Page 88 of Deadly Blooms (Psychic Unraveled #1)

THREE INCHES FROM A BODY BAG

Graham

Eighty pounds chained to my waist. Pull, hold. Drop. Repeat. The bar creaked with every lift, like it was getting sick of me too.

My music was too loud. Just me, Ozzy Osbourne, Metallica, and whatever other rage-filled classics made it to the playlist I’d made to work out my frustrations.

Told myself this was about focus, so I shut out the world. Silenced my phone and tossed it in the pile with my jacket and shirt.

The truth? I didn’t want to see her name light up, or her gorgeous face appear.

Didn’t want to want it.

Not after the bank. Not after that fucking look she gave me.

I had a lot of shit to process, and my dick could only take so much.

What the fuck was I supposed to say to her? She cursed men into fucking her. That’s what she said, right?

It didn’t matter that they wanted to.

Look at her?—

It didn’t take a goddamn spell to wreck me.

Or so she claimed.

Another pull. Hold it—let it burn?—

Goddamn it.

I trusted her.

Let myself get wrapped around her finger.

Let myself feel.

Let myself get soft.

I dropped but still held the bar, my muscles stung. Not from working out, but from holding back.

I’d been at this for half an hour already. My mind should have forgotten her, like it did with any other girl I threw away. So much for music and muscle fixing shit.

Another pull. Another hold. Another drop.

Again. And again.

Pull—Hold?—

Maggie didn’t fill the hole Bec and Wren left in my heart, but she sure as hell filled the space around it. And now I’d thrown it away, like I always did.

“Fuck!”

A shadow shifted across the wall.

Someone was there.

Still hanging, I twisted to look?—

It was Derek.

“Ten more, then I’ll strap you on, princess.” I said, pretending I didn’t almost start sobbing.

He didn’t laugh.

“Why the fuck isn’t your phone on?” he barked.

I pumped out three more pull ups, “Didn’t wanna talk.”

“Maggie’s gone.”

I dropped onto the mat. The weight clanged down with a thud that echoed in my chest.

My eyes traced the corner of the mat, and I rested my hands on my hips, waiting for my breathing to regulate.

“What the fuck do you mean—gone?” I finally spoke, yanking the strap free and letting it hit the floor.

Derek’s voice cracked. “We were in the attic. Chester freaked out—growled like something was coming for us.”

Then I finally looked at him.

He was pale. Sweat dripping like he’d been the one doing pull-ups with a death wish.

“Maggie let him outside. I saw her from the attic window. She followed him. He bolted into the woods.”

“And you didn’t go with her ?” I growled, stepping in, my heart rate picking up again.

“I tried,” he rubbed the back of his neck, eyes not meeting mine. “By the time I got outside, she was already deep in the trees. Chester passed me on his way back… but she wasn’t with him.”

My stomach knotted. My fists clenched.

Goddamn it. Not again.

“I got to the property line, and—” he pulled something from his pocket, “found this.”

Maggie’s phone.

Teal case, chipped edges, moss wedged between the plastic and the screen.

The front was shattered—no, smashed. Someone did this on purpose. She didn’t drop this. This was a fucking message from her captor.

I snatched it, shoved it straight into my pocket without hesitation, I was already halfway outside, grabbing my shit on the way.

“Go back to the manor,” I reached for the truck door, my heart pounding in my throat, the same sensation flooding my veins as the night I found Bec. “I’ll meet you there.”

“Where are you going?” he asked.

I met his eyes but didn’t blink, “The precinct.”

I started the engine and backed out, gravel flew like shrapnel.

That was the fastest I’d ever made it to the station. The steering wheel gripped tight in my fist. Flashes of her blurred my vision, and I realized I’d made a huge mistake by driving away.

If I were going to find her, I’d need a crew. One that had access without any red tape or the need of a hacker. Ten’d be good. Twenty’d be better.

The truck slid to a stop in front of the precinct. I yanked my T-shirt on mid-stride as I stormed inside.

Shell looked up from her desk when she heard the door swing open, hitting the doorstop with force. Surprised it didn’t shatter with how hard I pulled.

“What the fuck, Shell—Maggie’s missing.”

Shell stood startled, her face had the same look it did when she told me about my girls. “Graham, I?—”

I dropped into her seat, logged into the system, and pulled up Jamie’s file. I needed proof the little shitbag was gone—first flight out, time-stamped, witnessed. Anything.

But before I could click it open, Nettles yanked me up by the arm.

“Locke,” he barked. “Don’t let me catch you in this building again until your suspension is over. Do I make myself clear?”

