“I’m coming,” I cut him off, my heart not far off cracking my ribs. “Keep looking. She can’t be far. I’m on my way.”
His response hardly registers as I run out of the apartment. My mind races, scenarios multiplying faster than I can dismiss them. She’s gone. How? Is she lost? Kidnapped? Who took her?
I jump into my Jeep, peeling away from the curb within seconds, tires screeching down the street. My hands shake, my hold on the wheel so tight my knuckles ache.
Images flash through my mind, each worse than the last. My chest feels like it’s being squeezed in a vise, every breath shallow and strained. I take a corner too fast, the car skidding before it straightens out. My pulse thunders in my ears, the panic clawing at my throat like a scared kitten.
I try rationalizing. Anything to push down the growing panic. She’s tough, I remind myself. Smart.
Too bad that doesn’t mean shit. Tough and smart don’t matter if someone puts a gun to your head.
Fuck, I hope she just got distracted by some pretty flowers. That she’s just around the corner, waiting for Arthur to realize he left her behind.
As plausible as that is, deep down I know it’s wishful thinking. Arthur wouldn’t call me unless he thought it was serious. The city blurs past, a haze of gray and steel as I weave through traffic, ignoring the blaring horns and the red light I ran.
The thought of losing her hits me harder than I thought possible. I know she’s deep under my skin, but I hadn’t realized how deep. How important she is. How much I feel for her.
My phone buzzes in the cupholder, the sound cutting through the pounding in my head.
“Tell me you found her,” I demand.
The hands-free system activates, my car filling with Arthur’s words. “I’ve got her.”
Relief crashes into me so hard my vision blurs. I should pull over to get my shit together.
“Is she okay?”
“She’s shaken up, but okay,” Arthur says quickly. “Someone grabbed her but she ran. I’m taking her—”
“No, don’t move.”
Fuck getting my shit together.
Who put their hands on my girl?
“Stay there. I’m two minutes away.” I floor the gas.
The market comes into view, Arthur’s car at the curb. I slam the Jeep into park and jump out, my legs moving before my brain catches up. Arthur stands by the passenger door of his car, face ashen, eyes wide and fearful as he waves me over.
Bianca’s inside, knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around them. Her hair’s messy, cheeks streaked with tears, shoulders trembling. Not long ago this is what I wanted: her tears, her vulnerability. Real emotions. Now I’d give my right arm to remove her fear.
Her head snaps up at the sound of my footsteps. In a flash, she’s out of the car and in my arms, a powerful sob shaking her petite frame. I pull her close, my hands skimming over her arms, her back, her sides, checking for injuries.
“Shh, I’m here. It’s over.” I kiss her head. “Are you hurt? Talk to me, baby. Are you hurt?”
She shakes her head, face buried in my chest. “No. I’m not hurt, just... shaken up.”
That’s an understatement. She feels fragile, like she might break if I let go. Her hands fist my t-shirt. She shakes against me, her adrenaline rush giving way to shock.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper, holding her tighter. “You’re okay. You’re safe. Let’s get you home.”
33
Bianca
Ryder’s giving me time to gather my thoughts. At least I assume that’s what he’s doing while he skulks through the apartment with an air of impending doom, checking every lock, testing every window, rattling the door handles.
Arthur’s brewing us coffee, his back rigid, fear radiating off him in cool waves. He keeps stealing glances at Ryder, his face pale, every move jerky as if he expects he’ll pay with blood for letting me out of his sight.
