Page 130 of Made for Wilde

I open the tracker app on my phone, the one linked to the device I slipped into her purse just in case. It takes a second to load. The little blue circle spins.

Then the dot appears, blinking steadily.

She’s still at Fit Mountain Beauty School.

I stare at the screen and refresh it. The dot stays put.

That doesn’t make sense. It’s been hours.

My jaw clenches. I move back to the living room, eyes on the tracker. The location hasn’t changed. Not even a little.

A chill rolls down my spine.

Something’s wrong.

I’m about to hit her number again when the doorbell rings.

I cross to the door in three strides and yank it open, ready to bark at whoever’s there.

But it’s just Sarah, Charlotte’s friend. She’s standing on the porch, clutching a gold trophy with a little figure on top. She gives me a nervous smile.

“Hey, Koda,” she says. “Is Charlotte around?”

My brain takes a second to catch up. “No, sorry. She went down to the school to pick up her trophy.”

Sarah’s face shifts, confusion clouding her eyes. She glances down at the award in her hands.

“Oh. That’s actually why I stopped by—to bring Charlotte her trophy. This is hers.”

The words land wrong, heavy in my gut.

My stomach drops. “Have you talked to her today?”

“No, I haven’t.” Sarah shakes her head, then looks back up at me with a deepening frown. “That’s so weird, though. Why would she think her trophy was still at the school?”

One word slams into my mind with the force of a freight train.

Adrian.

His parents own the school. He has easy access to everything. Keys, alarm codes, the whole building. He could’ve called her, lured her there.

“Koda?” Sarah’s voice cuts through the fog. “What’s going on?”

I’m already moving past her, keys back in my hand.

“Call the police,” I tell her, my voice harder than I mean it to be. “Tell them to meet me at the beauty school. Now.”

“What? Why?” Sarah’s voice pitches higher. “Koda, what’s happening?”

I turn back, already halfway to the truck.

“Charlotte’s in danger.”

Sarah’s face goes white, but I’m already moving. I sprint to the truck and my ribs scream with every step, but I ignore the pain.

Nothing else matters. Charlotte is in danger, and I won’t let anyone fucking touch her.

I yank open the driver’s door and climb in, then shove the key in the ignition. The engine roars to life.