Shit.
Is Lyndall okay?
The scary man didn't seem to care that much about her, she seemed to be collateral damage, extra insurance, and all he has. And I've seen him.
He had to be mafia. Which would mean Lyndall's name should protect her.
Right?
Damn, I pray so.
I try to gulp down the lump that's growing, try to settle the burn in my chest and numbness in my extremities.
At first, when it became clear I couldn't catch the car withLyndall locked away in it, I thought everything in my world had crashed.
That Enzo's words were all true...someone was after me...
Only, I let them snatch his innocent little sister.
And then, as fear swept through me for Lyndall, for Alex, I called him.
But there is no Alex.
I hang on to that.
It makes the anger rise, and anger is more useful than fear.
There's no Alex.
Or...what if Enzo got him?
But...me being in Enzo's dad's townhouse? Alex encouraging me to sleep with Enzo?
No, Alex and Enzo are the same person, and it makes my anger flare higher and hotter.
"What the fuck, Enzo?" Cade says, his voice suddenly way too close. "This makes Cancun look like cake."
Cancun? What is he talking about?
Enzo growls. "Leave Cancun out of this. Okay?"
It must mean something. Big, ugly, highly illegal, I'm sure.
"You're the one who couldn't do things the right way."
"Pots and fucking kettles, Cade."
"Vi's not applicable," his friend snaps. "Let me check out my car, and you can tell me your plan."
The blood drains from me as they move off, bickering, but behind that bicker is something else. Stress, fear, concern, and from Enzo, a darkness I put down as anger.
Clearly, they're looking for me, for us, for clues.
Maybe he'll think we're both gone—taken.
But that's not why the blood drains.
If Cade is checking out his car, then the keys from the rental in my bag are useless.
