Page 57 of Phantom

“Oh…” That’s all I can come up with after Sol thoroughly demolishes Rand’s accusations.

Sol doesn’t seem to notice my silence as his phone lights up again. He pushes through a door that I hadn’t even realized was right in front of us.

“Wait here,” he whispers before slipping inside.

“They’re different than the rumors, you know.”

“Ah! Jesus.” My hand flies to my chest at the sound of Sabine’s voice behind me. “Scared me to death.”

“I get that a lot. But seriously, don’t believe everything you hear. The Bordeauxs are honest to a fault, so whatever youdohear, be sure to ask one of them first. I know I wish I had.” She mutters the last part, but I still manage to hear.

Sol reappears and grips my hand again. “Coast is clear.”

He leads me out of the dark corridor into a garage. A shiny, black Aston Martin is parked inside, and he rounds the trunk to open the passenger-side door for me.

“Get in, please, little muse.”

Something about the word please coming from this huge enforcer’s lips nearly makes me laugh, but I bite it back and slide into the car, waving goodbye to Sabine as I do.

Before he closes my door, I hear him call out to her. “We will be back shortly.”

He closes the door before I hear her respond and then the next moment he settles into the driver seat and presses the lift on the garage door remote, revealing the intersection of Toulouse and Bourbon on the other side.

It’s been a year since I let loose and partied on Bourbon Street. Now Jaime has to practically force me to leave my dorm. I can’t remember the last time I ventured into the chaos. Nausea churns my stomach at the thought of braving it again, but the feeling dissipates as Sol steers away from the parade of people in the road.

As if he knows what I’m thinking, he squeezes my hand.

“I’m sorry, little muse. But the good thing is you were diagnosed and you’ve been working hard on your treatment. It’s paid off. You’re getting stronger every day. Trust me.”

His words warm my chest until a parked cop car’s blue light shines in the rearview mirror. That, plus his words, flood my thoughts like a deluge, filling in the gaps of one of the many holes in my memory that I haven’t been able to access since that night.

Until now.

A dark-haired stranger with a mesmerizing gaze calls to me from outside the police SUV.

“I’m sorry, little muse.”

I blink back into the present and snatch my hand away from his.

“Wait a second… were you… were youtherethat night?”

The fact that I can’t see the expressive side of his face right now is frustrating as hell, but his tense posture tells me what I need to know.

“Scarlett, I can explain—”

“Oh my god, youwere! But that was only a week after I moved into the dorm. I hadn’t even heard you play yet. It was still jazz music and mania back then. Why were you there?”

He swallows before taking a right. “I’m the Phantom of the French Quarter. It was brought to my attention that you were sick—”

“By who?”

He shakes his head. “That doesn’t matter. My men are everywhere and one of them was concerned enough to involve me. I did my best to get you out of there before you got in trouble… but I failed.”

Those last three words fall between us like a boulder, crushing my chest.

“So, one of your men called and you tried to save me? From myself?” I swallow to get past the lump in my throat. “That’s… that’s it?”

He pauses to merge onto Basin Street before he answers. “That’s it.”