Page 1 of Wild Angel

Chapter One

Savage

Savage…I need you.

Ineedyou.

Nyx’s words play on repeat through my mind as I race through downtown Orlando in my black Expedition. Vito is in the passenger seat, and it speaks volumes that he isn’t criticizing my driving, or asking questions about where we’re going. He’s silent, trying to smoke a cigarette while holding onto the roof handle like it’s a lifeline.

It might just be. I’m driving like a lunatic.

But I shouldn’t have bothered. I could have taken an hour to get to Nyx’s decrepit Happy Earth motel.

She’s not there.

Room twelve’s door is closed but unlocked when we arrive. The stink of stale blood hits my nose as soon as I step inside.

I flick on the lights. Dawn is still hours away, and despite the pool of light falling in from outside, the room is too dark to make out anything but the vague, blocky outlines of furniture. But despite the gloom, I already know we’re the only two people in here.

“She’s not here.” My voice sounds hollow, and it’s not just the empty walls in this place to blame.

Vito walks deeper into the room.

Surprisingly, the motel’s rooms aren’t as shitty as the exterior. At least, this one isn’t. The furniture is in one piece—if scratched, dented, and chipped. It looks clean…except for the bed.

“Fuck,” Vito mutters, pressing the back of his hand against his nose. It’s all theatrics—he’s as used to the smell as I am. I suppose he wants me to start telling him just what the fuck is going on.

I’d fucking love to… but I have no clue.

Vito holds up a mannequin’s head, one eyebrow perking up as he studies the holes where eyes should have been, the blood-caked hair.

“I guess it’s better than actual heads,” he mutters, dropping the mannequin before dusting his hands on the sides of his sweats.

My call hauled him out of bed midway through fucking one of his sluts. If I hadn’t impressed on him how urgent this was, he’d be dressed in a suit again. But it looks like he threw on whatever was lying on the floor—in this case, dark sweats, a rumpled undershirt, and a lavender hoody that’s too tight on him.

I could have come here alone, but I had no idea what I was walking into. Nyx’s phone was off every time I tried to call her back.

I’m wearing the same stale, sweaty clothes as before. A torn, bloodstained T-shirt, my leather jacket—now ripped at one elbow—and my dusty, grimy jeans.

“Check at reception. See if they know anything,” I tell Vito as I start going through the room. Opening drawers, checking Nyx’s sisters’ backpacks.

There’s only one of them, which doesn’t make sense. I send my mind back to the day I saw Nyx’s sisters on the balcony, walking toward this room. Both wore backpacks. One pink, one blue.

Athena’s is missing.

I empty Phoebe’s pink backpack onto the desk and rummage through her things. Textbooks, notes, half a granola bar, deodorant, tampons, and some lip gloss.

The rest of the room is much of the same. There’s a small stack of plastic-wrapped notes above one of the ceiling boards in the bathroom. Less than a thousand bucks.

I sift through the clothes in the closet until I reach Nyx’s things.

God, is she going to punch me in the face when she finds out I went through her things? Doesn’t matter—I know what happens next. I can’t assume that she’s prepared for something like this. Not in the slightest.

I get a text from Vito a few minutes later that sends me straight for the front door. I take one last look back into the room before drawing the door closed behind me.

Something catches my eye. I pause and tilt my head as I stare at it.

A silver crucifix lies glittering on the floor. It caught my eye just right, since most of it is smeared in blood. I go over and pick it up, then pocket it before leaving, the strap of Phoebe’s pink backpack slung over my shoulder.

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