Chapter 28
Lucien
The roar of the crowd is a physical thing—a wall of sound crashing against my back as I stand in the tunnel, watching my team run onto the court.
My muscles are primed, adrenaline already flooding my system before the first whistle.
Championship qualifiers. Everything we’ve worked for comes down to the next forty minutes.
I’m adjusting my wristband in the tunnel, the rest of the team already warming up, when a blur of dark hair slams into me like a fucking freight train.
“Jesus Christ, slow down.” I grab her shoulders to steady her, feeling her entire body tremble beneath my hands. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Seraphina,” she gasps, shoving her phone in my face. “Marcus—he took her—she’s not here—”
From the corner of my eye, I catch movement on the court. Cassian’s head snaps in our direction, his eyes locking onto my hands gripping Valentina’s shoulders. His entire body goes rigid, and I can practically feel the murderous energy radiating off him from here.
Fucking perfect. Like I need his territorial bullshit right now.
“Val, breathe and make sense,” I order, dropping my hands from her shoulders. “What about Seraphina?”
“Marcus is taking her somewhere that isn’t the game. She said she’s trapped in your car and can’t get out.”
“What? When?” I demand, snatching the phone from her hands. I see the missed call notification, the voicemail, and the frantic text messages.
“Ten minutes ago,” Valentina says. “I was already on my way here and I may have run the rest of the way so excuse the fuck out of me. I’m not known to participate in cardio in four-inch heels.”
I don’t wait to hear the rest. I’m already sprinting back down the tunnel, shoving past security and anyone else stupid enough to be in my way. The locker room door slams against the wall as I burst through it, making a beeline for my locker.
My phone. Where the fuck is my phone?
I tear through my gym bag, scattering shit everywhere until my fingers close around the sleek device.
I see my notifications from her stacked.
“Fuck, fuck, FUCK!”
The last location she shared was heading north on the highway, but that was fifteen minutes ago. When I pull up her location now, there’s nothing—just a spinning wheel that never resolves. Either she’s in a dead zone or someone’s turned off her location.
My own fucking driver. I trusted him with her and he betrays me. For who? My father, it has to be. It smells like something he would do.
I sprint through the halls, ignoring everything I’m leaving behind. The game, the championship, my fucking legacy on the court—none of it matters. All I can think about is Seraphina alone and terrified, thinking god knows what.
Tires squeal as I tear out of the parking lot, one hand on the wheel while the other pulls up my contact list.
I hit the call button for Damien Ortiz, the tech genius who helped set up all my security systems. The call goes straight to voicemail.
“Goddammit, pick up!” I try again while weaving through traffic at ninety miles an hour. Still nothing.
In a blind rage, I hurl my phone at the dashboard. It bounces off with a crack and disappears somewhere by my feet.
Goddamn, I need my fucking phone.
Keeping one hand on the wheel, I grope blindly around the floorboard, fingers searching for the device. My knuckles scrape against something hard—there it is. I grab it, cursing when I see the spider-webbed screen.
Still works though.
I scroll through my contacts, bypassing Ortiz this time. If he’s not answering, I need someone who will. Someone who owes me.
I hit call on Ramsey Blackwood’s number, drumming my fingers impatiently against the wheel as it rings. The Blackwoods and I have a complicated history at best. One, two, three rings...
“What, Devereux?” His voice comes through with a deep, annoyed sigh.
“I need a trace on a cell phone. Right fucking now.” I weave through traffic, pushing well past the speed limit. “Seraphina’s been taken.”
“Taken?” The boredom in his voice evaporates instantly. “Do you know by whom?”
“My driver. Marcus. She was heading north on the highway fifteen, maybe twenty minutes ago, but her location sharing is off now.”
“Give me her number.”
I hear him murmuring to someone but it’s mostly muffled. The only thing I can make out is that he needs to do something and then they can go to dinner. Something about a star but I need him to not be a fucking astrologist right now.
I rattle off Seraphina’s number, my knuckles white on the steering wheel as I cut across three lanes of traffic. Some asshole lays on his horn, and it takes everything in me to not ram his ass into the center divide.
“Give me two minutes,” Ramsey says. I hear rapid typing in the background, the click-clack of his keyboard is annoying just like his voice. “I’m hacking her phone and reenabling her location but hiding it so whoever has her doesn’t know it’s back on.”