I rose slowly, hands on the desk begging to flip the whole thing over. Rage climbed my spine like fire licking bone. I towered over him. Three inches wasn’t much, but fury added height.

“Maggie’s missing,” I breathed. “You let that little pissant go.”

Nettles sneered. “Give it some time, Locke. She’s probably just giving him one for the road.”

My vision snapped red.

“The fuck did you just say?”

I stepped in close. My teeth ground together. I stared him down. Everything inside begged for release. One punch—that’s all it’d take. I could’ve ended him right there.

“You want to file a missing persons?” He asked, like he was offering me a fucking latte.

“Do I want—” I choked on it. Oh, God. This was it. This was how I’d end up with a life sentence. Because I was going to kill him.

I shoved past in a wake of rage, slamming the door behind me. “This whole goddamn precinct is a fucking joke!”

Wasted time. All of it. Thought I could cut through red tape because she was actually in danger. Thought someone would give a damn.

Nope.

Protocol first. Innocent lives dead second. The way it had always been.

I pulled out my phone and dialed.

The line clicked.

“You at the manor?” I asked before Derek could even answer.

“Yeah, just got?—”

“—Get into the precinct’s system. Make sure that that Jamie asshole made his flight. I’ve got a stop to make.”

Click.

Maggie said she didn’t think Jamie’d hurt her. So if it wasn’t Jamie… it was Portia.

It had to be. She was the only thread left.

I reached into the glove box, pulled out my sidearm, and strapped it to my thigh.

Then, floored it back to Crescent Cove.

Past the Bird Sanctuary. Past home. Past every goddamn billionaire mansion with their gates and garden statues, until I hit hers.

I left two perfect black skid marks on her immaculate driveway.

Didn’t shut the truck off. Didn’t even glance back. Just pounded on the door with my fist hard enough to rattle the hinges.

Her driver—butler—whatever the fuck he was, opened it.

I pushed past.

Portia sat on the couch, cigarette in hand, smirking like she hadn’t just crossed every line I swore to protect.

“Well, Officer Locke.” She blew smoke to the side. “What a pleasant surprise. Whatever do I owe this visit?”

I didn’t answer. Just moved, practically clawing through her home. Searching. Hoping

Room by room. First floor. Basement. Second floor. Bedrooms. Bathrooms. Closets. Nothing.

Fuck.

Then the garage.

I searched until I found it.

There—

On the wall.

The tire iron.

I snatched it.

Didn’t give a shit about fingerprints or chain of custody.

No blood. No hair. No visible trace.

But I’d bet my badge if forensics got a hold of it, they’d find something connecting her.

“Open your trunks,” I commanded, turning to face them.

But to my surprise Nettles, Shell, and Sheffield stared back at me.

Nettles raised his hands. “Alright, Locke. You’ve got my attention. What’s this about?”

I should’ve known she’d call them. Classic misdirection. Call the cops when you’re the problem.

“Maggie is missing,” I snapped. “And this bitch took her.”

Portia laughed, and I wanted to strangle that smug, delicate laugh right out of her.

“Why on earth…” she said, all sunshine and hundred-dollar bills, “would I take that poor sweet girl?”

“Because she knows everything.” I stepped forward, fire in my throat.

“She knows about this tire iron. She knows about Morty. About Carmen. About your little plans for Silas’s money. She knows about Belvedere. ”

Portia didn’t blink, but her face changed. “Officer Locke, I have no idea what you are talking about.”

I got in her face. “The fuck you don’t.”

A hand clamped my shoulder.

I didn’t think. I just turned and swung—my fist cracked against Nettles’ jaw.

Then, in an instant, all there was was a searing pain.

Four pinpricks and a jolt that stole my breath.

Electricity flooded my limbs. I dropped, teeth clenched so hard I thought they’d crumble, I was paralyzed, muscles seized up tight, unable to say anything except let out a growl like a fucking feral badger caught in a leg trap.

“Stay down, Locke,” Sheffield ordered, and fuck him—I could hear how much he enjoyed it. The voltage stopped, but I didn’t move. Not right away. It seemed like it took a goddamn lifetime for my body to stop vibrating.

I knew the drill. Obey the systems. Let the boot press down.

“Sorry, Graham,” Shell said softly as she cuffed me. Then helped me up like we were old friends. But old friends didn’t help take you down. Old friends would’ve been on the ground next to you.

Portia opened the garage door.

And with Shell on one side, and Sheffield on the other, I was marched out like a rabid dog they’d hunted for months.

Fucking detained.