Shit, did she leave the house because I sent her to fucking bed?
What the fuck is wrong with her?
My world implodes. The front door’s wide open. And she’s gone.
No. No, no. She didn’t just leave freely.
“Dec. Jesus, Dec!” Torin races up, holding a limp Lola. He’s covered in blood. “Get Seamus to take him to the fucking vet. The bastard in the car shot him.”
Reason slips to the edge of a cliff.
She didn’t run. Marlowe didn’t run.
She wouldn’t leave the front door open. She wouldn’t leave with Raffy right behind her. She wouldn’t leave without Lola.
Someone took her.
My phone buzzes. A text.
I look down at the screen and my blood turns to ice as a message from an unknown number pops up on my screen.
Your wife for her father’s location. Or you, if you prefer. Details to follow. – Leon Fuentes.
Leon Fuentes? What the fuck?
Is thattheLeon? His last name is Garcia. That’s what Marlowe told me.
Son of a bitch has been circling her this whole time. Pretending to help. Gaining her trust.
Fear lances my heart.
“Dec?” Cal grabs my shoulder, turns me to face him. His eyes scanmy face. “What is it?”
I show him the text.
His jaw goes tight. “Leon. The Leon?”
“Has to be. He’s got her.” The words taste like shit on my tongue. “He’s fucking got her.”
“We’ll get her back.” Cal’s voice is hard as steel. “Whatever it takes.”
I stare at the text.
Leon Fuentes is a dead man.
He just doesn’t know it yet.
TWENTY-FOUR
marlowe
The world wobblesback to life. But it’s wrong. Everything about it.
A sharp, noxious smell of industrial cleaner burns my nostrils. The metallic scent of rust permeates the air.
My cheek rests against something cold and scratchy. Concrete under my cheek. I try to wiggle my fingers but they’re numb and?—
I try to move my arms. Fuck. Zip ties wrap tight around my wrists, making them throb with every sluggish beat of my heart.
