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Brandon had clothes laid out for me. The staff moves like well-trained robots. The air's stale and lifeless. But forcing myself to cooperate is the only way to save Ethan. Maybe I could find a way to talk to Andres or one of Ethan's associates before this all goes wrong.
I drive across town to The Vault with nothing but my runaway thoughts.
Is Ethan still alive? Will I really have to marry Brandon again to save my son?
How did everything go wrong?
I told Ethan I trusted him. And I do. However, right now, it feels like I've sold my soul to the devil, and I’m heartbroken over it. But it'll all be worth it if I can save Ethan's life, even if I never see him again.
Breathing hard, I get out of the car and raise my head, trying to look as confident as possible. My heart starts hammering inside my chest at a mile a minute as I walk up to the club.
Let’s get this over with.
I'm so focused on rehearsing what I'll say that I almost miss the desolate feeling around me. I stop and look left and right then up at the looming building.
The Vault is a monolithic structure that feels more like a fortress than a club. Its entrance, usually alive with the electric pulse of music and laughter, stands eerily silent, the heavy door closed like a barrier to another world.
I'm alone on the sidewalk. The absence of the usual line of partygoers and the throb of bass makes the quiet all the more disconcerting. None of that is unusual at this time of the morning, but there are no guards.
I shouldn't be here alone.
I take a deep breath, trying to quell the rising panic. It's a cold morning, my breath fogs in front of me as I exhale. I wrap my arms around myself for warmth—or maybe protection.
I step forward, my hand trembling as it reaches for the door handle, but it doesn't budge when I pull. Locked.
Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be right now? But my stomach churns with unease. This is where Ethan planned to meet with Dexter's people. Something isn't right.
“Mr. Whitmore? Dexter? Anyone?” I pound on the door. My voice is stronger than I expected, ringing in the quiet street. No one answers except for the echo of my voice bouncing off the surrounding buildings.
Is this a message? A warning? Or something far worse—a trap?
I should call Andres or any of his associates. Come to think of it, I should have called them before coming here.
But they might be in just as much danger as I am. Besides, Brandon wouldn't hesitate to use them against me too.
I glance up, searching the building for surveillance cameras. There are none.
What kind of club doesn't have security cameras?
A club owned by Dexter Whitmore.
A vibration in my purse startles me, slicing through the silence like a warning shot. Heart racing, I fumble through the contents until my fingers close around the familiar shape of my phone.
I pull it out, and the screen displays a name that ignites a flicker of hope in the hollow of my chest.
I press the phone to my ear, my hope bubbling to the surface. My breath catches as I answer. “Ethan?”
“Yes, sweetheart. It's over, Kristine. It's over.” I exhale, holding on to his calm and reassuring voice like my anchor in a storm.
The world around me falls away for a moment, his words resonating with a promise of relief.
“Over? What do you mean?” My voice trembles, barely above a whisper. I lean against the cold wall for support.
“We've got them.”
“How?” is all I can manage to ask.
“Dexter buckled under the evidence we had against him. It's solid, Kristine, and he doesn’t really have a choice.”
