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Vanilla.
Smiling, I turn toward her. “Thank you. That was thoughtful.” I grip her hips and pull her small body toward mine, and she presses her chest against me. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m good, yeah, I’m okay,” she says, but her eyes give away her lies. She’s not okay, but she’s trying to be strong and not let it show that she’s afraid.
Afraid of not knowing what’s going to happen next.
I’d love nothing more than to take away all her worries, but I can’t, so instead, I’ll do what I can and try my best to provide her comfort.
“Let’s go. We need to get back on the road. We still have a long drive ahead of us,” I say, placing the gas cap back on.
Once the four of us are back inside the car, I pull out of the parking lot and head toward the freeway, driving farther away from the small town where Rachel and Olivia had been living for the past year.
As I drive, one question remains in my mind.
What’ll happen next?
twelve
KING
“How the fuckdid we lose them?” I shove my hands into my hair and tug at the roots, kicking the air as I pace back and forth inside the house that only hours ago contained Rachel Hollis.
Rowen came pounding on my hotel room door this morning, telling me we had to hurry and get to Rachel’s. The fucker was in such a rush that I couldn’t even enjoy the complimentary breakfast spread out downstairs. Hell, I barely had time to get dressed before he dragged me out of the room.
He’d been quiet during the drive to her house, refusing to speak or even look at me. I know my brother well enough to know that something is bothering him, but he won’t tell me what’s wrong. Instead of talking to me and telling me why he’s fuming, he’s shutting me out and holding his anger in.
“Fuck!” Rowen roars so loudly that it startles me. Her car is parked in the driveway, so we assumed she was home. We knocked for five minutes before I picked the lock and we discovered the place was empty.
They’re gone. Rachel is fucking gone. We lost the only chance we had to find out how she’s connected to my butterfly—not to mention why the unknown fucker wants her so badly. Now, we’re back to square one and have no fucking leads. No fucking information and nowhere to turn from here.
“Where the fuck could she have gone? Her car is outside.” I drop my hands to my sides, pacing around the living room. Still, Rowen remains silent.
Rolling my eyes, annoyed at his silent treatment, I search the house again, hoping to find a clue as to who Rachel Hollis is and where they could’ve gone.
The first room I enter is a child’s room. The twin bed in the middle of the room has a purple canopy over it, and the bedding is ruffled as if a child had been sleeping there and never made the bed. The closet door is wide open, and all that remains inside are empty hangers.
Inhaling to calm my nerves, I exhale slowly. “What the fuck?” I whisper to myself, still unable to believe this. Walking out of the child’s room, I visit the next room, which I’m assuming belongs to Rachel.
The queen bed is unmade, and the closet door is open and empty. Groaning, I sit on the edge of the bed and lean forward to rest my elbows on my knees. My head hangs between my shoulders, my focus falling to the wood floor.
Something under the bed catches my attention. Reaching down, I grab the item and pull it out from under the bed, revealing a photo album. It’s filled with photos of Rachel and the child. There are countless photos of who I assume is Olivia, as a baby, and a few through the years as well.
I continue flipping through the pages until I land on one photo that causes my breathing to stop and my heart to sink into my stomach. The photo is of my butterfly. Her long blonde hair is pulled onto the top of her head in a messy bun, and in her arms is a tiny baby wrapped in a pink blanket that she’s staring at lovingly.
Holy fuck.
Unable to breathe, I turn to the last page in the album and I’m met with a recent photo of Olivia. Her bright blue eyes stare back at me on the paper, her smile wide as she stares at the camera. I’ve seen those blue eyes before. I’d know them anywhere.
Olivia is the spitting image of my butterfly.
“Find anything?” Rowen asks, walking into the room, disturbing me from the newest revelation I’ve made. Unable to control my trembling hands, I hand the album to him.
“Look at this.” I flip toward the photo of Tate holding the baby, then flip toward the last page, where the most recent picture of Olivia has been placed.
“Oh my God,” he gasps, his eyes going as wide as saucers. “Olivia’s her daughter.”
“Did you know she had a baby?”
