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The bathroom is dark. Empty. I check downstairs, but she’s not there. She’s not by the pool and she’s not in the kitchen.
Something’s not fucking right.
I search the house, even going as far as to knock on Mila’s door and ask if she’s in there, but she’s not.
Slowly, a simmering poison seeps into my veins, but I settle it down because I don’t know where she could have gone yet.
I pull out my phone. No messages.
Mason: Where are you?
It’s when her phone lights up on the nightstand I fuckingknowshe’s gone.
I check the room again, thinking maybe I missed something, but there’s nothing. Just the cold darkness where she should be.
She was right fucking there. I held her in my arms while we went to sleep. She couldn’t have slipped out in the night. I would have woken up.
I was exhausted.
“Fuck.”
And then I spot it. A piece of paper tucked away in the bedsheets.
My hand shakes when I reach for it and when I see her elegant sprawling handwriting, it takes me a full minute to process what it even says.
This is me bleeding for you. I love you.
She’s gone.
She’s fucking gone.
“Fuck!”
I sweep the lamp from the bedside table and send it crashing into the wall beside the bed. My reflection in the mirror beside the bed seethes, overcome with violence. My fist shatters it inone hit, the tiny jagged pieces of glass raining down around my feet, but I don’t care.
It only takes a second until Logan appears at the door, his eyes glinting black in the night.
“She’s gone,” I rasp, my chest tightening to the point of pain. “She’s fucking gone.”
As if on cue, his phone buzzes in his hand and he pauses, his eyes narrowing on the screen.
“It’s three in the morning.”
He stops to listen to whoever is on the other end of the line and his expression darkens past recognition.
Logan’s eyes snap to mine.
“You’re sure?”
Dread washes over me. My control barely holding together by a thin thread.
Don’t fucking say it.
“Start tracing.” He hangs up the phone, his tone reserved. Wary. “The cartel has her.”
“Who?” My voice is calm. Quiet. Nothing like the nuclear meltdown bubbling to the surface in my veins.
Logan’s eyes go dark and he clears his throat. “Ian.”
