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I pause for one breath, just one. Her face flashes behind my eyes, and I remember exactly what’s at stake.

And just in case I needed another reminder, tiny hands rap on my bedroom door.

When I open it, Sable’s daughters stand there staring up at me.

“Is my mommy okay?”

I kneel, bringing myself to eye-level. “Your mommy got a little lost on her way to the lake,” I say softly. “I’m gonna go find her and bring her back.”

Kelice nods, but Rae’s eyes glitter with tears.

“Come here, baby girl. It’s okay.”

I hold my arms open and she runs into them, putting her little face in my shirt like I’m the only thing in the world keeping her safe. I guess, right now, I am. And I don’t take that lightly.

My phone pings.

I grab my phone out of my back pocket and check the camera.

It’s Ebony.

I hit the button to open the gate, then I stand, taking Rae with me. I grab Kelice’s hand and head down the hall. “That’s your auntie,” I say.

When I open the door, Ebony looks shellshocked. She immediately reaches for Rae and holds her tight, mouthing, “Where’s Sable?” over her head.

I usher everyone inside and into the living room. It’s quiet until Rae finally pops her head up. Ebony wipes her face, then stares at me, waiting for an explanation I can’t give right now.

I incline my head, and she follows me into the kitchen.

“Brett took her.”

Ebony frowns. “What does that mean?”

“He kidnapped her. I’m going to get her, and I need you to sit with the girls until I get back.”

“But—“

“Every minute is crucial,” I say. “I have to go. Right now.”

“Fine.”

She looks at me with disgust, and I know she wonders why I didn’t keep her sister safe. But the clock is ticking. No time for explanations.

I can’t lose her.

39

Sable

My head throbs inslow, punishing pulses. I can’t seem to get my right eye to stay open no matter how hard I try. I think my nose is bleeding. Maybe it’s snot. I can’t tell.

My wrists are raw where the ropes have dug into them. I taste blood in my mouth. I can’t tell how long I’ve been down here in this basement—our basement. The one I decorated myself. The place where our girls played after school.

Brett sits across from me on an old stool. He hasn’t said a word in a while. He just stares at me, gun resting on his knee, as if watching me scared and in pain brings him peace.

“Can I use the bathroom?” I ask, throat dry and cracking.

He doesn’t answer.