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No response.

“Hello! Cade’s hurt! Please can you send help—”

The line disconnects.

Shit

“The code, Luc-ciana,” Cade whispers.

Shit, I almost forgot. I tap in the numbers and hold my breath.

Nothing happens. Not a fucking thing. Instead, the screen goes black.

Oh God. No!I try to wake up the screen, or even restart the phone. Nothing.

“The battery died! Cade!”

His eyes are closed now.

“Cade, please, don’t do this!”

With a sob, I throw the phone on the floor and fumble for my own to dial 911.

“911, what’s your emergency?” The operator’s impersonal voice buzzes in my ear.

“M-My boyfriend . . .” I stammer, the word woefully inadequate for what he is. “He’s been stabbed, bleeding badly. We’re in San Diego, Cypress Ridge Drive. We need an ambulance now!”

“Ma’am, can you give me a house number or a landmark?”

I don’t know the house number. My voice rises, frantic. “It’s a mansion! It’s on a hill! There are palm trees . . . Can’t you track this phone!” My voice cracks. “Please just get here! He doesn’t have much time!”

I think the operator says help is on the way, but everything is starting to sound like I’m underwater. My mind blurs with panic and exhaustion. I glance around the room. Pristine walls now spattered with blood. Scar’s lifeless body on the floor. Saint lying down, still whining.

And Cade—eyes shut, chest barely moving.

I bend over him, tears streaming as I clutch his hand as tightly as I can. “Baby, I’ll marry you, I swear. We’ll make it work. Just don’t leave me. I can’t lose you . . .”

Cade’s eyes flutter open, and I can barely make out his faint, broken whisper. “You’re . . . going to be fine . . .”

“No, I’m not!” I choke out, clutching his hand tighter. “Not without you. Please, Cade, promise me you’ll hold on . . . for me. I love you.”

Suddenly, his phone flashes to life a few feet away. My jaw drops when I hear a cold, clipped voice through its speaker.

“Confirm emergency, Quinn?”

What?

I dive for the phone and press it to my ear, even though the speaker is somehow already activated. “Please!” I scream. “He’s been stabbed! We’re on Cypress—”

“I know where you are. ETA three minutes,” the voice barks before the line abruptly cuts off.

Three minutes. It seems impossibly long, but God, it’s all we’ve got. Whoever this person is, they’re our best chance.

The 911 operator is still droning on, asking me to do CPR or apply more pressure to the wounds, but I can barely focus. My trembling hand presses the blood-soaked shirt harder against Cade’s side. His breaths are shallow and wrong, his skin growing colder under my touch.

“Stay with me. Please stay with me.” The words spill out of me like a mantra, a prayer, my tears falling like rain. “Help is coming. Just hold on.”

Seconds stretch on like hours, until Saint suddenly lifts his head, ears pricking. Heart pounding anew, I scan the room and strain to listen for any sound—help or danger.