Page 35 of Addicted

She turned and walked to the door, pulling it open. Before she left, she looked back at me one more time.

“Tell her to call me when she gets back,” she said.

“I will.”

Aurora gave me one last look that was half worried, half pissed, then she walked out and slammed the door behind her.

I stood there in the silence, my heart pounding, my hands still clenched into fists. I walked over to the couch and sat down, dropping my head into my hands.

This was all my fault. All of it. If I hadn’t tried to sell drugs on Stone’s corner, none of this would’ve happened.

Indie would be here right now, cussing me out about something stupid, making dinner, telling me to do my homework. But instead, she was gone.

Trapped with a killer.

And I didn’t know if I’d ever see her again.

I thought about the way Stone had looked at her in that warehouse. The way he’d stared at her like she was something he wanted to own.

My stomach twisted.

What was he doing to her? Was he hurting her? Was he forcing himself on her?

The thought made me feel sick.

I’d wanted to be a man. Wanted to take care of myself. Wanted to stop being a burden on my sister. But all I’d done was put her in danger.

Now she was paying the price for my stupidity.

I sat there on the couch, staring at the wall, the weight of my guilt crushing me. I didn’t know how to fix this. Didn’t know how to get her back.

All I could do was wait, and hope that she’d come home soon.

Chapter 8

Stone

I gripped the steering wheel of my Bentley, the engine purring as I cruised through the streets toward Chrome. The city lights blurred past, neon signs reflecting off the black paint of my whip.

Three days.

I’d been gone from the crash pad for three fucking days now, holed up in some bougie hotel suite trying to get my head right. I was trying to create distance between me and Indie, but that shit wasn’t working.

I’d heard from the niggas I had stationed at the crash pad that she’d tried to escape twice. Both times they had to physically restrain her ass and drag her back inside. She was livid, cussing them out, throwing shit, acting like a caged animal.

And I ain’t been back to see her. Not once.

I told myself it was the smart move. That I needed space to think. To figure out what the fuck I was doing keeping her locked up like that. I should just let her go. I should just send her ass back home to her brother and forget about her. Move on with my life like she never existed.

But every time I thought about doing that, about releasing her, something in my chest tightened up. It was like my body was rejecting the idea before my mind could even process it.

I couldn’t let her go.

That shit was fucking with me in ways I ain’tnever experienced before.

I’d been in the game since I was twelve years old. Built my empire from the ground up with Kenzo by my side. I’d killed niggas, moved weight, made millions, and never once let a woman get under my skin. Women were temporary. Pussy was pussy. But Indie? Indie was different. It wasn’t just the sex. This was something else.

My grip tightened on the wheel.