Chapter 20
chapter twenty
LUCKY
The silks are still swaying above me, there are scorch marks on the floor; my crew is spilling onto the stage like ants after a kicked anthill. I’m still standing in the crack of the curtain, staring at Willow’s empty seat. And behind me, I feel the eyes of six people who shouldn’t know I’m alive.
My family.
Holy shit. How does a life fall apart so fast? Twenty minutes ago, everything was fine. Fantastic. I was having the time of my life while performing, knowing the woman I love was watching.
And now?
I turn to face them.
They’re standing in the middle of the stage, frozen in disbelief. My father’s jaw is locked tight. My mother’s face is streaked with tears. My grandmother clutches her cane like she’s holding the earth together.
And my crew? They are fucking panicking.
The sound comes back all at once.
“Are you okay?”
“Lucky—holy shit, you fell—”
“Who the hell were those people?”
I can’t breathe through the noise. Everyone is talking all at once, and my brain cannot catch up to reality imploding.
I lift a hand, but they keep shouting, tugging at my arm, patting me down for injuries, crowding me.
“Get out.”
They don’t hear me.
“Go!” My voice cracks through the chaos like a whip. “Shade crew, I need you out. Now.”
They freeze. Marco. Juno. Shayla. All of them. I’ve never used that voice on them before—the one that doesn’t leave room for argument. If I had the space, I’d feel like an asshole. But I’m barely human right now.
Shayla blinks, looks between me and the strangers at the edge of the stage. “Kade, are you sure—?”
“I said out.”
Finally, they scatter, the shuffle of sneakers and headset cords retreating fast. Marco looks back at me once, concern staining every inch of his expression. But he, too, finally walks out. The door bangs shut, leaving the stage suddenly, horribly quiet.
It’s just me. And them.
It’s like a nightmare I can’t wake up from.
Marit, my mother, steps forward first. “Lucky?” she whispers. “I can’t… I can’t believe it. It’s… It’s really you.”
My throat tightens. I can’t move.
Uncle Henrik breaks first. “You faked your death?” His voice is raw, loud. “You let us think you were gone? You let us—”
“Henrik,” my mother attempts to smooth things, but he barrels on.
“Do you have any idea what that did to your parents? To the whole family?” he snaps.
“Yes,” I bark, meeting his eyes with a dark glare. “Do you have any idea what it took to push me to the point where I felt like I had no other option?”
Henrik shuts up.
My father, Anders, cuts in, gravel and steel. “Why, Lucky?”
I meet his eyes, my chest rising and falling hard as I try not to fall apart.
I meet those green eyes of his, the same ones he gave me.
I see hurt there. But I also see the same stubborn man who couldn’t see any other way in life other than the one of twisted crime and payments that were only ever made in cash.
Why?
Because I had to. Because staying meant I’d be dead in the streets before turning twenty-one. Because I was suffocating under everything they asked me to do. Because they asked me to sell livers at the back doors of funeral homes as though it was just another day at the office.
“Because it was the only way out,” I finally say.
“You didn’t listen when I said this wasn’t the life I wanted.
Because when I said I wanted out, you laughed and said I knew too much to ever leave.
Because when I wanted anything other than the life you lived, you accused me of abandoning the family and turned it into a guilt trip.
” I stand face to face with my father, watching him study me.
“The business, the debts, the blood—you were living and breathing it, Dad. Mom,” my eyes flash to her.
Then to my uncles, my aunt, Mormor. “And I was next. I had to get out before it killed me.”
My father’s face barely changes, but I see it—one flicker of guilt. Tears swim in Mom’s eyes, and dammit, I hate that I’ve made her sad, even if every word I said was the truth.
“We buried you,” she whispers through her emotions. “Or, we thought we did.”
“I know,” I say simply, my voice hoarse.
Henrik shakes his head, pacing like a caged animal. “Ten years, Lucky. Ten fucking years. You couldn’t have—”
“I couldn’t!” The words explode out of me. “You think I could just show up for Christmas dinner after what I did to walk away? You’d have dragged me right back into it!”
That stops him cold.
My father exhales, slow and heavy. “Lucky, we need to sort this out—”
“No,” I cut him off, chest tight, “Not now. Right now, I need you all to help me find Willow.”
“Who is Willow?” Mom asks, her attention peaking.
“The love of my damn life, and the dangerous maniac she was hunting just kidnapped her out of the fucking audience,” I snarl.
“Just now?” Aunt Vivi questions, her brows furrowing.
I nod. “She was here, watching the show tonight. And when you all caused a distraction with your dramatics, he took her.”
