“Is that her?” Fern whispers.
I nod. She bursts into tears and runs out to tell the others.
I force my voice to remain steady. “Where has she been?”
“Couple found her wandering around Duke Street,” Cole says. “Looked lost as hell. She can’t remember what happened. Purse and phone are gone—she thinks she bumped her head and knocked herself out.”
My hand curls into a fist.
“She said she kept trying to remember her address, so the couple walked her around to jog her memory. We found them just before they decided to take her to the police.”
“Get her to the hospital and I’ll meet you there.”
“We tried. She freaked out, Pres. Proper meltdown—crying, shaking. She wants to come home.”
“No.” My voice leaves no room for argument. “If she hit her head, she needs checking.”
“I get that,” Cole says gently, “but right now she just needs you. Once she’s with you, you can talk her into it.”
I swallow hard. “Fine, bring her back here. I’ll take her in myself.”
EDEN
I can’t stop shaking. Not from the cold—Cole forced his jacket over me the second he found me. It’s heavy on my shoulders, swallowing me whole. I’m shaking because my body won’t obey me. Because my limbs still feel slow, disconnected, like I’m underwater. Maybe the hit to my head was harder than I realised, but I can’t feel any lump. No bruise. Nothing. And that sick feeling twisting in my stomach keeps getting worse.
Cole pulls up outside the club, and before I can even try to open the door myself, it’s yanked open, and Kade is standing there, breathing hard, eyes wild.
“I’ve been out of my mind,” he hisses.
I start crying immediately. Ugly. Loud. Uncontrollable. The kind of crying that hurts.
“I’m so sorry,” I manage, my voice barely a whisper.
He leans in, scooping me out of the back seat effortlessly, but the movement makes my arms flare with pain where his hands grip me. I wince.
His expression softens instantly. “I was so worried, Queenie.” This time, his voice cracks, gentler. “So damn worried.”
He pulls me against him, and I bury my face in his chest, inhaling the familiar woody aftershave that normally calms me. But something else hits me. A faint, sharp scent—citrus. Zesty. Wrong. It twists through my thoughts like a splinter.
I frown, trying to latch onto the memory, the meaning, something.
Kade strokes a hand down my back. “Let’s get you to bed.” But a word floats up from the dark edges of my mind, slurred and sticky.
Baby.
Kade never calls mebaby.Why am I thinking about that word? Why does it echo so loudly now?
Why won’t my brain let it go?
Inside, I’m swallowed by warmth and arms and voices.
Fern is the first to reach me, hugging me so hard I almost lose my balance. The other women pull me into their arms one by one, whispering apologies—We should’ve checked sooner. We shouldn’t have left you. We’re so sorry, Eden.
I shake my head, forcing a small smile. “It’s my fault,” I tell them. “I got lost. I wandered outside. You couldn’t have known.”
And they accept it because they want to. Because the alternative is too terrifying to consider.
Kade’s arm stays firm around my waist as he guides me upstairs. His other hand is clenched so tightly his knuckles are white. He keeps telling me we need to go to the hospital, talking in low, steady tones that are trying very hard not to sound panicked.
