Page 33 of Primal

My eyes never stop scanning the venue, never stop searching for the man who insists on ruining my life. “It has to be him, Yolanda. I can feel it.”

“Hello!” She knocks on my forehead like she’s knocking on a door—but gently, of course. I glare at her. “We’re at a fucking festival, babes. Any one of these people could have taken your phone. And, anyway, you can just get a new one.”

I shake my head furiously. “My locket was attached to it.”

“Kiara—”

I wave her off impatiently. “I know, I know. The chain broke, so I put it on a string and attached it to my phone to keep it close until I got it fixed. I wasn’t expecting my phone to get stolen, so it seemed like a good idea.”

Yolanda continues to stare at me like she can’t believe she’s friends with such an idiot. “Listen—something deep down is telling me you’re wrong. I can feel him here, Yolanda.”

Now she’s looking at me like I’ve lost my damn mind. “Maybe we should call it a day?—”

“No! We’re going to stay, and we’re going to have a good fucking time, even if it kills me.”

She rubs my arm and follows me as I march toward a different stage.

“Okay, if you say so…”

***

When this set is finally over, the sun is starting to go down. It’s so beautiful being down here by the beach, but I can’t enjoy it because I’m still fuming over my phone and locket being missing.

Suddenly, I gasp and grab Yolanda’s arm. “Yo!”

“What?!” she yells, alarmed.

I mutter out an apology before continuing, “I can use your phone to track my location. Why didn’t I think of that sooner?”

We look at each other for a moment, feeling so stupid. That’s one of the best features ever created.

Yolanda whips out her phone excitedly, ready to see where my phone is, when the smile on her face drops.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

She swallows and shows me the screen.

You thought you could get rid of me that easily, little butterfly?

“Oh, my God,” she whispers, dark brown eyes wide with fear. “You were right, Kiara.”

I don’t bother with an ‘I told you so’; I just snatch the phone out of her hand and type a reply.

Where the hell are you???

His text was sent twenty minutes ago; he could be anywhere by now. Yolanda grips my arm with her eyes glued to the screen as we wait for a reply.

Behind you.

We turn around and scan the area for him.

“I don’t even remember what he fucking looks like,” Yolanda hisses.

I’ll never forget.

I walk back in the direction we came from, eyes never leaving the sea of bodies, but I don’t see him.

Just tell me where you are, asshole. I’m sick of your shit.

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