Page 79 of Vance

Beckett isn’t wrong, not in the slightest. Three days after Sophia disappeared, desperate to find her, I thought about it. I sat in my office, with the phone in my hand, staring at a photo of Sophia and her sister, knowing how easily I could make one call and pull the funding that kept Kierra in school.

It would have worked. She would have come back. Or, at the very least, she would have called, probably willing to do whatever I commanded.

For one brief, ugly moment, I considered doing it. Then I imagined the look on Sophia’s face and what she’d think about me, knowing I was capable of hurting her so badly. And I couldn’t.

I used Kierra to threaten her, back her into a corner, and blackmail her into marrying me. But that was before… Now I can’t use the one person she loves most to hurt her, even if not doing it means watching her walk away from me forever.

Xander’s phone buzzes on the table, interrupting the silence. He glances at the screen, and his brow furrows slightly. “Excuse me,” he apologizes, sliding out of the booth. “I need to take this.”

He answers the call and walks briskly toward the unoccupied end of the bar, where it is quieter. Standing with his back to us, tension gathers in his shoulders with every second the conversation continues. I watch him, a strange premonition prickling at the back of my neck, trying to focus on my drink and the meaningless conversation my brothers have fallen into, but my eyes keep drifting back to Xander.

Something is wrong.

He ends the call and turns toward us. The moment he starts walking in our direction, something in his expression makes me straighten.

“What?” I blurt before he reaches the booth. My heart begins to pound as he approaches with a grim sort of satisfaction in his grin tempered by an unease I can’t quite place. “What is it?” I demand.

Xander slides back into the booth, his gaze finding mine. “I’ve finally found him,” he says quietly.

“Him who?”

“The cab driver,” he clarifies. “The one who picked up Sophia the night she left. I finally tracked him down.”

The world seems to narrow, the noise of the bar fading to a dull roar. My throat suddenly dry, I choke out, “And?”

“He remembers her,” Xander continues, his gaze steady on mine. “Said she was crying hysterically, wearing a nightgown, and she begged him to let her use his phone. He remembered the address she gave him because she kept repeating it, because she didn’t know where she was going until she called someone.”

“Text it to me,” I demand, already pushing out of the booth with my heart in my throat. I don’t wait for a response or bother to say goodbye to my brothers. My body is acting on pure instinct. Knowing where she is for the first time in weeks, I’m driven by the desperate, clawing need to bring my wife home.

The cool night air hits my face as I burst into the street. I fumble for my keys, stone-sober, but my hands unsteady with a volatile mix of anticipation and anger, as I walk toward my car, parked at the curb. I slide behind the wheel, and the engine roars to life before I peel away from the curb, the tires screeching in protest.

I drive across town at reckless speeds, weaving through traffic, running red lights, and snaking through busy intersections. I don’t know whether she’s still there, or if she was ever there. All I know is that I have an address, and right now, a few blocks are the only thing standing between me and Sophia.

The city lights blur into streaks of color outside my window, meaningless against the rush of thoughts pounding in my head. I want to see her. I need to know she’s safe. But beneath it all is the dark certainty that when I find her, I’m taking her home. Because my wife belongs with me.

The GPS announces my arrival as I pull up before a graystone, the elegant facade a stark contrast to the chaos raging inside me. Staring across the sidewalk at the building, I double-check the address against the one Xander texted me. Sophia doesn’t know anyone who could afford a place like this. At least, not anyone who isn’t connected to me.

Are you sure this is the right address?

His reply is almost instantaneous.

XANDER

Yes, that’s the one he gave.

I’ve been digging a little since you left. It belongs to a Connor Reid.

Connor Reid…

That name sounds familiar, but I can’t place it. I’m out of the car before I’ve even killed the engine, crossing the sidewalk and taking the front steps two at a time. I ring the doorbell, holding my thumb down until my finger aches. When there’s no answer, I press again repeatedly. I bang on the door with the heel of my hand, the sound echoing in the quiet entryway as my impatience grows exponentially. “Sophia!” I shout, pounding my fist against the door. “Open the damn door.”

No one answers, but the lights are on inside, and I can hear faint music coming from the other side of the door.

“Sophia, I know you’re in there.” I shout, rough with barely contained anger. “You’ve made your point. You’ve had your time. Now, open the fucking door and talk to me.”

I press my palm against the wood, forcing myself to breathe. Anger is easier. Anger gives me something to hold on to, something I can control. But beneath it is something far more frightening. Fear. She is mine. Not because I forced her into this marriage. Not because of a piece of paper or a promise she made under duress. But because, somewhere along the way, she became the woman I cannot imagine living without.

“Please, Sophia.” My voice drops, roughened by everything I refuse to say aloud. “Open the door.”