GRIFFIN
PRESENT
Tate never took this long to answer a text. It was something simple, something stupid, just to hear from her, but she never answered. She always answered. Or at least left me on read. I picked up my phone again, side-eyeing the time stamp of my message from twenty minutes ago and the road in front of me. I was getting sick and fucking tired of this hour drive separating us.
Something wasn’t right.
That gnawing, uneasy feeling in my gut had only gotten worse as the minutes dragged on. By the time I was gripping the wheel of my SUV, speeding through the streets toward her apartment, I already knew.This wasn’t paranoia. This was instinct.
I tried calling.Twice.No answer. I tried Millie, who answered on the first ring, who immediately startedgushing about how cute we looked in the article, pictures, and the stupid video on TikTok.
“Millie, she isn’t answering me.” I skipped past the pleasantries. I didn’t have time for them, and I hoped she could forgive me later because Millie’s opinion mattered.
“You sound worried. I haven’t heard from her in an hour. I know she was going back to the grocery store today. Something about facing her fears.” She rambled on.
“Try calling her and call me back.”
She hung up without questioning me, and it was moments like this I was grateful for her relationship with Tate and her sudden trust in me, even though I had a sinking suspicion I was not her favorite person at times.
I drummed my fingers impatiently against the wheel, watching the time tick away on the GPS as I pushed my foot against the pedal, forcing the car to fly down the express lane of the highway.
Millie’s name flashed on the dashboard display, and I answered before the first ring could finish vibrating through the cabin.
“She didn’t answer. I’m far away, Griffin. I’m over an hour away,” she cried, panic and distress seeping into her tone.
“I’m here.”
Pulling into her complex, my stomach twisted.
Her car was in its usual spot.
So was another vehicle. A dark sedan, still running.The headlights were on, engine idling like someone had just left it there in a hurry.
“Call the police, Millie.” I hung up just as she started to shout questions.
I barely put my SUV in park before I was out, sprinting toward her building, my pulse hammering in my ears. There were people waiting by the elevator, and I didn’t have time to wait.
The second I hit the stairwell, I fuckingknew.
The door to her apartment was open.
No, not open. Busted in.Where someone had forced entry.
The frame was splintered, the lock blown apart. Inside,things were scattered. Groceries spilled across the floor. A chair was knocked over. The distant sound of Tate’s strangled voice came from her bedroom.
A man’s voice followed, sharp, furious, laced with pure menace.
Rage ignited in my chest at the mere thought of a stranger in Tate’s home. The malice dripped from his tone. The audacity of him invading her safe space. Violating it. I kept my steps light, staying in the shadows as I approached her bedroom, every muscle coiled tight.
“I need money!”
“I don’t have any. Please, believe me. I don’t have anything.” Tate’s voice trembled, thick with tears, and my blood boiled.
“Huh? You think I don’t know who you’re with?”
“He doesn’t give me money!” she cried, desperation cracking through her voice. A sharpcrackrang out,skin meeting skin, and my vision blurred with red.
“He must buy you things. Give me your jewelry!” The command came, followed by a muffled whimper. A tray clattered to the floor. Drawers slammed open, the sound of frantic rummaging filling the room.
