Chapter 18
Chapter eighteen
MICAH PRESCOTT
I lower the phone slowly, like it might explode and kill me instantly if I jerk my hand at all.
Blocked.
Of course, the asshole blocked me again.
“Goddammit, Jude,” I breathe. I knew he’d see our photo from the Gala. I figured he’d be angry at me for not giving up on him...but the fucker was enraged.
The back patio is dim with the usual cloud cover of an October afternoon in New York.
I remember when I first visited this city years ago, before Jude and Nolan and all this shit.
It was beautiful. I was an immature little shit, but I had a head full of dreams and ambitions. It was here where I first tried drugs.
And where I first overdosed a few years later. Then I met Nolan just months after that when he found me back in Chicago. Even if I was struggling with my demons, that small part of me still clung to hope that perhaps when I made it, I'd crawl out of the depressed pit I was in.
Nope. I just settled in alongside another damaged and beautiful soul. And now, I can't imagine my life without him.
Inside, through the sliding glass doors, I can see everyone crowded around the kitchen island, picking apart the takeout Rafe and Adela ordered. I can hear Heather’s laughter, slightly muffled but still full. That woman is going to be the death of me, I already know.
I sigh and check my watch. It’s lunch time here, so it’s likely near midnight in Moscow.
He sounded worse than I’ve ever heard him. Worse than during some of the harshest withdrawals. And even worse than the time he swore he didn’t care if he lived or died.
This was different. He’s panicking, realizing how fucking trapped he is.
I could feel the fear in his voice. I drag a hand down my face and inhale slowly, forcing oxygen into lungs that feel like they’re collapsing in on themselves.
I can’t tell the girls. It would only destroy them.
Emma already looks like she’s holding herself together with a goddamn paperclip and a prayer.
If Jude is serious, and Alexei said he would sell her—
No.
I shove the thought away. I straighten, schooling my expression into boredom. Then I slide my phone into my pocket and head back inside.
What are they doing to you, Jude?
The question loops in my skull. He’s scared. He’s angry. He’s confused and lost. And I’m terrified. I don’t want my best friend to die.
“Hey! Who was that?” Heather calls from the table, mid-bite of orange chicken. Her voice is light and carefree as always.
I force my shoulders to relax. “My mom,” I say easily, pulling out my chair. “Just checking in.”
Heather smiles at me, and my chest tightens so sharply it almost makes me wince. I hate lying to her and Emma. I sit down across from them, the scent of soy sauce and ginger suddenly overwhelming. Fuck, my stomach.
Rafe is arguing with Adela about something trivial. Heather reaches for another carton.
But Emma is looking at me, and one glance is all it takes. Her eyes search my face like she’s already sensing the shift in me. I grin and take a swig of my iced tea, willing the tight energy away. She can’t afford to doubt our ability to save him.
None of us can.
Rafe’s office door is half closed when I make my way there. I knock once, then push it open and step inside, closing it firmly behind me.
He looks up from behind his desk immediately, reading me in one glance. “What happened?”
I lean back against the door for a second, exhale through my nose. “He called.”
Rafe’s expression sharpens. “Jude?”
I nod.
“And?”
I cross the room and drop into the chair opposite him.
My forearms brace on my thighs, hands clasped tight enough to ache.
“He knows we’re here. He’s pissed. But that’s not the problem.
I knew he would be.” My jaw tightens. “Alexei told him he’d sell Emma if he found out we were trying to help him. ”
He doesn’t react at first. Then something flickers behind his eyes. Anger, grief...hard to tell. “Sell,” he repeats quietly.
“He said there’s a trafficker Alexei’s close with. Someone who’s already shown interest in Adriana, apparently.”
Rafe leans back slowly in his chair. His fingers lace together over his stomach.
He stares past me for a moment, like he’s looking at something that isn’t in this room.
“The skin trade in Russia is particularly brutal,” he says at last. His voice is even, but I see the tension in his jaw.
“It’s not just back alleys. It’s businessmen.
Politicians. Private islands. High-end auctions.
” He swallows once. “My darling wife saw some of that brutality firsthand when she was taken.” He winces slightly.
“Jesus,” I say. I can't imagine that beautiful and strong woman being victimized by any man. Hell, even I wouldn't every do anything to piss her off. “He sounded genuinely scared. I don’t think he’d lie about something like that.”
