She was never awake at this hour. Panic clawed at me as I moved through the apartment, checking every room, every closet, every corner.
Then, I saw it. A second-story window open, curtains whipping in the cold night air. My heart lurched, and my hands trembled as dread sank in.
I stuck my head out the window, straining my eyes into the darkness below. The street was empty, silent, nothing but shadows and the faint glow of the streetlights. My stomach twisted, and a cold sweat broke out across my back.
She wasn’t here. She could be anywhere, and the thought hit me like a punch to the gut.
I had to find her.
I pulled up the home’s security footage on my phone, my fingers trembling as I scrolled through the timeline. The living room camera showed her grabbing an old backpack, hastily shoving items inside as if she had no time to think.
Cold fear clawed at me as I watched her move toward the window. Every second stretched unbearably, and I shouted her name, my voice raw, desperate, but only the empty room answered.
I double checked the time of the footage. It was only a few hours ago. She couldn’t have gotten far, and there was only one place she would have gone.
My heart slammed against my ribs as panic sharpened into determination. I grabbed my keys and bolted for the door, praying I was correct. The night air hit me like a shock as I ran, each step pounding against the pavement, my mind racing through every possible scenario.
The streets blurred around me as I drove, the city lights flickering across my windshield. My hands gripped the steering wheel so tight they ached, every traffic light and honking horn a cruel reminder of the minutes slipping by.
When I finally reached the South Bronx, the old apartment building loomed before me, its bricks dark and weathered, graffiti streaking the walls. As I ran inside, the scent of damp concrete and piss hit me, which should have disgusted me. It didn’t. It enraged me.
It infuriated me that Tessa ever had to live in these conditions. Every cracked wall, every flickering light felt like a personal insult. I stormed down the narrow hallway, fists clenched, calling her name again and again.
I was going to take her home. She belonged at the brownstone with me, where she would be safe and untouchable by the night. She should be there, curled up in bed, the weight of the world held at bay by my arms around her.
Her old apartment door came into view, paint chipped and faded, hanging crooked on the hinges. I shoved it open, my voice cracking as I shouted her name, the sound echoing down the narrow hallway like a drumbeat in my chest.
The only sight was Howard Sanders, as drunk as ever, slouched on the sofa with a bottle dangling from one hand. His bloodshot eyes tracked me lazily, so drunk that he didn’t realize he should be cowering in fear.
“Where is Tessa?” I demanded, my voice sharp, hands trembling with barely contained fury.
“Thought you were done with her,” he slurred. “All you wanted her for was for a good time, right?”
I snapped. My hands shot out, gripping Howard by the collar and lifting him off the sofa. The stench of alcohol and sweat hit me like a punch as his legs kicked uselessly beneath him. “You’re not a father. You’re a stain on the word. You left her to learn how to survive because you’d rather drown in cheap liquor,” I growled, my voice low and dangerous. “You’re trash, Howard. A coward who calls himself a dad and thinks that’s enough.”
I hurled him to the floor. He hit the threadbare carpet with a wet thud; the bottle shattered against the coffee table, glass scattering like teeth. He coughed, chest heaving, and for a beat the bravado bled out of him, replaced by something smaller—fear, maybe, or the shame he’d always buried under drink.
“I’ll ask one more time: where is Tessa?” I hissed.
“No clue. She just came here to curse me out, then left,” Howard mumbled, his voice slurred and weak.
I lost it. Whatever restraint I’d been clinging to snapped, and I beat him. He curled, tried to shield his head, but I kicked him hard in the side, felt him roll under my foot like a broken rag. I stomped, again and again, not aiming for blood but for revenge for all the years of abuse he’d done to Tessa. Each hit was a promise: you won’t do this to her again.
When I was done, blood pooled on the carpet and I stood there, panting, adrenaline surging through my veins like wildfire. I had lost myself to a blind fury, but what angered me more than Howard was the realization that Tessa was still out there. Alone.
I didn’t spare him another glance. Without saying a word, I tore out of the apartment, slamming the door behind me. The night swallowed me instantly, but I didn’t stop.
Somewhere out there, Tessa was waiting, and I would find her.
Chapter 33
Tessa
Iforgot just how bad this side of town was. The bus stop had been right in front of my house, so I never had to wander far in this neighborhood at dark. Now, the streets felt unfamiliar and hostile, each flickering streetlight casting long, twitching shadows that seemed to leer at me. The air was thick with the smell of garbage and exhaust, and the distant wail of sirens underscored the warning my instincts were already screaming: This is dangerous.
I hugged my jacket tighter around me and tried to keep my footsteps light, careful not to draw attention. Every rustle of trash, every distant shout, made me flinch. A figure lurked near the corner of a burned-out building, and my chest clenched as my mind raced with possibilities. Was it someone waiting for trouble, or just another lost soul like me?
I tried to weave around the figure, keeping to the shadows, but before I could pass, a hand shot out from the darkness, grabbing my arm with a grip that burned through my jacket.
