Page 134 of Mystic's Sunrise

Jaycee frowned. “Last I saw, she was in her room. Said she was compiling possible routes based on Drago’s habits. Never saw her come out.”

“Then where the fuck is she now?”

Spinner was already moving before I finished the question, panic creeping into his eyes. “She wouldn’t—she wouldn’t just—”

Kickstand jumped back on the keyboard. “Checking footage.”

Time slowed. The tension from earlier twisted tighter, sharper. The seconds dragged, each one a countdown I couldn’t see the end of.

Then—

Jaycee’s gasp cut through the air. “No…”

Kickstand’s voice was grim. “She left. Slipped out maybe thirty minutes ago.”

He pulled up the feed. There she was, small, quick, slipping through the shadows like a ghost with purpose. Determined. Reckless.

“She took her car,” Kickstand muttered, switching feeds. “Pulled out fast. Didn’t even hesitate.”

Spinner exploded.

“FUCK!” he roared, grabbing a chair and launching it across the room. It hit the wall and shattered. “She’s goin’ after Zeynep—alone!”

The room blew up.

“What the hell is she thinking!” Devil barked.

“We don’t even have the correct address yet!” Oliver added, voice hard with disbelief.

“She ain’t stupid,” I muttered, my stomach a coil of dread. “She’s lookin’. Same as us. Just not waitin’.”

I turned to Jaycee. “Send me every location you marked. Now.”

Spinner was already pocketing his keys. “Mount the fuck up. We’re rollin’.” His boots thundered down the hall, the rumble of his engine following seconds later.

I wasn’t far behind.

If we didn’t find them fast, if we didn’tmove—this wouldn’t be a rescue.

It’d be a goddamn funeral.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

I SAT STILL, my hands folded neatly in my lap, my expressioncarefully blank. Drago’s grip on my thigh was possessive, his fingers pressing just hard enough to remind me who I belonged to.

The room pulsed with the feeling of power, the scent of expensive cigars in the air, curling through my senses like a noose. Across from us, Gabriel Lopez lounged in his chair, the kind of man who exuded power in that quiet, chilling way only someone truly dangerous could. His tailored suit and lazy smirk didn’t fool me, there was nothing soft about him.

I kept my eyes down, my ears tuned to the rhythm of their conversation—numbers, shipments, product. The language of criminals. A world I had never wanted to be part of, yet here I was, an ornament at Drago’s side. A possession on display.

“Your last delivery was light,” Lopez said, swirling the dark liquid in his glass. His voice was calm, almost bored, but it had that sharpness, the kind you don’t notice until you’re already bleeding. “That’s not the kind of impression you want to leave.”

Drago’s grip on me tightened just enough to make me wince before he leaned forward, flashing that smug, empty grin. “A minor setback. Won’t happen again.”

Lopez studied him, then shifted his attention to me. His dark eyes lingered a second too long, sharp, and assessing. I kept my gaze averted, but I felt the weight of his stare like a brand on my skin.

I recognized him.

And I think he recognized me, though he couldn’t quite place how that could be. It was pathetic, really, how easily he stole lives, snuffed them out like candles, and never even remembered the faces of his victims. Never gave them a second thought.

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