Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 63055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
“Fuck.” I stride into her aunt’s house, not even apologizing for the bad language. I pull out my phone, as if it might magically have messages from Sloane on it now, and my hand shakes as I hold it.
“She didn’t come home last night? Not at all since Saturday?”
“No. I’ve already called the police. They won’t do an amber alert because she’s over eighteen. I don’t know—they don’t seem to be taking it that seriously.” Her aunt’s voice breaks again.
I walk in and pace the small living room, eating it up with my long strides. “She was with me until yesterday afternoon, and then she left.” I stop and run my hand through my hair.
Something bad has happened.
Something really bad.
And while it’s not my story to tell, I can’t keep her aunt in the dark any more about Sloane’s problems.
“She’s in some trouble,” I manage to say. “Let’s sit down. I’ll tell you what I know.”
Sloane’s aunt drops onto the couch, and Rikki sits beside her. I sit on the edge of an armchair and start to tell the story. I get to the part about following her to Naco when I leap to my feet and whip my phone out. “I put a tracking app on her phone. Fates, maybe it’s still on. Please let it still be on.” My thumb skims across the screen on my phone, opening the app. I suck in a harsh breath when I see the bubble with her name.
“Michigan. She’s in Michigan.”
“Do you think she went to see this mafia guy?”
The room swoops around me. “Or they took her back there. They seemed to believe she had their stuff. Like she was hiding it or had already cashed it out something. I guess she threw away her dad’s letters without opening them, so we’ll never know if he told her before he died.”
Sloane’s aunt’s mouth opens, her eyes wide. “The letters!” She suddenly surges up to her feet. “She never opened them! I would find them in her garbage, unopened, and I pulled them out and saved them. I kept thinking one of these days she’d be ready or need closure and want to know what was in those letters. I tried to bring it up when he died, but she literally got up and walked away from me any time I mentioned him.”
“So you still have them?”
She leaves the room without answering and returns with five envelopes. Rikki, Aunt Jennifer and I each begin tearing them open and skimming.
“I think I found it,” Jennifer says, her voice rising as she reads, If anything happens to me, check the storage locker 2238 at the EZ Storage by your old middle school. The key is on the ring with your bike lock.
“I’ll get the key!” Rikki jumps up and runs out of the room to the garage.
“I’m going to Michigan,” I declare. “Sloane is there, and she needs my help.” I pull the wad of cash out of my back pocket and thrust it at Jennifer. “But I don’t have a credit card. Would you book me a flight?”
“I’m going, too,” she says.
She’s an adult, but the alpha in me has to overrule. “Nope. No way. Sloane didn’t want you and Rikki involved.”
“She’s my niece. And you’re just a kid,” she says indignantly, although she has to look up—way up—to meet my eyes.
I shake my head. “I’m eighteen, and I can handle myself.” I thrust the money Sloane left for me at her.
She sighs and walks past me, not taking the money. “You won’t be able to rent a car!” she calls over her shoulder as she heads down the hall.
“I’ll figure something out.”
Rikki reappears with the keys. “Here they are.” She hands them to me.
“Bo? Get in here,” Jennifer calls from the kitchen, and I follow her in. “I need your full name. And put your phone number in my phone right now—and your mother’s. And I’m going to require hourly updates.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She looks over her shoulder with a wobbly smile. “I’m glad Sloane has someone like you, Bo.”
Her words fortify the rod that runs down the very center of me. Like she’s speaking to my very purpose in life.
Hell, maybe it is. If only Sloane would let me.
Sloane
I wake up in a dim room—a warehouse, maybe—because there’s concrete under my feet and lots of space overhead. I’m tied to a chair and my head hurts so badly I can’t think.
“Hello, Sloane.” A familiar smooth voice says. A salt-and-pepper haired man in an expensive suit appears in front of me. Mafia don. I missed when he got there.
I blink, trying to bring him into focus.
“You haven’t delivered on your promise.” He strokes my cheek with the back of my fingers and chills run down my spine.
My heart hammers in my chest. “I-I just need a little more time. I thought I had another week or two. I’m still working on it.”