I pluck a napkin from the bar and gently blot her tears. “It’s okay, doll. It’s okay.” I crouch down to meet her eyes and hand her the napkin. She presses it to her trembling lips.
“Let’s go find our guy, sí?”
She nods quickly, then reaches for my hand. “Thank you, Elijah.Gracias.”
My heart stirs at the sound of my native language on her American tongue. There’s something about the way she says it—shy and careful—that reminds me of her brother.
“De nada,” I murmur, pulling her into another hug. Then I step back. We don’t have time to waste.
“Teya, I want you to check over there,” I say, pointing toward the packed dance floor. “He could be anywhere in that crowd.” I motion in the opposite direction. “I’m heading to the VIP lounge.”
A hesitant frown tugs at her lips. She shakes her head. “He wouldn’t go to the VIP section. He’s too modest.”
She’s right. Alex has never been flashy. I don’t believe I’ll find him there either. But I need to rule it out.
A reservation is typically requiredto get into the private lounge. But if you’re someone with influence—or you drop the right name—exceptions are always made. If Alex got in tonight, all he would’ve had to do was mention my name. That alone would’ve granted him access, no questions asked. Sure, there’s a chance he used his own celebrity status to gain entry, but I doubt it. In the short time I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him play that card. Like his sister said—he’s too modest for that.
As I approach the door to the exclusive lounge, I spot the woman guarding it, wine glass in hand, crimson lips curved in amusement.
“Sandy.” I greet her with an air kiss to each cheek. She flashes a bright, polished smile and, without a word, swings the door open for me.
Inside, the VIP section is dimly lit and elegantly adorned with leather chairs, crystal lighting, and the low hum of money and power. I immediately begin scanning the room for Alex. A quick sweep of the space yields nothing, so I slow down, inspecting each face more carefully.
“Elijah!”
I turn toward the voice and see my longtime friend, Mauricio, rising from a table tucked in the far corner.
“Mauricio, my man.” I cross the room and pull him in for a half hug. “Long time, no see, amigo.” I recognize the other threemen seated with him and shake their hands as well. Mauricio pulls out a chair, inviting me to join them, but I politely decline.
“Not today, my friend. I’m actually looking for my boyfr—um, friend,” I correct quickly, hoping he didn’t catch the slip. But I’m pretty sure he did. Still, he doesn’t pry.
For a second, I consider showing him a picture of Alex, but then think better of it. Everyone at this table would recognize that face. Hell, Alex’s latest Valente ad is plastered across a billboard right on Gravity’s rooftop—his wet, tanned, tattooed body in swimwear, impossible to miss.
I turn in a slow semicircle, sweeping the room one last time. “Looks like he’s not here, gentlemen.”
Mauricio clearly senses something is up, but he doesn’t push, just nods and eases back into his chair.
My phone buzzes as I head toward the door. I toss a peace sign over my shoulder.
“HELP ME!HELP ME! OH GOD… Alexxxx?—”
Teya’s voice shreds through the phone before I even get it to my ear.
“Teya, talk to me! Where are you?”
I’m already moving, sprinting through the club, legs moving at the speed of lightning. I don’t know where I’m going. I’m running on pure instinct, chasing the sound of her panic.
Then—a flash of sandy-blond hair. A door across the dance floor bursts open.
I’m there in under eleven seconds. I slam my shoulder into the door and nearly trip over the two bodies sprawled out on the floor.
In the blink of an eye, I’m on my knees.
Teya is gasping for air, clinging to Alex’s limp body, shaking him, sobbing.
I reach for both of them, careful not to be too rough, and gently tug Teya away from her brother. Her small body folds into mine, and I cradle her against my chest. With my free hand, I lean over Alex and press two fingers to his neck.
Thank God. He has a pulse.
