Page 122 of Unleashed By Eden

Tension leaks out of my shoulders.

“Good,” Liam replies. “Because we’re not letting you hang this on her.”

Joel nods. “Our PR department will coordinate with yours on a unified statement.”

“As much as I’d love to sit here and keep rehashing this,” I interrupt, pushing my chair back, “I’ve got a plane to catch.”

Theo lets out a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes. “Fucking finally.”

Kai whoops, X barks out a laugh, and Chris just rolls his eyes like he’s babysitting a pack of twelve-year-olds.

I pull Liam into a hard hug. “Thanks.”

He thumps my back. “Anytime. You hurt my sister again, and I’ll break your legs.”

“Relax,” I mutter, pulling back. “I’d break my own legs before I put her through that again.”

We lock eyes. He believes me. Good. Because I fucking mean it.

I flick my fingers in a quick salute to Megan, Dave, Mika—then I’m moving.

My walk turns into a jog, then into a full sprint down the stairwell because waiting for the elevator will kill me. My boots hammer on the concrete, breath sawing in and out, adrenaline finally doing something useful.

I burst out into the foyer, shoulder through the revolving door, and into the street.

Fuck, it’s cold.

I left my coat upstairs. Doesn’t matter. I’d sprint through a blizzard naked if it got me to her faster.

Our SUVs are still out front. Security spots me and scrambles out to open the back door.

“Airport,” I say, diving in. “Now.”

He doesn’t flinch. He swings around the hood, jumps in, and the driver punches it. Horns blast as we lurch into traffic.

That’s more like it.

My bag’s already packed on the seat next to me, passport on top. My heart pounds, and for the first time since LA, I’m actually doing the one thing I’ve been crawling out of my skin to do. Nerves slither up my arms. I haven’t felt this wound up since I was a kid about to walk onstage.

I pull out my phone and hit Call on Vi’s name.

All I get is the automated voice again.

I hang up and fire off a text.

Me

Storm, I’m coming.

I keep it simple. I’ll have enough time to explain when I get there. She doesn’t need paragraphs. She needs me at her door.

A shop window blurs past on my right. “Pull over!” I bark.

The driver swerves us toward the curb, more horns blaring. I’m out before the car fully stops, security on my heels.

The place is small, crowded with shelves. I scan once, spot what I want, and grab it.

“Fifteen dollars,” the guy at the register says, dropping it into a paper bag. He finally looks up, and his jaw swings loose. “Wait. Are you—”