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"I'll be the first to admit I'm an asshole. And it's my fault that she's gone, so let me handle it." The tone of my poorly concealed rage tells her there’s no use in arguing it any further. She steps aside but her cold eyes follow me out the door.
I glance around the driveway, holding onto a ridiculous hope that she simply stepped out for some fresh air. But there’s no one outside.
I call Dimitri first, but it goes straight to voicemail. I curse his name and rake my fingers through my hair as I try to figure out my next move. I don't turn to face Rhea when she walks up behind me. "Jovich hasn't seen her." Her voice wavers and nearly breaks. "He's headed back now and then he'll get us the security footage."
"From where?" I ask, turning around to face her.
"The front door." She shakes her head, confusion mixing with the irritation and worry on her face. "You're the one who told me to ask him for it."
"No, I mean where is Jovich coming from?"
"I don't know." There’s a pause as she considers my question, and then understanding seems to take root. "You don't think he's lying?"
Actually, that’s exactly what I think.
Jovich has been shifty the last week, and I've chocked it up to the circumstances surrounding my father's death. But it’s gotten stronger since I brought Rhea and Claire back with me. There’s no denying that Jovich knows something. He was cagey about the security footage this morning. He came to tell me in person about the charges listed against Claire without revealing any of the backstory, because he knew it would look bad, but I know well enough that he would dig into it before passing the information along. Now, Claire’s gone without a trace and Jovich has chosen this exact time to step out?
The lights slicing through the night alert me to the car speeding down the road. I turn to my sister and watch the confusion slip from her face as she considers what I’m suggesting.
"Get in the house and lock your door. Don't open it until I come get you. Not Elaine, not Jovich, me."
"Are you serious?" She shakes her head. "I have to help find Claire. I have to—"
"Go!" I yell.
I don't often take that tone with her. Rhea and I don't need to argue. We balance one another like dark and light, and usually our sibling squabbles amount to just the teasing variety. Occasionally we lose our temper with one another, just as she'd done when she accused me of chasing her best friend off. But to really yell at her? It’s something I've never done.
She doesn't fight me, turning on a dime and disappearing inside the house just as the car turns into the drive. I cross my arms as he slows, and when Jovich steps out of the car, he looks around questioningly. "What's going on? Rhea said Claire's missing?"
"Is she?" My voice is deceptively calm considering I’m raging inside.
Jovich pulls a face. "You know where she is?"
"Nah. But I think you do."
Jovich laughs, but it’s short-lived. When I don't join in, he realizes I’m serious. "What's going on, Remy?"
"You tell me." I step toward him. I have the advantage of height and bulk on a good day, but now my anger eclipses him. "Where is she?"
Jovich opens his mouth like he’s going to deny it, but then his lips turn to a grin. "What is so special about this whore? I mean, between you and your sister fawning over her, I'm starting to wonder what the big deal is. And I'm kind of bummed I didn't get a taste of that sweet cunt while I still could."
His words, his casual tone, are a trigger. I feel like I’m spring-loaded, barely holding it together. And once he speaks, that spring snaps. My hands find his throat and squeeze as I press him against the hood of the SUV. The headlights cast us in a haze that makes it hard to see anything beyond the insufferable quirk of his lips. I slam his head into the car, but the grizzled smirk doesn't slip from his face. "Where is she?" I growl, knocking his head again.
I let go just enough for him to catch his breath and answer me. A wheezing laugh claws its way through his throat and his lip curls deeper in amusement. "You should be grateful, Remington. Claire is settling your old man's debt."
Chapter twenty-seven
Claire
A hand whipping across my face wakes me up with a start, a cry on my lips and confusion making my head and eyes heavy. All of me is heavy, actually.
I struggle in vain to sit up, but I’m tied down. Literally.
I can feel the rope rubbing against my arms, digging into my skin, and manage to crane my neck enough to see that it’s wound around my stomach, my ankles, my thighs, my chest. Panic tries to bloom there, but it’s drowned out by the pounding in my head, like someone is using my skull as a drum set.
It takes a moment for the face hovering over me to come into view, and when it does, I can't figure out where I know it from. His dark hair is pulled back into a ponytail and his similarly dark eyes betray no warmth. In fact, the longer I look into them, the colder I feel. I try to turn away, to look at anything other than those soulless eyes, but he grabs my chin and angles my face toward him.
"Morning, sunshine." He says, grinning around a wad of tobacco in his mouth.
