“Yeah, it drives me nuts, why?” Grey asks, searching the screens for her.
“He seems to be gone,” Oliver mutters. “But that can’t be true.”
What the…
“There, her bookshelf in the corner fell over,” Grey says, and I feel my stomach sink. “The fuck? Her door is open. Check the thermal mapping. Is she even home?”
Oliver’s fingers fly over the keyboard with lightning speed. His brow furrowed in concentration. I watch, my heart pounding as he sucks in a sharp breath when the thermal map finally loads on the screen. Without missing a beat, he switches between camera feeds.
My stomach drops as I see Amelia on her back on the floor behind the couch, completely motionless.
“Amelia!” Oliver’s voice cracks with panic, the fear in his tone mirroring the dread that’s rapidly spreading through my chest.
Without a second thought, we spring into action. In unison, we dash from the room, our feet pounding the corridor. Bypassing the elevator, we hurtle down the stairwell, plunging four stories to get to her.
My mind is a whirlwind of terrifying possibilities, each worse than the last. I can barely breathe.
What the fuck happened?
The question screams in my head, over and over, as we race to reach her.Please, please be okay,I silently plead, every second feeling like an eternity.
“Amelia!”
I wake to the sensation of someone shaking me, my consciousness slowly clawing its way back.
My head pounds with a dull, persistent ache as I try to make sense of the panicked voice cutting through the thick fog enveloping my mind.
“Stanley, wake up!” Hendricks’ voice is laced with an urgency that sends a jolt of adrenaline through my sluggish system. My eyes flutter open, struggling against the harsh light, and I see him take a deep, relieved breath. “Thank God, are you okay?”
He’s close, his face etched with concern, but then he leans back, giving me space to breathe.
“I don’t know…” I manage to croak out, my throat feeling dry and scratchy.
Before I can gather my thoughts, Oliver, Misha, and Grey charge into my apartment like a well-coordinated SWAT team. In a blur of movement, my sweet, soft-spoken Oliver tackles Hendricks off me and to the ground with surprising force, landing on top of him so hard that his glasses are knocked askew.
Oh wow.
“What did you do to her?” Oliver’s voice is sharp, a tone I’ve rarely heard from him.
Why is that so hot?
“Hey, easy, there. I was just coming home and saw that her door was open, and she was lying on the floor. I wanted to help!” Hendricks protests, his voice shaky.
I can see him struggling under Oliver’s grip, his eyes wide with panic.
“And why should we believe you?” Misha asks, coming to stand beside Oliver, arms crossed over his chest, his voice dripping with suspicion.
Grey squats beside me, his familiar scent of coffee and buttered rum enveloping me. His strong hands gently pull me to sit upright, and I feel a wave of dizziness wash over me as he strokes my cheek, but his fingers against my skin ground me somewhat.
“Hey, Princess. You okay?”
I attempt to nod, but a throbbing ache manifests at the base of my skull, pulsating in rhythm with the beating of my heart. Instinctively, my hand rises, and I wince as my fingertips graze a tender lump that seems about the size of a golf ball. “Ouch,” I mutter, the word coming out like a slur as I lean into Grey.
His hand reaches up, his fingertips gently stroking over the bump. “Fuck, that must hurt,” he whispers, his voice laced with concern. Then I feel the warmth of his lips as he kisses my temple. “Can you stand?”
“Yes,” I murmur, even though my head is still spinning. Grey stands first, extending his hand to me. I take it, and the strength of his grip helps pull me up.
“Hendricks didn’t do anything,” I mumble, as I see that Oliver is still on top of him, holding him down. “He was trying to help. Somebody was already inside my flat when I got here.”
