Page 37

I ’m still floating on cloud nine when Santos pulls into the garage. My body is relaxed, my heart light, the afterglow of my conversation with Sammy lingering in my veins like a slow-burning fire.

He loves me. He loves me like crazy.

I know it in my bones. I feel it in the way he speaks to me, the way he takes care of me, the way he makes me feel like I belong entirely to him.

So, yeah. I’m feeling pretty damn good.

“Want me to get the door, ma’am?” Santos asks from the driver’s seat.

We’re already home. I didn’t even notice.

I hesitate, remembering how strongly I felt about this yesterday.

That strange discomfort of someone other than Sammy opening doors for me, stepping into the role of protector when I already have one.

I force a smile. “I got it. Thanks.”

I slip out, shutting the door behind me, and Santos dips his chin in acknowledgment before pulling away.

I’m not inside for two minutes when the intercom pings, and Benny, the gate guard, tells me Andrea is here.

“Already?” I murmur, glancing at the clock. She’s early.

“Okay, send her up to the house,” I say, shaking off my surprise.

I don’t waste time, heading upstairs to change. I swap my work clothes for black jeans and a soft, spring sweater in a bright shade of green.

The color makes my skin glow, and I absently smooth my hands down the fabric before I hear Andrea’s voice drifting from the foyer.

“I am so excited to show you this place! They have amazing appetizers, but dessert is my favorite. The owner’s wife has a chocolaterie next door, and they serve the most amazing tipsy treats you’ve ever had there!” Andrea announces, already making herself at home.

“Okay, just let me text Sammy,” I say, pulling out my phone.

“Sure. Just tell him we’re going to Sonny’s. He’s great friends with the owner.”

I nod, tapping out a quick text message.

Me

Hey Babe, Andrea’s here and we’re going to the Whiskey Bar for some boozy desserts. Just wanted to let you know.

His response is immediate.

Sammy

Babe?

My heart does a little stutter. I’ve never called him by a pet name before.

Me

Oh, do you not like that?

Sammy

No, I love it. Just surprised me. The Whiskey Bar? It’s a good place. I’ll call ahead. Sonny will take care of the two of you.

Me

You’re so good to me. Why are you so good?

Sammy

It’s easy to be good to you. You fill my heart and soul, Pixie. I love you like crazy.

Me

I love you too. See you tonight.

Sammy

Keep your phone on. I’ll be checking in.

Me

Okay. Be safe.

Sammy

Always.

I bite my bottom lip, staring at the messages like a lovesick fool. I don’t even realize I’m twirling my wedding ring, but then Andrea mentions it.

“Did I ever tell you how much I like that ring? Sammy has good taste,” my sister-in-law says.

“Thanks,” I reply and look down at the pretty light green gemstones inlaid in the platinum band.

God, this man.

He is really too much, but I’ll keep him just the same.

Andrea groans dramatically. “Oh my God, please stop mooning over my brother. It’s sickening.”

I snort and tuck my phone into my purse, giving her a smug grin.

“So, I guess you don’t want to have a real dickscussion with me then? No talking bedroom antics with you?” I tease, throwing out the term I’d heard somewhere in conversation—or maybe in one of the romance novels I devour.

Her eyes widen in horror.

“No! We are not talking about my brother’s eggplant emoji . No way. No how. Absolutely not ever.”

She’s making gagging noises, waving her hands in front of her face like she’s physically repelling the thought. I burst into hysterical laughter, grabbing my purse and following her to the front door.

But the second I open it, the laughter dies in my throat.

Santos is standing there.

Waiting.

“Oh hey, I was going to drive—” Andrea starts, but Santos cuts her off.

“Mr. Ramirez asked me to escort you ladies,” he says smoothly, his smile even, his posture relaxed. “So you don’t have to worry about parking or sticking to a one-drink rule.”

Andrea shrugs, distracted. “Yeah, my brother can be annoyingly right at times. Fine, you can drive.”

She’s checking her phone, half-paying attention, so she doesn’t see the way my shoulders stiffen.

Something feels off.

I can’t pinpoint why, but a strange unease curls around my spine.

Still, I shake it off and slide into the SUV after Andrea.