Maybe that was harsh. They didn’t know. But mercy isn’t something I’m feeling in abundance right now.
Mom and Dad look at each other, the whole family exchanging glances. It’s like they’re having a little telepathic conversation. Do we keep making Lucky feel like shit for our bad behavior, or do we help?
My father’s eyes sharpen as they snap back to me. “Took her where?”
“I don’t know.” My voice is barely a whisper, but the panic underneath it is loud. “That’s why I need your help. Right now. We can scream at each other later, you can interrogate me all you like later, but right now, Willow is in danger, and I need to find her.”
I’m breathing hard. My hands are shaking. I’m burning enough energy, I feel like I could race through the entirety of Las Vegas and search every home and business until I find Willow.
“Who is Willow to you?” Mormor asks, stepping forward. She fixes me with those slightly milky eyes of hers.
My chest feels like it’s caving in. “She’s my whole fucking heart,” I say in a whisper. “You understand that? The one thing that isn’t smoke and blood. If he hurts her, I swear—”
“You’ll tear the whole world apart,” Mormor says as she lays a wrinkled hand on my cheek.
I just nod.
“Then we help,” Dad says quietly.
I look at him, stunned.
“We’ll yell at you later,” he continues. “Right now, we find her.”
We move like a machine snapping back to life.
Dad takes command, barking orders in that clipped tone I grew up fearing. “Start talking. Everything you know about this man.”
Because I’m desperate, I tell them everything—about Phoenix’s clinic, his online videos, about what he really does behind closed doors at late hours.
I tell them what he did to Willow’s best friend.
How Willow’s been hunting him. I tell them about our confrontation in the middle of the night.
I give them addresses, habits, anything.
My brain’s a mess, but the details come out anyway.
And she hasn’t changed a bit since I last saw her a decade ago, my aunt Vivi writes everything down like a damn detective.
“We need to get eyes on that clinic,” Uncle Einar says as he takes the car keys from Mom. “And his house. You got pictures of both of them?”
“Of course,” I say as I dig out my phone. My heart is beating fast. Finally. Some action. I pull up my pictures and airdrop him ten different pictures of Willow in two seconds. Next, I screengrab three different pictures of Phoenix and send them along as well.
“Addresses,” Einar growls as he heads toward the door. “Send them. The ones you know, the ones you dig up. I’ll check every place.”
Dad shakes his head. “He won’t take her anywhere that would be your first guess. Too obvious. Doesn’t sound like this guy’s that stupid. But check anyway. Cover everything.”
Einar grunts an acknowledgement and walks out the door.
I don’t know why he’d ever think to bring it in here, considering they walked into the theater to watch my show, but Henrik produces a laptop from his backpack. In thirty seconds, his fingers are flying. “I can track property registrations—company holdings, shells, anything under aliases.”
And instantly, it’s like the old days.
The Torviks know what they’re doing. And they’re good at it.
It might have felt like it was wrecking my life back then, but I’ve never been so damn grateful for it as I am now.
Vivi slides next to Henrik, jotting notes. Mom grabs a water bottle and presses it into my hands, like hydration will fix the hole in my chest.
“He wouldn’t risk flying her out,” Dad mutters as he paces and rubs his hands together in thought. “Too much exposure.”
“Wouldn’t drive far either,” Henrik adds. “Gives too much of a chance for Willow to fight, and it sounds like she’s a fighter. He needs control. Somewhere close.”
“Somewhere private,” Mormor says with that scratchy voice.
“Lucky,” Mom says, hesitation in her words. “I have to ask it: would he hurt her?”
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
My heart goes off in my chest like Thor’s hammer against my ribs.
Would he hurt her? Yes. He already has. The real question is: would Phoenix kill Willow?
“He’s taken her,” I say as my pulse pounds in my ears. I stare at the floor, trying to keep myself from spinning off. “We’ve gone after him. He knows what this is now. So, yes, I think he would.”
Henrik curses and works faster.
Five minutes later, even though there’s no way he should have been able to get there in anything less than seven minutes, Einar’s call comes through to Dad’s phone.
“Mother fucker’s house is empty,” he breathes. “This guy’s a rich asshole, isn’t he? Likes leopard print.”
I actually chuckle at that. “I wouldn’t know about the leopard print, but yes,” I confirm.
“He isn’t here,” my uncle confirms. I hear his heavy footsteps as he walks through Phoenix’s house. “I’ll call you from his clinic.”
Except it’s empty too.
Willow’s tarot shop is locked.
And no one is home at Willow’s house.
Each one hits harder than the last.