We’re about five minutes from my parents’ house when I spot my favorite coffee shop from high school. The little place with the good pastries where I used to study for exams.
“Actually, can you pull over here?” I lean forward. “I want to grab coffee for my parents.”
The driver nods and pulls into the small parking lot.
“I’ll just be a minute.” I climb out, already thinking about what to order. Dad likes his coffee black, Mom prefers lattes. Maybe some of those almond croissants they used to make.
I send a quick text to my mom as I walk toward the entrance.
Me:Stopping for coffee first. Be there soon.
The coffee shop is exactly as I remember it. It has the same mismatched chairs, the same chalkboard menu, and the same smell of fresh-roasted beans. For a moment, I forget about Trent and threats and security protocols. I’m just Remy, getting coffee for her parents.
I order at the counter—two coffees, one latte, three croissants—and then I wait near the pickup area. My phone buzzes again. Ansel. I’ll call him back in just a minute.
“Remy?”
I turn at my name. The barista holds up my order with a smile.
“Thanks.” I grab the drink carrier and the pastry bag, juggling both as I push through the door.
The parking lot is quiet. A few cars are scattered around.
I’m halfway to where the rideshare driver is waiting when I hear footsteps behind me. Fast footsteps.
I turn, but I’m not quick enough.
Strong arms wrap around me from behind, one hand clamping over my mouth before I can scream. The coffee and pastries hit the pavement. I thrash, trying to break free, but whoever has me is too strong. I slam my heel back, aiming for a knee, but my captor anticipates the move and twists away.
I bite down hard on the hand covering my mouth. The grip loosens for just a second, and I manage to suck in enough air to scream. The hand clamps down harder, cutting off my voice. I’m dragged backward toward a dark van, its side door already open.
My phone falls from my pocket, skittering across the asphalt.
A second man appears from behind the van and deliberately crushes my phone under his boot.
No. No, no, no.
A cloth presses against my face, chemical-sweet and suffocating. My vision blurs at the edges. I try to fight, try to stay conscious, but the world is tilting sideways.
The last thing I see before everything goes black is the crushed remains of my phone and spilled coffee spreading across the pavement.
CHAPTER 22
Enzo
Idial Remy again. Straight to voicemail. Again.
I pull up the tracking app while Ansel and Breck try their phones. “Something’s wrong.”
The app loads, but instead of a live location, it shows a warning message:Device offline. Showing last known location.
Her phone stopped sending pings three minutes ago. The last location is frozen at a commercial plaza, not her parents’ house.
My stomach drops. “Her phone went offline. It’s not moving. Just showing where it was when it stopped transmitting.”
Ansel and Breck are behind me, both trying to use their phones. Same result.
We’re moving immediately, running for the elevator.