“Hurry the fuck up,” I growl, taking a corner so fast my tires screech in protest.
“You know, most people would say please when asking for highly illegal favors,” Ramsey drawls, but his typing doesn’t slow. “Especially when I’m skipping dinner with my girlfriend to help your sorry ass.”
“I’ll buy you a fucking island if you find her in the next sixty seconds.”
He laughs, low and dark. “I don’t need your money, Devereux. But I’ll remember you owe me.”
More typing, a string of muttered curses, then: “Got her. Sending coordinates now. Looks like she’s at some property about forty minutes north of campus. Maybe an old lodge by the looks of the satellite image.”
My phone chirps with the incoming pin and I click on it to pull it up on my phone’s map just as the line goes dead before I can even respond.
I fucking hate the Blackwoods. The fucking lot of them are so uncouth, no goddamn manners.
The speedometer pushes past 110, but it’s still not fast enough. Every second feels like an eternity, my mind spinning through worst-case scenarios. The possibilities are endless, and each one makes my blood run hotter.
I slam my fist against the steering wheel. I should have had better security on her. Should have anticipated something like this after I humiliated my father in front of the council.
The further I drive, the more isolated it becomes. No houses, no streetlights, just dense forest and the occasional dirt road branching off into nowhere.
I follow the GPS as it leads me deeper into the woods, gravel crunching under my tires. The car bounces over potholes and uneven terrain, but I don’t slow down. Not when my sweet Little Sinner is waiting.
It’s not a lodge but a goddamn church. The structure is ancient, half-collapsed in places, with vines crawling up the stone walls like they’re trying to drag the whole building back into the earth.
Moonlight filters through the broken stained glass windows, casting eerie colored shadows across the overgrown grounds.
My car’s headlights illuminate the Bentley parked haphazardly near the entrance. Empty.
I kill the engine and step out, the silence of the woods pressing in around me. No birds, no insects. Just the sound of my own breathing and the distant rustle of leaves in the wind.
The massive wooden door hangs partially off its hinges. I push it open slowly, wincing at the loud creak that echoes through the night air. Inside is pitch black except for flickering candlelight coming from deeper within.
I slip inside, keeping to the shadows. The floorboards groan beneath my feet despite my attempts to move silently. The air smells of mold, dust, and something else—something metallic that makes my stomach clench.
Rows of broken pews line what was once a center aisle, now littered with debris and dead leaves. At the far end, where an altar would be, I see movement.
Seraphina is laid out on the massive slab of stone.
Her wrists and ankles are bound with thick rope, her body stretched out like a sacrifice. A piece of cloth is tied across her mouth, but her eyes are wide open and filled with fear when they lock onto mine.
A man stands with his back to me, blocking my view of part of her body. He’s wearing all black, his head bowed slightly as if in prayer. Not Marcus. Shorter, and kind of frumpy.
The man shifts his weight, turning slightly to adjust something on the altar, and my blood turns to fucking ice in my veins. Father Richards. That slimy, perverted piece of shit. His pudgy fingers are tracing patterns on Seraphina’s thigh.
I press myself against the wall, staying in the shadows as I assess the situation. Father Richards is muttering something, his hands moving in strange patterns above Seraphina’s body. She pulls against her restraints.
“The Chosen must be purified,” Richards says, his voice carrying through the empty church. “Cleansed of her sins before she can truly serve me.”
I inch closer, careful to avoid the debris scattered across the floor. There’s a knife beside Seraphina’s head—long, curved, and ceremonial-looking. My stomach lurches at the sight.
“Your beloved Lucien cannot save you,” Richards continues, completely unaware of my presence. “He’s too busy playing his little basketball game, chasing glory. I’m the only one who cares about you.”
The sick fuck is so wrapped up in his delusions he doesn’t hear me approach. He’s still ranting, sweat beading on his balding head, eyes wild with religious fervor as he raises the ceremonial knife above Seraphina’s body.
“The sin must be bled out,” he murmurs, lifting the ceremonial knife. The candlelight catches on the blade, illuminating the strange symbols etched into the metal. “I’ll purify you. Make you worthy again.”
Seraphina’s eyes find mine over his shoulder. She doesn’t scream, doesn’t give me away. My Little Sinner is smart.