Page 122 of The Colour of Revenge

"How the fuck could she just disappear?" I snap, pacing the room and dragging my hands through my hair. It's already a mess from the thousand times I've pulled at it.

Enzo exhales hard, rubbing his temples. "He knew we'd try to find her. This was planned."

I whirl on him. "Planned? He had a fucking day!"

Enzo doesn't flinch. "You think this was last-minute? He was always going to take her. You just gave him an opening."

Silence slams into the room.

My stomach drops.

He's right.

Carina was never safe.

I just let myself believe she was.

"Fuck."

Like a gunshot in the room's dead silence, Kai slams his laptop shut. His jaw clenches, and frustration radiates off him in waves.

"There's nothing. No cameras, no witnesses, no chatter. It's like she vanished into thin air."

A sharp pain pulses in my skull as I press my fists into my temples. Three days. Three fucking days of hitting dead ends, of chasing ghosts. Every lead has dried up; every door slammed in our faces.

I can't breathe. The walls feel too close, the room suffocating.

"Damn it!"

I push to my feet, the chair scraping against the floor as I shove it back. Pacing. Moving. It's the only thing stopping me from breaking something—or someone.

"There has to be something. A slip-up. A mistake. Something." My voice is raw, edged with desperation.

Enzo watches me from his seat, his expression unreadable. "Men like him don't make mistakes."

I whirl on him, rage and helplessness a storm inside me. "Everyone makes mistakes."

His lips twitch—not a smirk, but close. "Not him."

A sick feeling coils in my stomach.

Kai leans forward, his fingers tapping a slow, deliberate rhythm against the table. When he speaks, his voice is quieter—but heavier.

"If he doesn't want us to find her, he'll put her somewhere we'd never think to look."

A chill creeps up my spine.

"Somewhere even she wouldn't know how to get out of.”

My pulse slams against my ribs.

I see her. Trapped. Alone. Her eyes are wide with fear. Her hands are raw from clawing at walls, her voice hoarse from screaming for help that will never come.

I grip the edge of the table, my knuckles white.

She's out there.

Somewhere.