My father exhales, slow and heavy. “Lucky, we need to sort this out?—”
“No,” I cut him off, chest tight, “Not now. Right now, I need you all to help me find Willow.”
“Who is Willow?” Mom asks, her attention peaking.
“The love of my damn life, and the dangerous maniac she was hunting just kidnapped her out of the fucking audience,” I snarl.
“Just now?” Aunt Vivi questions, her brows furrowing.
I nod. “She was here, watching the show tonight. And when you all caused a distraction with your dramatics, he took her.”
Maybe that was harsh. They didn’t know. But mercy isn’t something I’m feeling in abundance right now.
Mom and Dad look at each other, the whole family exchanging glances. It’s like they’re having a little telepathic conversation.Do we keep making Lucky feel like shit forourbad behavior, or do we help?
My father’s eyes sharpen as they snap back to me. “Took her where?”
“I don’t know.” My voice is barely a whisper, but the panic underneath it is loud. “That’s why I need your help. Right now. We can scream at each other later, you can interrogate me all you like later, but right now, Willow is in danger, and I need to find her.”
I’m breathing hard. My hands are shaking. I’m burning enough energy, I feel like I could race through the entirety of Las Vegas and search every home and business until I find Willow.
“Who is Willow to you?” Mormor asks, stepping forward. She fixes me with those slightly milky eyes of hers.
My chest feels like it’s caving in. “She’s my whole fucking heart,” I say in a whisper. “You understand that? The one thing that isn’t smoke and blood. If he hurts her, I swear?—”
“You’ll tear the whole world apart,” Mormor says as she lays a wrinkled hand on my cheek.
I just nod.
“Then we help,” Dad says quietly.
I look at him, stunned.
“We’ll yell at you later,” he continues. “Right now, we find her.”
We movelike a machine snapping back to life.
Dad takes command, barking orders in that clipped tone I grew up fearing. “Start talking. Everything you know about this man.”
Because I’m desperate, I tell them everything—about Phoenix’s clinic, his online videos, about what he really does behind closed doors at late hours. I tell them what he did to Willow’s best friend. How Willow’s been hunting him. I tell them about our confrontation in the middle of the night. I give them addresses, habits, anything. My brain’s a mess, but the details come out anyway. And she hasn’t changed a bit since I last saw her a decade ago, my aunt Vivi writes everything down like a damn detective.
“We need to get eyes on that clinic,” Uncle Einar says as he takes the car keys from Mom. “And his house. You got pictures of both of them?”
“Of course,” I say as I dig out my phone. My heart is beating fast. Finally. Some action. I pull up my pictures and airdrop him ten different pictures of Willow in two seconds. Next, Iscreengrab three different pictures of Phoenix and send them along as well.
“Addresses,” Einar growls as he heads toward the door. “Send them. The ones you know, the ones you dig up. I’ll check every place.”
Dad shakes his head. “He won’t take her anywhere that would be your first guess. Too obvious. Doesn’t sound like this guy’s that stupid. But check anyway. Cover everything.”
Einar grunts an acknowledgement and walks out the door.
I don’t know why he’d ever think to bring it in here, considering they walked into the theater to watch my show, but Henrik produces a laptop from his backpack. In thirty seconds, his fingers are flying. “I can track property registrations—company holdings, shells, anything under aliases.”
And instantly, it’s like the old days.
The Torviks know what they’re doing. And they’re good at it.
It might have felt like it was wrecking my life back then, but I’ve never been so damn grateful for it as I am now.
