Page 132 of Broken Pact

My blood turns to ice. “Take care of her? What the fuck does that mean?”

She shakes her head, panic flashing across her face. “I don’t know! I swear, Jasper! He said he’d make sure she wouldn’t come between us anymore. That’s all I know! But we weren’t supposed to do it for another few weeks, but I just got so tired of waiting.”

A sharp whistle cuts through the air, and I turn to see Hawke standing at the edge of the dock, his expression blank. “What’s up, Jagger?”

I grab Naomi by the arm and march her over to Hawke. “Remember my half-sister?”

Hawke’s face pales a little as he looks from me to her. He squints, looking her up and down for a second. It wasn’t the kind of question that required this much thought from him.

“Naomi Bennet. I almost didn’t recognize you without your cowboy hat and denim jumpsuit,” Hawke says, his grin a slash across his face.

“You two know each other?” I look between them. Naomi averts my gaze, staring toward the water.

Hawke laughs, but it’s sharp and grating. “I should’ve known something was fucked-up when you asked me all those questions about being a Reaper. I thought you were thinkin’ of becoming a bunny. But I guess I was wrong.”

Naomi’s face drains of color as she looks between Hawke and me. “It’s not my fault. He wouldn’t talk to me,” she says, pointing a finger at me.

I shake my head in a futile attempt at clearing out her bullshit. “You know what? It doesn’t even fucking matter right now.”

Hawke’s eyes narrow as he looks at Naomi, and then back at me. “What’re you thinkin’?”

I shake my head, frustration boiling over. I push her toward Hawke. “She’s talking in circles, man, fucking nonsense too. You stay here and try to get the full story from her.”

He jerks his head in agreement, his hand circling Naomi’s bicep. “What about you?”

“I can’t just fucking sit here. I’m out,” I start, walking up the pathway to my house. “Call me if she says anything useful.”

“Where are you going, man?” Hawke yells.

“I’m going to bring my woman home,” I tell him, pitching my voice louder.

I pull out my phone and pull up the security app I installed, switching to view both her home and bakery. I’m praying like hell that there’s something, anything, that can give me a clue. But instead of seeing six squares of footage on my phone, it’s an error symbol.

Fucking maintenance. Again.

“I’m gonna fucking kill these motherfuckers,” I seethe, squeezing my phone hard enough to hurt. It’s on me because I should’ve changed companies when their servers went down, but I was swept up in Coraline. And it’s easier to be mad right now than give into my fear.

Time is ticking, and every second feels like it’s dragging Coraline further away from me. I practically sprint to my bike, ignoring the way Naomi’s voice pitches high as she yells for me to come back.

I swing my leg over my bike and settle onto the worn leather seat. The familiar roar of the engine rumbles through me as I turn the key, the vibrations traveling up my arms and rattling in my chest. With a twist of my wrist, I rev the throttle and peel out of the driveway in a spray of gravel. The tires grip the asphalt as I lean into the first turn, the wind whipping past me. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, sharpening my focus.

I hit every red light on the way to her bakery, my mind racing with all the worst-case scenarios. I stop myself before I fully spiral—I can’t let myself go there.

My girl is strong as hell. Stronger than she realizes. She’ll be alright.

And I’m going to find her, no matter what.

I pull up to Sugarplum Bakery, my tires screeching against the pavement as I brake hard. I'm off my bike in an instant, barely taking the time to kick down the stand before I'm striding toward the front door.

I try the handle, finding it locked, which is good.

I press my face to the glass, peering into the darkened interior. Everything looks normal, no signs of struggle or even her being here.

I exhale, my breath fogging the glass for a moment before dissipating. She's not here.

I step back from the door, my mind already shifting gears. If she's not at the bakery, there's only one other place she could be—home.

I swing my leg over my bike and fire up the engine again, the roar echoing off the quiet street. I speed through town, weaving between the evening traffic with single-minded focus.

---