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Me: Abi.
Her shoulders hunched at the new alert.
I scrubbed my hand over my jaw, feeling the scruff that I would need to shave so I didn’t scratch her delicate skin.
Me: Talk to me.
Nothing.
Me: Please.
She didn’t move.
Hitting connect, I watched the screen light up, her ring echoing through each of the cameras in her room. It continued for fifteen seconds before I was transferred to voice mail. I disconnected and immediately called her again. And then again.
Each time, I could see her resolve breaking a little more. She rolled onto her back. I called again, willing her to pick up.
“Damn it!” she muttered. Grabbing the phone off the pillow, she stared at it in her hand. “Be strong, Abi. He obviously didn’t want you around last night. He got what he wanted.”
What. The. Fuck.
I was already on my feet, my keys in hand. My call was abruptly cut off and went to voice mail. Growling, I got into my car and hit the garage door opener. All the way to campus, I tried calling her, but I didn’t have my feed for the cameras up on my other phone, so I didn’t know what she was doing each time I called.
Once I was parked near her dorm, I got out, but I immediately stopped when I remembered Samara. Turning away from the street, I kept my phone to my ear as I stomped around to the back entrance to Abi’s dorm.
I’d forgotten my glasses. Hiding in plain sight with only slight alterations worked well. I’d been doing it for decades. Most people didn’t look past the glasses the majority of the time. But if someone knew who they were looking for, that was a different story. Like my sister. Who was already sneaking around, putting up cameras to watch over her new best friend.
It was easy enough to confuse me with my younger half brother at a distance. I was two inches shorter but thicker in the shoulders. We were both copy/paste versions of our father, with only a little of our mothers thrown in.
Ryan spent most of his time behind a desk these days, running both the Vitucci family’s legit and not-so-savory business holdings. He ruled everything in the underworld from New York to Chicago to California, with Vegas tossed in for shits and giggles. My little brother was a feared man.
Unlike me.
Most people didn’t believe in ghosts, and that was how I wanted to keep it. It scared the fuck out of them so much more when they realized ghosts did exist.
Reaching the stairwell that would take me up to Abi’s room, I tried calling her again.
“What?”
Hearing her voice, I put a hand on the wall to steady myself. “Why are you angry with me?”
“I’m not,” she huffed.
“Do not lie to me, Abi,” I bit out. “You wouldn’t answer my calls. Ignored my texts. Tell me why you are angry.”
“I don’t know why you think I’m angry, Professor, but I’m not.”
Had I thought she was adorable? Fuck that. She was maddening. But still sweet. Shit. Her voice was soft as she taunted me. Professor. I was pissed at her for lying to me, but my cock was hard enough to pound nails.
Still having some blood supply to my brain, I pulled out one of my extra phones.
“Why didn’t you answer my calls?” I gritted out as I typed one-handed.
Samara needed more than a few lessons if I could hack her feed in less than ten seconds. She was too confident in some of her skills, although admittedly above reproach in others. My kid sister was a serial killer the Feds had no clue existed. She was scary as fuck when her crazy got tested.
Yet, I still preferred her over our brother.
Which said so much about my biological family.
