Page 34 of Relapse

FOAMHOUSE FESTIVAL. ONE NIGHT ONLYLIVE DJs. BEACH STAGES. SUNRISE SETS

My stomach tightens instantly.

Of fucking course.

“That’s where she went,” I say flatly.

“What?”

I snatch the flyer off the table.

“The beach party.”

Silence crackles briefly through the speaker before Dagger swears quietly under his breath because he immediately realizes I’m right too.

I stare at the flyer for another second before my jaw tightens.

“Whatever she took last night’s probably wearing off by now,” I mutter.

Silence crackles through the speaker.

Then Dagger swears quietly because he immediately understands where I’m going with this too.

Blair doesn’t come down quietly.

She chases the next high before the last one even fully leaves her bloodstream.

And there’s no bigger supply tonight than the fucking beach party.

“She’ll be looking for another hit,” I say flatly, already heading toward my bedroom. “And where better to find one than a beach rave full of dealers and idiots with god complexes.”

Dagger goes quiet for half a second too long.

Because we both know the real problem isn’t Blair getting high.

It’s who she might buy from.

Dante’s people move product at those parties constantly. Pills. Cyanide. Coke. Whatever the crowd wants bad enough to ruin themselves over.

And if Blair walks up to the wrong fucking person tonight—

My stomach twists hard enough to feel violent.

“She can’t be there alone,” Dagger mutters.

“No shit.”

I grab a black shirt off the floor and yank it over my head while tension crackles heavier through the line now.

Still there.

Always there.

Because even underneath all the fear and panic surrounding Blair, there’s still us. Years of rivalry. Violence. Possessive bullshit neither of us bothers pretending doesn’t exist anymore.

And now he’s touched her again.

Fucked her again.