There’s another detail Hailey hasn’t mentioned: a gold ring—a signet with an engraved eagle. Identical to mine. The onlytoken of acceptance Rhett ever gave me. The same one I slipped in my pocket once I’d tucked Hailey inside the car.
I barely stop myself from hacking the dashboard until it falls apart under my fist. This is bad. Worse than I imagined. Ten times fucking worse.
Hailey jumps when my ringtone pours out of the speakers. We’re back at Lakeside and I’m throwing the car into my usual parking spot just as Broadway’s name flashes on the screen.
I press a button, answering the call. “I’m not alone,” I say, reaching over to take Hailey’s hand.
“Then call me when you are,” he shoots back.
“Um, it’s okay, I’m leaving,” Hailey says, her voice small, hands shaking, eyes mindlessly flickering every which way like she’s still trying to access the memory. “I want to write while it’s still fresh.”
Thank fuck.
Whatever Broadway wants can’t be as important as what I need to tell him and Dante, and I can’t do it while Hailey’s listening.
“Go, pretty girl, but stay in your room, okay?”
She leans over the middle console, briefly pressing her lips to mine. “Okay.”
I watch her exit the car, slamming the door. I watch as she rushes away, disappearing into the night, not far off sprinting across campus like there’s someone behind her.
The memory hit her hard, her fear lingering longer.
Or maybe she’s impatient.
Once she’s out of sight, I let out the wrath gunning through me... I batter the dashboard until it snaps under my fist.
“What the fuck is that noise?” Broadway asks, still on the line. “Is she gone?”
“Yeah. Whatever you want can wait.” I cut the call, grab a burner from the glove box, and exit the car, heading into thewoods, far from my phone and far from the Pontiac in case it’s been bugged as well.
I dial Broadway’s burner once I’m past the line of trees. “Get in your car right now and find Dante. Call me when you’re with him.”
“But—”
“Just fucking do it!” I boom, nearly jabbing theend callbutton through the phone.
With a shaking hand, I light a cigarette, and wait for Broadway to haul ass across Chicago.
Everything inside me shakes harder as the minutes pass and my mind connects more of the dots. I pace a thirty-foot long path, deep enough in the woods that the asylum lights are barely visible. Cool evening air raises goosebumps up my arms, but does jack shit to steady my nerves.
Neither does the smoke filling my lungs.
Nothing does.
Nothing will for hours.
Broadway calls back thirty agonizing minutes later. “We’re here,” he says, sounding out of breath. “Give us a minute.”
The faint tapping in the background tells me Jackson’s there, probably checking the connection’s secure.
“What’s going on?” Dante asks a moment later.
“I need to get Hailey out of here,” I say taking a long drag of my third cigarette in thirty minutes. “I need a safehouse and my men with me.”
“What have you found out?” Tension fills his voice, taking me aback as it doesn’t make an appearance often.
Ninety-nine percent of the time, Dante’s the personification of carefully maintained control. Whenever he’s not... God fucking help whoever shatters his calm.
