Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Ozzy’s mouth brushes my hair. “Salem.”
My eyes open fully.
His voice is low. Careful. Like he’s choosing every word.
“Yeah?” I whisper.
He doesn’t answer right away. His hand flexes against my stomach, then stills. “I don’t want to lie to you,” he says quietly. “Ever.”
My heart stutters. Something cold creeps under my ribs. I shift, turning in his arms so I can see his face. In the dim light from the bedside lamp, Ozzy looks… carved out. Jaw tight. Eyes steady but too serious. My stomach drops. “Okay.”
He exhales slowly, like he’s bracing for impact. “I have some hard truths.”
I push myself up on my elbows, the sheet slipping down my shoulder. My skin prickles. “Hard truths about what?” My voice comes out smaller than I mean.
Ozzy sits up too, leaning back against the headboard. He reaches for my hand immediately, grounding me before he even starts. His fingers are warm and solid. “I talked to Dean,” he says.
I swallow. “Okay.”
Ozzy’s thumb strokes my knuckles once. “They looked into Carl.”
My throat tightens at the name. Carl is a word that tastes like cigarettes and cheap cologne and eyes that linger too long.
Ozzy watches my face. “And your mom.”
My breath catches. A tiny, stupid part of me—the part that’s still twelve years old and waiting for her to choose me—leans forward. Like maybe this will be good news. Like maybe she’s frantic and searching and crying and saying my name.
Ozzy’s voice turns softer. “They found them.”
My pulse lifts, hopeful and terrified. “Where?”
Ozzy’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t look away. “In the tropics,” he says. “On vacation.” The words don’t compute at first.
Vacation.
Tropics.
My mother.
Carl.
I blink hard. “What?”
Ozzy holds my gaze. “Luxury resort. Private bungalow. The kind of place that costs… a lot.”
My mind scrambles to catch up. My mother never has money. My mother complains about money like it’s a weather pattern. My mother asks me for twenty dollars like it’s oxygen. My mother going on vacation is so absurd it almost sounds funny— except Ozzy isn’t smiling.
My throat constricts. “No.”
Ozzy’s grip tightens on my hand. “Salem—”
“No,” I say again, sharper. “That doesn’t make sense. She can’t afford—”
“She’s affording it,” Ozzy says quietly. “And Carl’s with her.”
My chest goes hollow. I feel empty. Like the part of me that still hoped she might miss me just got scooped out with a spoon. I stare at Ozzy, waiting for him to tell me this is a mistake. Waiting for him to say, Sorry, wrong person. False lead. We got it wrong.
He doesn’t.
My lips part, but nothing comes out. My body feels oddly heavy, like gravity just doubled. “How…?” I whisper finally. “How is she there when… when I—” I can’t finish. Because the sentence is too humiliating. How is she drinking cocktails on a beach while I was being sold like I’m nothing?
Ozzy shifts closer. His free hand slides up my arm. “We don’t know how yet.”
I laugh once, sharp and ugly. “We do know how.”
Ozzy’s eyes harden. “Not fully.”
I shake my head, staring down at our tangled hands like they belong to someone else. “She didn’t even care I was gone.”
Ozzy’s voice goes low. “That’s not true.”
I look up, my eyes burning. “Isn’t it? If she cared, she’d be… I don’t know. Calling. Looking. Screaming. Something.” My voice breaks. “Not… tanning.”
Ozzy’s jaw clenches, anger flickering behind his eyes—but not at me. It’s focused on the world instead. He strokes my cheek with his knuckles. “I’m sorry.” The words land like a hand on an old bruise.
I blink fast, trying to keep my face from breaking. Because I hate crying. I hate giving anyone that satisfaction. But Ozzy isn’t anyone. Ozzy’s the only person who’s holds me like I matter.
My voice comes out hoarse. “So she’s just… fine.”
Ozzy inhales slowly. “She’s being watched.”
“Watched?” I echo, confused through the fog.
“Dean’s got people on them,” Ozzy says. “Following. Digging. Trying to figure out where the money came from and whether Carl has connections to the ring.”
My stomach turns. “So you think…” I start, but the thought is so vile I don’t want to say it out loud.
Ozzy’s eyes lock onto mine. “I think Carl might be involved.”
My skin goes cold. And suddenly the emptiness turns into something sharper. Rage. Because if Carl had anything to do with me being taken— if my mother let it happen— if she sold me— I don’t know what I’ll do. I don’t know what version of me will crawl out of that truth. I swallow hard. “There’s more, isn’t there?” I ask, because Ozzy’s face still looks like he’s carrying another blade.
Ozzy doesn’t deny it. He shifts. “Yeah.”
My pulse stutters. “Tell me.”
Ozzy’s hand tightens around mine again. “They traced the secure booking. The person who hired Maddox Security to rescue you.”
My breath catches. The person who paid for my rescue. My mind flicks to the idea I’ve been clinging to: Someone chose me. Even if I don’t know who.