She’s literally texted me all fucking night.
She wouldn’t just stop. She’d answer my call.
Her last message to me was about how she needs a key to my house so I can come home and find her naked in my bed.
My survival instincts are strong, having kept me alive this long, and I don’t hesitate.
I call Ryder, who answers on the second ring. “What’s up?”
By the loud din of background noise and voices, he’s still at the party.
Without preamble, I bark out, “Where’s your sister? I can’t get ahold of her.”
Ryder laughs. “Jesus, you’re not going to be one of those guys, are you?”
When I speak, my voice is low and deadly. “I’m not fucking around. Where is Jessica?”
“Whoa. Chill out. What’s wrong?” He recognizes my tone, but he still thinks I’m overreacting.
Through gritted teeth, I say, “I have about a hundred text messages from her that all stop at precisely 9:08, and she’s not answering her phone. I want eyes on her. Now.”
There’s a pause over the line. “Okay, I know she’s here. Just let me find her.”
I wait, listening to the background noise of Ryder asking people where she is.
But I already know the answer.
She’s gone.
I can feel it in my bones.
In the way the dread crawls like spiders over my skin.
Something has happened to her.
Now I need to call on every ounce of my training and remain calm.
Ryder comes back on the line, and there’s no longer any hint of amusement in his voice. “I’m still looking, but she has to be here.”
“I’m on my way.” I hang up on him, flip on the sirens, and hightail it to Sam’s. The panic has me in its grip as I speed through the streets.
She’s gone.
She’s gone.
She’s gone.
What if I lose her? A fear I haven’t felt since the day my parents died in that accident washes over me. I can’t lose her.
I just fucking found her.
The rational part of my brain trained to process information and compartmentalize insists I slow down and get the facts before I jump to the worst-case scenario.
But I know.
The way I always know.
The way I’ve been conditioned my entire life to know.