134
I yanked the keys from my pocket and shoved them into his hand, my fingers grazing his knuckles which were warm, rough, and moist with sweat. His gunshot wound hadn’t healed. I’d seen the way he’d been favoring his left side, the stiffness in his movements, the way his fingers had trembled ever so slightly when he wiped the sweat off his forehead. He was hurt, and driving would only make it worse. But what choice did we have?
“Can you drive…?” I asked, hesitating just enough for the weight of my concern to slip through. My voice was louder than I intended, but that was only because I was trying to ignore the gnawing pit of worry in my gut.
Dominic’s eyes snapped to mine, his lips twitching at the corners in that infuriating way that always made me want to strangle him. A smug look settled over his face, all cocky amusement despite the sweat dampening his shirt.
“Sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low and edged with teasing. “I could be half-dead, blind in one eye, and missing a hand, and I’d still drive better than you.”
I wanted to smack the grin off his face. Instead, I shoved the keys harder into his palm. “Just don’t pass out at the wheel.”
He looked from me to the car, then back again, amusement flickering into something more calculating. “Where the hell did you get this?”
“I’ll tell you where,” I shot back, yanking open the passenger door. “Just get in.”
His jaw tightened, the teasing gone in an instant. He didn’t argue. He never did when it really mattered.
Adam was trembling, his face pale and tear-streaked. My chest clenched as I reached for the back door, shoving it open. “Get in, baby,” I whispered, my voice as soft as I could make it in the middle of my own unraveling.
He obeyed without question, scrambling onto the seat, his little fingers gripping the edges of the leather like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. The second he was inside, I slid in after him, slamming the door shut.
Dominic climbed into the front, hands gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.
I turned to the window, my breath catching as I scanned the crowd one last time.
Where the fuck was Tina?
My fingers dug into the leather seat, nails biting down hard enough that I half-expected to tear through it. My chest tightened, panic clawing its way up my throat. She should have been here. Running toward us, panting, bruised but alive. She was a fighter. A survivor. She wouldn’t just disappear. Not like this. So where the hell was she?
My eyes darted frantically over the crowd, scanning every face, every figure, my vision blurring from the speed of it. People moved like static, shifting shapes that never quite stayed still, and my pulse pounded as I tried to isolate her from the chaos.
Blonde. I needed blonde.
I spotted the first one near a vendor cart: a woman with hair like faded straw, streaked with copper at the roots, tucked messily into a loose bun. Too dark. Too unkempt. Not Tina.
A second blonde passed by, striding fast in knee-high boots, her waves dyed golden honey, glossy and thick. She was taller than Tina, curvier, a pair of sunglasses slipping down her nose as she scrolled through her phone. I squinted, my heart lurching…. but no. Not her.
Near the curb, a third woman stood waiting for a taxi, her hair bleached to a brittle yellow, chopped into a bob that curled under her chin. The color was all wrong. The texture, too. Tina’s hair was platinum. Soft. Silky. Almost white in the right lighting.
Another flash of blonde caught my attention: a girl laughing, tossing her hair over her shoulder, the strands catching the sun like gold thread. She was younger than Tina, her face too round, her smile too easy. My stomach twisted violently. Where was she?
Then, one more. My breath caught. This one was closest, walking fast, a hood pulled up, but the hair peeking out from underneath was light. Almost right. My pulse spiked as I leaned forward, pressing my fingers to the window. The woman turned slightly, just enough for me to see the sharpness of her jaw, the too-red lipstick staining her mouth. Not her.
Not fucking her.
The dread inside me hardened, thick and suffocating. My hands clenched into fists as I forced my eyes back to the crowd, my chest heaving. Where the fuck was Tina?
Dominic’s voice snapped me back to reality. “We need to go.”
“Wait.” My hand shot forward, tapping his shoulder. “Just wait. Five minutes.”
He exhaled sharply, frustrated, but he turned off the engine.
The silence was suffocating.
Outside, the cops were moving differently now. More focused. More aggressive. And then I saw why.
They had photos in their hands.
My stomach lurched violently.
They weren’t just scanning faces anymore. They were stopping people. Showing them pictures. I saw one officer holding up an image, his mouth moving fast as he questioned a woman pushing a stroller. Her eyes flicked over the photo, then up at the officer, then back again. She shook her head, confused.
Another officer was talking to the older man selling ice cream, gesturing wildly with his hands, describing something. Someone. My blood turned to ice when I saw the way he mimicked a child’s height. Then his hands moved up, gesturing about hair. A little boy.
Adam.
His adoptive parents must have reported him missing.
Oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The air in the car suddenly felt too thick, pressing down on me, squeezing my lungs.
Dominic’s hands were still clenched around the wheel, his jaw set in a hard line. His shoulders were tense, his chest rising and falling in deep, measured breaths, but I could see it—the barely-contained panic in the way his fingers twitched. The way his foot tapped anxiously against the floor.
I pressed a hand against my own chest, trying to steady my breathing. If I lost it now, it was over.
Outside, the cops were closing in, stopping more people. Asking more questions. They were describing Adam, down to the color of his fucking sneakers.
Five minutes. That’s all I’d asked for.
And it was already feeling like five minutes too long.
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
