My grip locked around the phone. “What do you mean,something happened?”
“I went to drop off the new candles,” she said, breath uneven. “You didn’t know because I didn’t want to bother you. I thought it’d be ten minutes. In and out. But when I came out of the shop… someone grabbed me.”
Everything in me stilled.
“From behind,” she continued. “Hand over my mouth. Big. Strong. I couldn’t see them. But I fought—kicked back, elbowed, scratched. They let go when I screamed. I—I think they were trying to drag me toward the alley.”
My heart slammed so hard it hurt. “Are you hurt?”
“A cut,” she said. “On my arm. Bleeding a little. I don’t know if it was a knife or if I hit something. I just ran to the car. I didn’t look back.”
Fuck.
I was already moving, grabbing my keys, every instinct screamingI knew someone was watching. For days now, I’d felt that itch along my spine—eyes, following us all. Tracking her. The man in the grainy photo. I’d increased security around the house, and I’d told myself it was nothing.
I’d been wrong.
“I’m on my way,” I said. “Don’t open the door for anyone.”
“Alli—” Her voice cracked again. “I didn’t see their face. I don’t know who?—”
“We’ll find them, and I swear to God,” I whispered as I tore out of the lot, “they’re going to regret touching you.”
Traffic was a blur. Red lights, horns, people—I didn’t see any of it. I only saw my sister’s face in my head and the tremor in her voice.
By the time I pulled up inside the gates, my hands were trembling. I hadn’t felt that in years, not since the cartel.
Not since Raven.
The front door cracked open before I even got inside. Marisol stood there, pale, her arm wrapped in a dish towel already blooming red. I cursed loudly.
“Don’t, Alli,” she begged when she saw my expression. “Please don’t be angry with me.”
I shut the door behind me, locking it, my body acting before my brain caught up, and I caught her wrist gently, turning it to see the gash. Not deep, but long. Bleeding enough to make my stomach twist.
“You should’ve told me you were going out,” I said, but it came out too sharp, too harsh.
Her eyes widened, hurt flickering across her face, her shoulders rigid. “I didn’t think I needed permission.”
The hit landed clean. I closed my eyes once, exhaling. “That’s not what I meant.” I forced my voice steady. “Come sit. Let me clean it.”
I guided her to the table. My fingers were steady on the outside, but inside—everything shook. Rage. Fear.
“It was probably a mugger,” she said. I glanced up and saw the sheen of tears in her eyes. If that was what she wanted to believe, then that was the story I would go with.
“You’re probably right,” I lied as I discarded the towel. “Did you hear anything?” I asked. “Smell anything? Cologne? Breath? Anything?”
She shook her head. “Not strength. I shook them off. But anger. He was angry.”
“It was a man then.”
“Yes. Taller than me, he didn’t say anything.”
I cleaned the cut with care because she’d had enough violence for one day. But my mind wasn’t calm. It was running through every name, every threat, every possibility.
“He touched you,” I said quietly, and stopped working on the cut, hanging my head. I’d failed. Someone had hurt my sister, and I hadn’t been there. “If I find him, I’ll kill him.”
“No, Alli. Not again.” Her eyes shimmered with fear for the first time. Not for herself. For me.