“No,” Rafe agrees. “He wouldn’t.”
Silence stretches for a few heavy moments.
I sigh. “I didn’t tell the girls.”
He studies me carefully. “Why?”
“Because it could derail them.” The words come fast now.
“Emma’s already barely holding it together.
She's putting up a strong front, or she really is starting to change. I don't know. But if she hears that there’s some sick bastard thinking about putting her on a fucking auction block, she won’t think strategically.
She’ll go nuclear. She’s the sweetest girl in the world, but I worry that she’ll lose her goddamn mind.
Love makes people do crazy things out of desperation. ”
“Love drives the strongest of men to their knees. It can turn us into beautiful creatures, but also, rabid fucking animals who would kill without thinking.” He pauses, keeping his ice-cold eyes on mine. “I would also be worried about their safety.”
“Yeah.” I scrub a hand over my face. “If traffickers are involved, this isn’t just about pulling Jude out anymore. It’s bigger.”
Rafe nods once. “You’re right. He’s entangled in something that requires strategy and trust to even have a chance at getting him out.” He stands, walks over to the cabinet behind his desk, and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. Two glasses follow. He pours without asking.
I take the glass when he hands it to me. The burn hits hard on the first swallow, settling in my chest. I don’t wince at it like I usually would, though. That’s how I can tell that it’s likely the most expensive fucking whiskey on the market.
“We keep going,” Rafe says. “I’ll do everything I can to keep Emma and Heather safe. You have my word.”
Some tension in my shoulders loosens at that. “Thank you,” I say.
He nods once, then studies me over the rim of his glass. “What was he like? Before all this.”
I huff a humorless breath. “Loud,” I say.
“Annoying as hell. He used to laugh at everything. He loved cheap beer that reminded him of home, and he’d get drunk and write songs while sitting on the living room floor.
” A faint smile tugs at my mouth. “He had this stupid hero complex. Always trying to help people. He was...good. Full of life and excited about living it.”
“And recently?”
I stare down into the amber swirl of whiskey.
“Quieter,” I admit. “Harder. He started looking at rooms we entered as if he were clocking exits rather than enjoying himself anywhere. Started sleeping less. Drank and used more. He still cared, but it was buried under…anger, I guess. Guilt. Shame. The list goes on, man.”
“Men like Alexei Morozov don’t just hurt you physically,” Rafe says quietly. “They reshape you. And knowing that Jude is being used like a hunting dog...I can tell you with confidence that Alexei is chipping away at his sense of self.”
I swallow hard. “I know.”
“And if Jude’s been under his control for any length of time…” Rafe trails off. He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t have to. I know that my best friend may come back different. He may not come back whole.
He may not come back at all.
I knock back the rest of the whiskey and set the glass down harder than necessary. “He thinks death is his only way out,” I say quietly.
Rafe’s gaze sharpens. “Did he say that?”
“He’s said it before.”
Another heavy silence settles in.
“Well,” Rafe says at last, voice steady, “then we make sure he has another one.”
I nod. Because that’s the only option.
I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling. Emma is to my right, snoring softly. Heather is curled into my left side, one hand resting lightly against my ribs. Jude’s voice keeps replaying.
What the fuck are you doing in New York?
The anger.
But worse than that, the fear underneath it.
He sounded like a scared, cornered animal, likely thinking that he’s already dead.
I swallow hard. The house is perfectly quiet at 1am.
Carefully, I slide out from between the girls.
Heather stirs slightly, but she doesn’t wake.
I stand there for a second, watching them both breathe.
I will not let anything happen to you.
I swear to whatever shit god exists that would even allow such cruelty in a world meant for beauty.
I slip into the bathroom and close the door gently behind me.
The mirror greets me with a version of myself I barely recognize.
Blonde hair’s a mess. Blue eyes filled with exhaustion. Jaw tight as fuck.
I grip the edge of the sink and lean forward. “You can’t give up on him,” I mutter to my reflection. "Ever. No matter what it takes."
A quiet creak behind me makes me straighten instantly. The door opens just enough for Heather to slip through. She closes it softly, and for a second, she just stands there. Her braid hangs loose over her shoulder, slightly undone from sleep. Her brown eyes are wide, searching my face.
“You okay?” she whispers.
I offer a sad attempt at a shrug. “Can’t sleep.”
She steps closer, reaching for my hands. “Is it something I can help with?”