Mercer scoffs. “You’re insufferable.”
“Could say the same for you.”
“All right,” I interject. “We’ll all go in, but we’ll stick together. Tytus is right—we should be in and out. It’s a big house, though. Any ideas where she might be?”
The kid shifts forward, pulls out his phone, and hands it to me.
“She was in the living room last I heard. Cam texted an update about ten minutes ago. They’ve got eyes on her. She’s with these two assholes, so if you spot either of them, our girl won’t be far.”
Our girl.
That’s who we’re here for. Sawyer needs to be our sole focus.
Let’s just hope Mercer and Tytus can remember that long enough to get in and out without incident.
Chapter twenty-four
Mercer
All I see is red.
In variable saturations, tones, and vibrancies. I’m viewing the scene through rage-tinted glasses, shoving past bodies and sneering at every individual who even glances my direction. For all intents and purposes, every person at this party is complicit in what’s happening to the woman I’m desperate to save.
I shoulder deeper into the party, scanning the crowd like a predator.
Scarlet, maroon, garnet, and crimson.
Every shade of red clouds the edges of my vision.
“There,” Tremblay says, the urgency of that single word matching the desperation I feel in the marrow of my bones.
When I finally spot Sawyer, all the red washes away.
It’s just her.
Her, practically unconscious, being held up by the bodies surrounding her as her head droops to the side, eyes closed, her lashes fluttering.
Her, done up in the hottest fucking outfit I’ve ever seen, while other people’s hands pull and tug at her body, touching what’s mine.
I stalk forward, my heart hammering against my sternum.
“Getoffher.” I clutch the arm of the man behind her and yank, causing him to stumble.
Tytus and Noah move past me, heading for our girl.
The goon I displaced is slow to react, likely drunk or high as well, but when he straightens, he smirks, and his hand travels to his jaw. He rubs it, looking me up and down.
“Hey, man. Aren’t you a little old to be here?”
I ignore the barb and give him my back. All I care about is Sawyer. Is she okay?
Tytus has her.
“Fuck. Help.”
Or maybe he doesn’t.
The two words are quiet and laced with pain, like it physically hurts him to have to ask for support.
