I head for the bar without a word, shoulders heavy, throat dry. The bottle of whiskey is already in my hand before I realize I’ve grabbed it. I pour a double, no ice, and throw it back in one swallow. The burn scorches down my throat, sharp enough to snap something loose in my chest. I pour another, slower this time, and force myself to sip. I need a clear head. Need control. Because what comes next demands nothing less.
I hear footsteps behind me and don’t need to turn to know who it is. Candace. She slides onto the stool beside me, not touching, but close enough that her presence curls into the space between us. It’s grounding. Steady. Infuriating in a way I can't quite explain. She doesn't speak at first, just sits there quietly, watching me drink, her silence saying more than words ever could.
Then she speaks, low and sure. “You owe Sloane big time.”
I huff a bitter laugh, the burn of whiskey lingering on my tongue. “Yeah. I know.”
Candace leans forward, elbows on the bar, hair slipping over her shoulder in a curtain of gold. “We’ll find the rest of the answers. Whatever it takes.”
I look at her. Really look. There’s no fear in her eyes, only fire, steady and sure. And something in me leans toward that heat, wanting to believe her more than I want my next breath.
The door opens with a creak that sets my teeth on edge. Heavy boots cross the floor, and when I turn, it’s Nash and Kyle. Both look drained, as if they’ve been dragging their way through hell.
Nash shakes his head once. “We combed the whole block near the docks. No sign of Alice. Whoever helped her move Olivia knew what they were doing.”
Kyle tosses a bloody rag on the counter, frustration bleeding out of every line in his body. “We checked the surrounding warehouses too. Nothing.”
Candace stiffens beside me. Her jaw tightens, and her knuckles go white around the glass she’s holding. She doesn’t say anything, but the way her eyes flicker betrays it all. She’s shaken.
I slam the glass on the bar harder than I should. “Son of a bitch.”
Candace flinches. That’s on me. I run a hand down her back, slow and firm, offering silent comfort where words would only bruise. Her breath catches at the contact, and for a moment, she doesn’t move. Then she leans into it, into me, allowing herself to fall apart for a second. Letting it be okay. Trusting that she’s not alone in this.
I rise from the stool, every nerve in my body screaming. “We’re not done. She’s still out there. And Donovan’s going to start talking again if I have to drag the words out of him myself.”
Nash nods, but his eyes flick to Candace. “We’ll keep digging. You know we will.”
I know. And I’m not letting this trail go cold. Not when she’s this close.
Candace pushes off the stool. “I’m going to check on James.”
“No,” I say, sharper than I mean to. Her brows lift.
“We’re still on lockdown until I know for sure you’re safe. None of the women leave unless I say so.”
“I can take care of myself,” she snaps. “I don’t need anyone—”
I cut her off, my voice low but firm. “Yeah. I know. That’s your line, right? I don’t need anyone. I’m fine. I’m strong. And you are. But you’re also hurting. You’re scared. You’ve been holding it in so long, you don’t even know when you’re bleeding anymore.”
Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
I take a step closer. “If you need to fight, we’ll spar. If you need to scream, I’ll listen. But you’re not alone in this anymore, Sour Patch. We’re in this together now. You don’t get to shove me away just because it’s easier than feeling it.”
She blinks hard, lips parting as though she’s going to argue. And this time, she does.
“You don’t get it,” she says, her voice tight. “I’ve survived worse alone. I don’t need—”
I don’t let her finish. I wrap both arms around her and pull her against my chest, ignoring how stiff she goes at first. She struggles for half a heartbeat, fists pressing into my ribs, then she crumbles. Melts. Her fingers fist the back of my shirt, and her breath stutters, breaking something loose inside her.
The room shifts. I hear movement behind me. Nash, Kyle, even East stepping away, giving us space.
I tighten my grip. Not to restrain. To remind.
“You’re not alone anymore,” I murmur, low and steady. “You’re mine now. Let someone fight for you for once.”
She doesn’t say a word. She just holds on, clinging with desperation that says it’s the only thing keeping her from falling apart. Maybe it is.
Chapter 54
