Page 166 of Desperate Actions

I feel it before it happens.

Angel’s phone rings, and he answers with his usual bark. “What? Shit. Sorry, Koukla?—”

And then—silence.

The kind of silence that precedes war.

His nostrils flare.

His eyes go wide.

I can feel his pulse rising, can almost taste the panic rolling off him in waves.

“What?” His voice is a low, lethal growl. “Where are you? When did you notice she wasn’t there?”

My whole fucking body locks up.

My hand goes to my phone, fingers moving on pure instinct.

I already know.

I already fucking know.

“Aella never arrived at the bar tonight,” Angel says, his voice strangled with rage.

The world tilts.

I try calling her—straight to voicemail.

I try tracking her cell—her phone is off.

I text Benny.

Nothing.

I text Santos.

The response never comes.

Red.

That’s all I see.

Fucking red.

I stand so fast my chair topples over, my breath coming too fast, too harsh.

I don’t think. I move.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Angel roars, charging after me.

I don’t answer.

I crack my neck.

I roll my shoulders.

I take a breath, steady and controlled.

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