Chapter 50
Blood in the Water
I tore through her flat with a predator’s precision, making myself see. Half-empty glass by the bed. Cardigan over the sofa arm. The air was still warm like she’d just walked out,except she hadn’t. Not by choice. By the sink: the broken mug. Tiny flecks of blood on porcelain.
“She fought,” I muttered, jaw locking. “Good girl.”
Windows: front locked; back unlatched. Fire escape scuffed,fresh boot scrapes down the paint.
Photos. Texts to the crew.
“Pull traffic cams three blocks out, last two hours,” I barked into the phone. “Every plate, every bike, every unmarked van. Cross-check with enemies. Ten minutes.”
I dropped into the alley. Oil and piss stung my nose. Something purple glinted in grime.
Her hair tie. I pocketed it gently, like a promise, then flicked my lighter open and shut to keep from breaking the wall with my fist.
My phone buzzed. Grainy footage: dark SUV, 23:42, rolling away from her block.
Tinted. Plates ghosted. The kind of car you used when you didn’t want to be noticed.
Trace it, I typed. Now.
Rage and fear collided until breathing hurt. I stared at the empty alley where she should’ve been, at the rung she should’ve stepped down, at the life she should’ve walked back into.
“Hold on, Pen,” I said to the dark. “I’m coming.”
God help whoever touched her.
Because finding them would be mercy compared to what came next.
They took my soft .
I would answer hard.