my ribs.
Something rubs my back. No. Someone. I look up, not realizing I’d leaned over. Graham’s worried face fills my hazy sight. Understanding like we’ve never shared dances in his eyes. “We’ll find her,” he whispers. “I’m sure everything is fine, but I’ll go with you to her apartment.” When I start to argue, he looks at Casey. “Go upstairs and get Noah. Have Will take you both back to the house.”
I shake my head. “You’re supposed to leave.”
“It can wait. My little brother needs me, and for once, I’m going to be there for him.”
I take it. Accept what he’s offering. No more arguments, because I need him. “Let me grab my phone from my office.”
After we grab my phone, he follows me to my car. If he’s bothered by my driving, he doesn’t say a word. It takes longer than I want, but I manage to make it to Poppy’s building in less than twenty minutes.
Graham doesn’t wait in the car for me. He follows me to her door, not asking the first question when I punch in the code.
The hair on my neck stands on end when I push the door open. That feeling that something is wrong returns full force. There’s someone on her sofa, head down, hands covering her face. Even in the dark, I know it’s not Poppy.
When I flip on the lights, her head bounces up, and I’m staring into the eyes of someone I haven’t seen in a long time.
I can’t stop the growl when I ask, “What are you doing here, Renee?”
Poppy
Phoebe’s message on my phone made my heart beat out of rhythm. It had been months since I heard from her. Years since she initiated contact.
Phoebe: Meet me at the apartment. I need to talk to you.
My first thought was she’d learned about Jagger and me. Dread pooled in my belly because my relationship with her might be permanently destroyed after this conversation.
I wasted no time, grabbing a cab instead of my usual walk. Minutes later, I stepped out of the taxi, looking around for her, knowing she wouldn’t be able to get inside without me. She didn’t know the code since Jagger had the locks changed. Assuming I beat her there, I went upstairs.
I punched in the code. When I pushed open the door, something—someone shoved me so hard that I stumbled, my phone flying from my hand, and my ankle twisting with a sickening crunch. My face slammed into the sofa table. Agony burst like fire across my cheek and jaw.
Adrenaline kicked in quickly, and I fought through the pain to push myself up. Fingers gripped my hair before I could turn, and I could hear the strands ripping from the follicles. I flailed and thrashed in the person’s hold, landing a couple of elbows into their side. “Fucking bitch,” a male voice hisses, slamming my face against the table again.
Dizziness overtook me. Darkness tinted the edge of my vision.
“She won’t be able to tell us what we want if she’s unconscious,” another male voice called out.
I was spun, my injured ankle dragging the ground. I swallowed the sob that threatened to erupt, refusing to let them hear me cry.
A man dressed in black jeans and a black shirt steps into the room. Hair as dark as midnight is slicked back with enough product to start a fire. Beady eyes bore holes into me with intrigue and desire. A deep scar runs down his face from his temple to his jaw. He looks like a stereotypical thug, but it’s who he has in his arms that sends a bolt of fear into my chest and rips my heart in two. Phoebe practically dangles in his arms. Her face is as battered and bruised as mine feels, and tears stream down her gaunt face. “Let her go,” I demand, thrashing again.
