Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 38307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 192(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 192(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
I think of Sin. The way he looked at me in the safe house kitchen, tired but steady. The way he kissed me like he hated himself for wanting it. The way his arms felt around me when I woke up, safe and warm, like nothing could hurt me. The way he said, Nobody touches you.
I swallow hard, throat thick. Maybe he’ll come. Maybe he’ll track us. Maybe Cal’s team will follow the lead. But hope feels thin out here, stretched over miles of darkness and corporate money. I’ve seen what money does. It buys silence. It buys lies. It buys time. It buys graves. And for the first time since this started, the fear isn’t just fear of dying.
It’s fear of never seeing him again. It’s fear of losing the one person who made me believe there might be an after.
I love him. The word sits heavy in my chest, shocking in its clarity. I love him, and I don’t even know what that means yet. I don’t know what we would have been when this ended. I don’t know if he would have stayed, or if his rules would have pushed him away.
But I could picture a life with him. Coffee in the morning. His quiet presence at my back. His smile that he pretends doesn’t exist. His hand on my waist as if he’s reminding me I’m real. I could picture it, and now it feels like a cruel joke.
They shove me toward the plane and I glance over my shoulder, hoping this won’t be it for me.
Sin, I think, fierce and desperate. Please be alive. Please be angry. And please come for me.
FIFTEEN
SIN
My lungs still burn from the gas. My ribs still ache where that boot caught me. My forearm throbs where the baton kissed bone. None of it matters. The only thing that matters is the empty space where Rowan was.
The parking lot behind the paper is quiet now, like nothing happened. Like a woman wasn’t dragged into a van and taken from me in the span of thirty seconds.
I get to my feet and force air into my chest. One breath. Two. Then I move. I sprint back through the service entrance, past toppled monitors and scattered papers, past the smell of smoke and panic that clings to the newsroom like a stain. My phone’s already in my hand.
I call Cal before I even hit the hallway.
He answers on the first ring. “Sin.”
“They took her,” I say.
No preamble. No extra words. Cal doesn’t need them. His voice goes sharp. “Where?”
“Her paper. Back lot. Van. Corporate team. Grant was on site.”
A beat of silence, then Cal’s tone drops into command. “You sure it was Grant.”
“I saw him. Heard him. He ordered it.”
“Copy,” Cal says. “Stay on the line. I’m pulling eyes.”
I jog toward the back door, scanning the lot through the glass. The street is empty. No headlights. No lingering silhouettes.
Cal’s voice continues, clipped and fast. “Describe the van.”
“Dark. Likely a rental or a fleet. No markings. Sliding side door.”
“Direction of travel.”
“Out of the back lot toward the service road,” I reply. “South gate.”
“Okay,” Cal says. I hear keys tapping, multiple voices in the background. “I’m waking the Boathouse. Stand by.”
I push outside again, cold air slicing my lungs. I move to the spot where the van peeled out and crouch, ignoring the pain. Gravel is scattered. Fresh tire tracks, deep enough to tell me they accelerated hard. They planned it. Grant doesn’t improvise. He executes.
Cal’s voice returns, crisp. “I’ve got a camera on the road two miles from the paper. Dark van, matches your description, passed four minutes ago. Heading toward the private airfield off Route 17.”
My blood turns to ice and fire at the same time. “Fuck.”
“We’re mobilizing,” Cal says. “I’ve got two teams rolling. I’m sending you a pin. You’re closest. Do not go in blind.”
I stand, already moving. “I’m going.”
“I know you are,” Cal replies. “Listen. The team is five minutes out from you. Meet them at the access road. We hit fast, we hit clean.”
My jaw tightens. “They’re putting her on a plane.”
“Yes,” Cal says. “Which means we have a timeline. You’re not doing this alone, Sinclair.”
I don’t answer, because if I do, the sound that comes out of me won’t be controlled. It’ll be rage. I end the call and run to the sedan. As I drive, the world narrows to headlights and road lines and one single thought that pounds with my heartbeat.
Rowan.
Her face flashes in my mind. Brown eyes. Sharp mouth. Brave spine. The way she looked at me when she finally stopped pretending she didn’t want me. The way she fell asleep in my arms like she believed I could hold the whole world back.
I grip the wheel hard enough that my knuckles whiten.
I love her. The words land in my chest with brutal clarity. Love is the thing I never let myself have. Love is the liability. Love is the reason men hesitate. But it’s also the reason I’m going to tear a runway apart with my bare hands if I have to. I take a turn onto the access road as Cal’s pin flashes on the GPS.