“Shit… my bad, I—” I shake my head, failing to find the words. “Listen, I’ve gotta go. Something’s come up.”
“Something’s come up? We’re in the middle of dinner!”
“It’s my fault. I’m an asshole, I know.” I’ve already stood up, pulling out my wallet and tossing a stack of hundreds on the table. More than enough to cover the meal, the tip,anda car home for her. “We’ll do this again sometime.”
“Killian, wait?—”
But I’ve turned and started for the door. My mind’s elsewhere, entrenched in the fury that’s quickly taking over.
I’m going to explode on Jhene Prince when I find her.
…ifI find her.
I take a taxi from Manhattan to Brooklyn that feels like it takes a fucking eternity.
I spend the whole time with my knee bouncing, jaw clenched, and eyes glued to my phone as I scroll through thesecurity footage over and over again. Watching Jhene grab her backpack and walk out the door, then the studio sit empty for the past hour while I was busy listening to Bridget gush about celebrities and Axolotl Darlings.
I should’ve known. I should’ve fucking known she’d pull something like this.
The girl basically told me to my face she’d do what she wants. She practically announced she was going to run, and I was stupid enough to think my warning would be enough to keep her in line.
If she really has run, she’s in a world of fucking trouble.
She’s in a world of fucking trouble even if she hasn’t run—if she’s been taken, it’s actually so much worse.
The cab screeches to a halt in front of my building, and I throw a wad of cash at the driver without counting it. I’m out the door before he can say a word, taking the front steps two at a time.
But I don’t go upstairs. Not yet.
Instead, I pound on the door to the ground floor apartment where my landlady, Ms. Pileggi, lives. She’s a seventy-eight-year-old widow who spends most of her waking hours parked in front of her living room window, watching the comings and goings of everyone in the building like it’s her own personal soap opera. If anyone saw Jhene leave, it’s her.
The door cracks open, and a wrinkled face peers out at me, her gray hair in curlers and a ratty housecoat wrapped around her frail frame.
“Mr. Killian?” She blinks up at me, clearly surprised by my aggressive knocking. “Is everything alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“The girl,” I growl impatiently. “The one who’s been staying with me. Small, Black, curly hair, big glasses. Did you see her leave?”
Ms. Pileggi’s eyes light up with the gleam of a woman wholives for gossip. “Oh, yes! The cute little thing with the glasses. I saw her leave about an hour ago. Seemed like she was in quite a hurry.” She tilts her head, studying me with open curiosity. “Is she your girlfriend? She’s very pretty. A little skinny, maybe, but?—”
“Which way did she go?”
“Excuse me?”
“Which way?” I repeat rudely. “When she left the building. Did you see which direction she went?”
“Oh, um...” My landlady furrows her brow, thinking for a moment. “Left, I believe. Yes, she turned left down the street. I remember because I thought it was odd, since most people turn right toward the main road, but she?—”
I pivot on my heel and take off before she finishes the rest of her sentence.
Left from my building leads to one place: the rundown subway station a few blocks down. If Jhene was trying to disappear, that’s where she’d go.
Hop on a train, get lost in the city, vanish into the crowd.
It’s exactly what I’d do if I were a stubborn, reckless girl with a death wish and no sense of self-preservation.
My shoes pound the pavement as I sprint down the street, dodging pedestrians and ignoring the honking horns of cars I cut off at crosswalks. The summer night’s air is warm against my face, sweat quickly beading onto my back the more I run. Not that it matters.
All I can think about is finding her before somebody else does.
