Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 75107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Where my goddamn blood immediately ran cold.
Because Stephanie’s door was cracked.
I tried not to panic, to tell myself that maybe Andy and Sammy were just checking on her before going home, since she dipped out of the event without a word.
Trying to keep my mind from going to worst-case scenarios, I inched closer to the door, listening for the sound of voices.
There was nothing.
Except for the sounds of Christmas music coming from inside.
I reached for my gun, then pressed my arm into the door, pushing it open with a small groan.
What I saw inside had dread, cold and clammy, spreading through me.
Because I knew the scene of an altercation when I saw one.
An end table was overturned. A lamp had been knocked to the ground, the shade bent. A cup of tea had overturned and spilled across the coffee table. And, fuck, was that a streak of blood on the wall?
I moved forward, touching the tea, finding it still warm to the touch.
And, upon closer inspection, yeah, that was definitely blood. But it was impossible to know if it belonged to Steph or the bastard who’d broken into the sanctuary of her home.
Still, I stormed through her apartment, tearing open doors, looking for any signs of her.
There was a fresh towel on the towel holder. And folded pajamas on the counter.
Her heels were peeking out of the trash.
Like she’d been getting ready to take a hot shower.
But there was no sign of her.
“Fuck!” I snarled, standing dumbly in the center of her living room.
It was standing there that my phone buzzed in my pocket.
Thank fuck.
Help.
Backup.
Someone who could help me track Stephanie down and get her back safely.
But it was Steph’s name on my screen.
My gut cramped.
Because it would be a page right out of the kidnapper playbook to call from the victim’s phone.
I picked it up, ignoring the ice in my veins.
“Venezio!” Steph’s voice shrieked. My heart seized.
“Babe, put him—”
“Help,” she cut me off, her voice a choked cry.
“What’s going on?” I asked, hearing my phone ding, knowing the battery was draining.
“He came…”
“Where are you right now? I’m coming for you. Where are you?” I asked, running out of her apartment, slamming the door behind me.
“Central—”
My phone died.
“God damn it!” I yelled as I shoved my useless phone back into my pocket while I ran through the lobby of the apartment building.
I shoved open the front door, seeing fat snowflakes drifting wildly down from the sky.
Great.
Just what I needed.
Snow.
On top of everything else.
Thank God I’d rushed her on the phone.
Because while she didn’t get to fully tell me her location, there was only one Central that meant anything to someone in the city.
Central Park.
She was in Central Park.
While Central Park was over eight hundred acres, two and a half miles long and half a mile wide, I was back in my home turf.
I knew where she would have entered.
And she couldn’t have gotten very far.
I was going to find her.
And if it was the last fucking thing I did, I would get her safe.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Stephanie
The tears stayed in until the second I closed my apartment door and leaned against it.
Only then did the dam break, and the tears flooded relentlessly down my cheeks as a loud, embarrassingly pathetic sob escaped me.
Sure, I was in pain.
Yes, I was absolutely in shock.
But I knew it was neither of those things that made my heart feel like it was cracking clear down the middle.
Nope.
That was because of the man who’d just given me the best night of my life, the best sex of my life, only to tell me that—surprise!—he’d been using me all along.
“Dammit,” I grumbled, wiping my cheeks and forcing myself to stand up, to walk on aching, wobbly legs into my kitchen to brew some tea before I went into the bathroom.
I was almost afraid to free my aching feet from the heels. My soles burned all over with specific spots that felt like stabbing.
I was relieved to find no blood in them even as I tossed the blasted things right into the trash. Honestly, the gown might go in there too. The last thing I wanted was something to remember Venezio by.
I slid my aching feet into my slippers for some cushion, then made my way into my bedroom to fish out some pajamas for after a long, hot shower.
My moves were robotic as I pretended not to notice the tears that kept dripping down my cheeks. I’d just gotten a fresh towel out of the linen cabinet and placed it on the holder when I heard the buzzer.
I glanced up at myself, seeing the mess the tears had made of me, and quickly wiped them away before turning off the water.
I was only halfway through my living room, not sure what I was going to do if it was Venezio.