Page 103 of Forgotten Sacrifice

“Be careful,” my brother says, all joking gone.

I nod. “Have me ready to go two salads with extra ranch and two club sandwiches with fries.”

“Since when do you like ranch?” Aldo raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t start with me.”

I make the drive across town to an oil and lube shop, parking next to the bettor who ghosted me all those weeks back. Odds are he thinks I’ve forgotten about him; I’m here to remind him I haven’t.

My phone buzzes, and I grab it. “Coach D’Agostino.”

“Where’s Luna?” he asks.

“What do you mean?” I ask, panic bubbling in my chest. “I dropped her off at the library a little before nine.”

“She’s not here.”

“Call you back.” I hang up, calling my brother. “Do you have your girlfriend’s number?”

“Slow down there, big brother. Who said anything about a girlfriend?”

“This is serious,” I snap. “Luna’s missing. Do you have Bridget’s number?”

“Yes.”

“Ask her if she knows where Luna is.”

“Call you right back.”

I grab my baseball bat, stepping out of my vehicle. Hopping on the hood of my bettor’s car, I swing for the fences, over and over, connecting with the windshield with a satisfyingcrunch. A nice hole forming, I switch my grip. Holding the barrel, I slam the handle through the hole, busting it up until there’s no longer a windshield.

I hop down and take swings at the side mirrors, crushing them to bits.

“Hey!” My bettor runs out, only to turn right back around and hustle inside.

Getting to work on the driver’s side window, my phone buzzes, and I grab it from my pocket. “Bridget hasn’t talked to her. She called Luna, but it went to voicemail.”

“I’ll call you later.”

I hang up and call Fabio. “Luna’s gone,” I say in a rush.

“What do you mean gone?”

What do I mean gone?Away. Absent. Departed. Fucking gone!Taking a deep breath, I explain, “I mean I dropped her off at chess practice, and she must’ve doubled back and is trying to run from me.”

“Send me her picture and the address where you last saw her. I’m putting all of our men and every police contact we have on this. When we find Luna, either you put the fear of God in her, or I will,” my boss warns.

My nostrils flare. “Not a problem.”

Chapter

Thirty-Nine

Luna

“Looks great,” I tell the tattoo artist, examining the new ink on my wrist. A dainty queen chess piece with a crown, perpendicular to my self-harm scars.

I step out of the tattoo parlor and continue my stroll down the boardwalk, lifting my bandage to take another peek. If I get the urge to cut, I’ll look at this tattoo and remember I’m a queen in this game of kings.