Page 153 of Sinful Lord

I tell her how Tytus has treated me, how he said he cared for me, how I think I care for him—hell, how I think I more than just care for him.

Still, I don’t dare type the most dangerous of all four-letter words. Love. Instead, I just describe the feelings that made me think it in the first place.

Beneath it all is a plea. A plea to grant some level of mercy to the man who has given me so much.

If my family really does have Tytus, I might be his only hope. This email could be all that keeps him from death.

It’s my turn to protect him.

I do the best I can. I write until I can’t write anymore. And when I run out of steam, I write a little more.

I just want to see Tytus again.

By the time I’m finished, my heart is in my throat. But I don’t waste any time. There’s no hesitation left in me as I hit the return button and send the email hurling toward Roz.

It feels like I’ve hardly had a chance to recover from that outpour before I hear something that yanks my attention away from the computer.

… And towards the bedroom door.

“… Tytus?” I rasp.

The laptop shuts gently as I turn around in bed. For a second, nothing moves and I’m almost convinced I just imagined the sound.

Then, I hear it again.

In the distance, on the other side of the door, somewhere down the hall. A small commotion. Then a faint bang.

Without thinking, I stand up. But I don’t move forward.

My troubled thoughts return as I consider what could be out in the hallway.

Is Tytus home?

My heart starts to pound as I hear another bang. This one is slightly louder. It sounds like someone is opening or closing doors. I can’t tell which.

Either way, it doesn’t seem like something Tytus would do. This is his place, after all. He knows where everything is. He knows where I am.

Another bang makes me flinch.

Someone is searching the house.

The thought hits me like a freight train.

Could it be Rian? Maksim? Roz?

Am I being rescued?

I… I don’t know how to feel about that. Something’s off. But it could easily be in my own head.

When another bang nearly rattles the walls, I open my mouth. But I don’t call out. Not when I suddenly realize what feels so wrong.

No one is calling out for me.

If this was a rescue mission, if my brother or my uncle or my best friend were here, they would be shouting my name.

But all I hear is silence.

That is, until another door bangs open… or shut, I still can’t quite tell. All I’m sure about is that the sound is getting louder. And closer.