“Are you sure?” I ask, my jaw ticking viciously.
“Yeah. Why?” Victor straightens slightly at my tone.
“Because she’s not answering her phone.”
“Well, hate to break it to you, but not everyone whose fucking needs to be joined at the hip,” Riggs declares but I shake my head.
“I’ll check her place,” I mutter.
Turning, I make my way to my car. This crawling feeling that something is wrong starts to itch at my skin. It’s not exactly fear, more like urgency. The clock is ticking whether she wants to acknowledge it or not. We need to be at that church. We need to end this before it spirals.
The journey is quick, thank God. Before long I’m pulling up outside her flat, jumping out of my car and heading to her front door. Her flat is quiet when I unlock it and I step inside and close the door behind me.
It smells like her and her scent is soft enough to make a man forget he has blood on his hands. It clings to the air like sunlight caught in fabric, sweet but not childish, rich but not overpowering. The honey is deep and slow, like something left to thicken in the dark. The vanilla wraps around it, smooth and creamy, settling low in my lungs until breathing her in feels like sin.
“Fae?” I shout, hoping she will call back, but there’s nothing except my voice echoing around the room.
I check the living room, then the kitchen, then her bedroom. Every room is empty. I even go as far as to check Robyn’s; she sometimes likes to sit here and be cocooned in her memories. Sighing, I sit on the edge of Fae’s bed for a moment, my palms braced against my thighs. Too many things are flying through my head, too many moving parts.
Flopping back, I press my face into her quilt and breathe her in like it will give me answers. The internal clock ticks in my head with an incessant need. Pulling my phone out, I try her again. Voicemail. Giving up, I try Felix, but it just rings.
Where are you?
A cold thread winds through my chest, pulling tight, squeezing slow until my breath doesn’t sit right in my lungs. The world feels slightly off-centre, like the ground has tilted a fraction and only I can feel it.
It isn’t fear, yet. I refuse to name it that. But it’s no longer impatience either. She should be here and the fact she isn’t makes something primal start to rise. She wouldn’t just disappear when we have this hanging over us. Not today. Unless she’s being stubborn. Unless she’s decided to fix something herself.
I stand abruptly. This is wasting time.
When I get back, the house is louder. More of the boys have drifted in, along with more women. The air is thick with perfume, testosterone, and noise. It grates against my nerves.
Atlas’ girl, Iris, is at the bar. Victor is standing like a sentinel next to Hazel. Riggs has… is that Delilah? I do a double take and frown. Shaking it off because that’s not my business, I scan the room until my eyes land on him. Thank God. Felix sits on the sofa on his own, half-obscured by the bar.
“Where’s your sister?” I demand as I walk towards him.
“What?” He jolts his head up and frowns.
“Fae. Your fucking sister. Where is she?” I bark. His expression shifts from confusion to something sharper in a millisecond as he stands up.
“I haven’t seen her since Father’s place.”
The niggle grows in my gut as I grind my teeth and count to ten. Felix waits, watching me with intent.
“You haven’t spoken to her?”
“No. Why?”
“She’s not answering my calls. She’s not here. She’s not at home.”
“Roman—” Felix straightens, his body coiling with tension.
Before he can finish, the living room door opens and Atlas steps inside. He spares none of us a look and makes a beeline for Iris. I move immediately, blocking his path, forcing him to stop short.
“Where’s Fae?” I demand, he pauses as he takes in my expression.
“She said she was going to meet Quinn.”
That fucking bitch.