Hours had bled together since Darius left. I'd dusted every surface, scrubbed the windows until they gleamed, retrieved the bat from wherever it had been flung and secured it back under the counter.
The shop looked pristine. Untouched. Like Darius had never broken in at all.
But it felt wrong. The air was different. Or maybe I was different.
My skin buzzed with restless energy, too tight over my bones. I couldn't sit still. I'd picked up my guitar at least ten times, settled onto my usual stool, strummed maybe two chords before setting it down again and resuming my relentless pacing. At this rate, I'd wear a hole straight through the carpet.
Deep breaths didn't help. Distraction didn't help. Nothing helped.
All I could think about was Darius walking out that door after I'd given him Peregrine's name. And my mother's parting threat.
The entire pot of coffee I'd consumed wasn't helping, but it was easier to blame the jittering under my skin on caffeine than admit it was pure anxiety.
I knew something was happening. I just had no idea what.
I didn't know exactly what Darius would do to Peregrine. No, that was a lie. I knew. And there was nothing I could do to stop it.
My mother's plans were just as obvious, and just as unstoppable. There would be consequences for whatever she was scheming. Dire consequences. And she'd make damn sure other people paid the price for her choices.
She'd find a way to blame me. She always did.
The helplessness clawed at my chest. There had to be something I could do to prevent the fallout, but what?
Call my mother? She wouldn't answer. Even if she did, she wouldn't listen. My opinions, my wants, my needs—my entire existence—meant nothing to her. She'd made that clear enough.
I had secrets that could destroy her, but she'd never believe I'd actually use them.
As for Darius, it wasn't like I had his number. What was I supposed to do, Google "Darius Ivanov" and hope for a hotline? 1-800-BRATVA? Or maybe this was more supernatural—did I need to draw sigils at a crossroads and summon him like a demon?
I snorted at my own ridiculousness. Then went right back to pacing.
I threw my hands up, laced my fingers through my purple hair and pulled until my scalp stung. The sharp sensation helped center my spiraling thoughts.
I had to do something.
But what?
The shop had been dead all morning. No customers, no calls. Nothing. A few items on the eBay store had generated interest, but no sales yet.
Outside, Georgetown looked picture-perfect. Fall had arrived in full force—scarves, pumpkin spice lattes, people laughing and chatting as they headed to the university or work.
Normal. Everything looked completely normal.
Then a black SUV rolled past, and my pulse spiked.
Georgetown was crawling with them—transporting senators, congressmen, millionaires. But I only cared about one.
Something clicked in my brain. There was a way to reach him. I was missing something obvious.
I couldn't call him. Didn't have his email. But I had his men.
When Peregrine attacked me, I'd screamed for help, and Darius's soldiers had burst through that door within seconds, guns drawn.
He'd told me he'd be watching. Over and over, he'd said it.
What were the chances his men were out there right now?
Could it really be that simple?