She’s busy typing away, her screen lighting up her face, while I absently play with the strap of my purse.

“Good news,” she says a few minutes later. “Shelly and Ono are in town at that Jamaican restaurant meeting his cousin, and they’re going to join us for dessert.”

I force a smile. “Ooh, okay.”

But my stomach twists.

The car is moving. The partition is up, blocking us from Santos.

And then— I feel it.

A wrongness.

A subtle, creeping danger curling its fingers around me.

Like my body is aware we’re not headed the right way before my brain can figure it out.

I look out the window and I frown.

I’ve never been to this place before, but when Andrea rattled off the name, I looked it up. Because I’m that girl.

The one who likes to understand things.

Because for so long I thought I was incapable of learning, of reading.

But I know better now. And my curiosity is great.

So yeah, I am the girl who likes to look things up.

The one who enjoys learning new things. Even if it’s just how to get to a bar from my new home.

So, when Andrea mentioned where we were going, I used one of the newest additions to ReadEase— my dev team’s latest prototype —a dyslexia-friendly maps app with high-contrast visuals and real-time voice navigation.

I mapped the route.

I know the way.

But this?

This is all wrong.

The streets outside are wrong.

The turns are wrong.

I may not know this city like the back of my hand, but I know how to get from my house to the main avenue—the one where the cutest little cafés and boutiques are clustered together like a postcard-perfect dream of New Jersey life.

This isn’t it.

This isn’t even close.

The car glides through dimly lit streets, each block more unfamiliar than the last, and a slow, suffocating sense of wrongness settles into my bones.

I grip the edge of my seat, fingers curling tight against the leather.

Andrea is still distracted, her attention locked on her phone, but I can’t ignore the alarm bells screaming in my head.

The partition between us and Santos is still up.

I reach for the control panel to lower it.

I press the button.

Nothing.

He turns onto a highway, and I start to panic.

I press the button again.

Still nothing.

My pulse pounds. My breath quickens.

“Hey! This isn’t the way,” I say, my voice coming out tight, edged with unease.

Andrea barely looks up. “Huh?”

“We’re going the wrong way.”

Her brows pinch, finally registering the tension in my voice. She flicks her gaze toward the window, eyes darting over the unfamiliar buildings outside.

He turns off the highway, but the suburban streets I expected aren’t there. We’re in some sort of industrial zone.

Huge chain link fences surround what I think could be factories and some look abandoned.

“I’m calling my brother,” she says.

But then Andrea’s cell phone screen flickers. She frowns.

“Damn. My phone just died. That’s weird—I had half a charge.”

A cold fist clenches around my spine.

My phone is still in my purse. I snatch it up, pressing the power button.

Dead.

No power. No bars.

The hairs at the nape of my neck prickle.

Something is wrong.

Very. Fucking. Wrong.

Andrea shifts beside me, her expression twisting in confusion, then concern. “Aella?”

She watches as I press my palms to the tinted window, leaning forward to see where the hell we are.

I don’t recognize the buildings.

I don’t recognize the streets.

A pressure builds in my chest, a heavy, suffocating weight that makes it harder to breathe.

“Santos? SANTOS!” I try, raising my voice, knocking twice on the glass.

He still doesn’t respond.

I knock again. Louder.

Still nothing.

A pulse of pure, ice-cold dread slams into me.

I slam my fists against the partition. “What the fuck is going on?”

Andrea sits up straighter, her fingers curling tight around her dead phone.

“Why isn’t he answering?” she murmurs, her voice tight, uncertain.

I don’t have an answer.

The vehicle speeds up.

My heartbeat hammers.

I try the door handle. Locked.

Panic is razor-sharp, slicing into my composure like a blade.

This isn’t some mistake.

This isn’t a wrong turn.

We’re being taken.

I look at Andrea— really look at her —and I see it.

The moment she understands.

The exact second her expression shifts from mild concern to outright fear.

Her throat bobs. Her fingers dig into her jeans.

Her eyes snap to mine.

This is real.

This is happening.

My stomach churns. My fingers curl into fists.

I don’t know where we’re going.

I don’t know who’s behind this.

For the first time in my life, I am truly, utterly terrified.