“Are you okay? Where are you?” Tyler’s voice bursts through, loud and close in my hearing aid, each word sharp enough to sting.
My lips don’t move. My mind feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton, the pressure building behind my eyes.
“Lucas, talk to me,” Tyler snaps, the edge in his tone cutting through my haze like a knife.
“I…” My tongue feels heavy, stuck to the roof of my mouth. I lick my lips, but it doesn’t help. “Tyler… what the fuck happened to them? I mean… how—”
“I don’t know, fuck…” His voice wavers, threaded with nerves. “Maybe they went too far, pissed off the wrong person. Jesus… the details that are out are really brutal.” He says something, something that sounds like mutilation, but the rest of the words dissolve into static.
My gaze drifts, snapping toward Maksim.
He’s still there, calm as ever, but giving me a concerned look as he munchies his fries.
And then, like someone flicked a switch, something in me shifts. My stomach twists, and my pulse kicks harder. I can’t look away from him. The hum of the diner fades into nothing, and all I hear is the uneven rhythm of my own breath as my eyes stay locked on his.
He notices, and his brows lift.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
My voice comes out ragged, almost breaking.
“Why was Alex in Boston a week ago?”
That wasn’t the question he expected. I see it, the flicker of shock in his eyes, before he covers it up.
“What do you mean?”
“You were with Alex in Boston a week ago,” I say, the words cutting out in shallow bursts of breath.
Boston.
That’s where they were found murdered in their apartment.
It’s stupid. Irrational. And yet my gut twists so hard I almost gag. Something in me knows.
Alex.
Why does my chest feel tight at the thought? Why is my gut screaming that this—this is connected to him and me.
Oliver.
Only Oliver knows what those boys did to me. I knew my mother told him.
And Oliver is still wherever Alex took him, wherever he’s keeping him.
What if Oliver told Alex everything?
What if—
I push up from my chair so fast my knees knock the table. The room tilts, blurring in my vision. My fingers claw at the edge of the table just to keep myself from hitting the floor.
“Lucas?” Maksim’s voice has a thread of concern, but I’m already moving. My legs are moving before my mind catches up. The diner feels too small, too loud, too bright. I shove my way to the door.
“Lucas!” Maksim calls, his chair scraping back, but the sound is distant and muted, like I’m underwater. I hear a muffled exchange between him and the waiter about paying the bill, but it’s just noise.
The moment the cold air hits my face, my chest pulls tight, like it’s trying to collapse in on itself. I suck in a breath that barely makes it halfway down. I step off the curb, throwing my hand up at the first taxi I see.
It brakes hard, and I climb in like I’m being pushed inside by something I can’t name. “Hilton complex,” I tell the driver, my voice scratchy. My hands tremble as I pull out my phone, my thumb hesitating over my mother’s contact before pressing.
