Page 103 of Unleashed

“Morgan?” Slade’s voice pulled me from my thoughts.

I blinked, looking up at him. “Huh?”

Slade’s voice broke through my thoughts, snapping me back to the present. “You were a million miles away.”

I blinked, offering him a quick smile. “Sorry, I was just thinking. What did you say?”

“I asked if you wanted to do anything today or just take it easy?”

“Take it easy.” I hesitated, the words tasting strange on my tongue. “Can we... watch television?”

He gave me a curious look. He knew, as well as I did, that I rarely used the TV for entertainment. My free time was spent ina book, working out, or with friends. Television never fit into the equation, except for the occasional morning or evening news.

Without a word, Slade grabbed the remote from the sleek, smoke-glass coffee table and handed it to me. His expression was unreadable, but I could sense the faint hint of skepticism in his silence. I flipped on the flat-screen across from the couch, letting the channels cycle through.

I paused on the news.

“The news?” Slade raised a brow, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Yeah. I’m curious.”

He cocked his head. “Curious about what?”

“Can I just watch the news?” I snapped, sharper than I intended.

Slade’s expression darkened. He stood up, the tension between us hanging in the air like a thick fog. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Have fun,” I muttered.

He pulled his shirt off with a huff, revealing the toned muscles of his back, and shot me a scowl before heading toward the bathroom. I barely registered his departure as I flipped through more news channels, the familiar hum of broadcasters filling the quiet apartment. But nothing about Michael. I scrolled again, flipping from one anchor to the next.

It was as if he never existed. Months ago, there had been a brief frenzy about his disappearance, but the news cycle had moved on, forgetting him in the way it forgets everything that doesn’t last more than 48 hours. A pit formed in my stomach, the gnawing ache of uncertainty. His family had to be devastated—how could they not be?

That’s when it hit me. Erika.

I snatched my phone off the coffee table and dialed her number.

A groggy voice answered. “This better be good,” Erika grumbled.

“Excuse me?” I frowned, thrown by her tone.

“It’s before noon, Morgan. You know I don’t wake up this early on a Sunday.”

I glanced at the clock. “Erika, it’s almost eleven. That’s hardly early.”

“It is for me. Lincoln took me out last night, and, well, one thing led to another...” She trailed off with a suggestive tone, leaving no doubt in my mind about what "another" meant.

I shivered, trying to shake off the unwelcome comparison between Lincoln and Michael. If they were anything alike, Erika was probably exhausted.

“Is he still there?” I asked, keeping my voice light.

“No,” she huffed. “The freak got up to go to the gym. Can you believe that? After last night, and again this morning, he still had the energy to work out.”

I smirked. “Sounds like an Elliott.”

“Why are you calling me, anyway?”

“Did Lincoln mention anything about Michael?”

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