When I hit the unlock button on the keys I’m holding, Ash’s yellow Lamborghini beeps.
I need to get to Sydneynow, and if this gives Ash one more reason to hate me, so be it. This car is his baby. I’ve never seen him care for anything the way he cares for it?—
Her,I correct myself, lifting the door and ducking into the driver’s seat. The engine roars to life when I start the car. He fucking insists we call ither.
“I’m on my way,” I tell Sebastian, throwing the car into gear and peeling out of the garage, tearing north toward Sydney’s apartment.
“I sent you the security feed,” he says. “Keep it open so you can get a read on the situation. He still hasn’t left yet, but I haven’t seen her arrive either.”
“Got it.”
I hear his motorcycle engine rev. “Fucking get there right now, Alec,” he tells me. Then the phone clicks. He’s already on the move, knowing he’ll never make it before me.
I open the feed he sent, keeping half an eye on it and half on the road as I speed through the city. Her front door is shut, and there’s no one there, no movement, nothing. I might as well be looking at a still image for all the good it does.
My eyes flick between the phone and the road, only looking up long enough to make sure I don’t crash, when the car’s Bluetooth suddenly picks up an incoming call. Ashton’s name flashes across the screen.
“What thefuck?” he yells when I answer. “Tell me you did not just take my fucking car!”
“Sydney’s in trouble,” I tell him in lieu of explanation, no apology. “I needed it.”
“Then why the fuck didn’t you bring me?” he shouts. The speaker crackles with how loud he is. “Or take a different fucking car? You have like twenty!”
“Your feelings aren’t my priority right now,” I snap. “Someone needs to get to her place as soon as fucking possible. Doc is on his way, too. Meet us there, and you can be backup.”
“WITH WHAT CAR?” he screams. I end the call. He’ll figure something out.
I’m not used to this, this panicked, clawing fear gripping my chest. I haven’t felt this way in decades. Growing up the way I did, you cope by either living in fear forever or making damn sure you never feel it again. I spent my whole life building walls to protect myself, making sure nothing could ever touch me, could ever hurt me. I did all of it so I would never be that kid cowering in a closet again. The kid who couldn’t do anything when his father chased his mom through the house. Who had to listen to his mother crying, begging for the pain to end. The kid who heard the shot that ended her life, who had to testify against his own father in court and send him to rot in prison.
I’ve spent twenty years making myself untouchable. But she’s in danger, and for the first time since I was that scared little kid, I feel it. Panic. Helpless, crippling fear, filling my veins.
Movement draws my eyes back to the camera feed.
Sydney’s home.
She’s home, and I’m still a few blocks away.
I tell the car’s voice system to dial her number, my eyes glued to the feed. She digs in her purse for her keys, anger pinching her face, unaware of the danger she’s in. Because of me. Because I broke something in her tonight and sent her straight into harm’s way.
The call rings. And rings. She doesn’t answer it.
“Fucking turn around,” I bark at the screen. “Turn around and leave, right the fuck now!”
But she doesn’t.
Her key goes into the lock. Turns. And she disappears inside.
The door closes.
She’s in there, inside with whoever is waiting for her.
Every second stuck in the car becomes an eternity. I swerve into the back lot behind her building and slam the Lamborghini to a stop, not bothering to turn it off. I’m out the door before the car settles into park, racing up the stairs, my heart in my throat.
I hear a scream. Her scream.
But screaming means she’s still alive.
I reach her door, only to realize I don’t have keys to her apartment. So I do the only reasonable thing I can. I take three running steps and throw my body against the door, so hard it shatters, bursting open.
