Page 162 of Mystic's Sunrise

Heavy boots. Crunching gravel. Slow. Deliberate.

I blinked through the blood on my lashes, turned my head. A man. Masked. Black from head to toe. He moved with calm certainty, like this was something he did all the time.

I looked at Lucy, her body sagged, unconscious, but before I could even begin to check on her, my door was jerked open.

“No,” I whispered, trying to undo my belt. My fingers were slick. Shaking as he reached in and started pulling me out.

“Don’t,” I cried, twisting, but my limbs were slow and clumsy. “Please, don’t—”

He didn’t speak. Didn’t grunt. Didn’t show emotion. His gloved hand curled into a fist.

The last thing I saw were those cold, steady eyes behind the mask—eyes I swore I’d seen before—and then everything went black.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN

I CHECKED THEclock again, four hours gone,and every second past two felt like a fuse burning toward something I couldn’t see.

They were just supposed to ride out to Oliver’s, simple visit, no drama, no threats on the radar. Drago was already rotting in the ground, and Chelsea had finally disappeared, her toxic voice gone quiet for the first time in years. So there was no reason for Lucy and Zeynep to be late, no reason for Zeynep’s phone to keep going straight to voicemail no matter how many times I called.

Brenda passed through the common room with a tray in hand, her footsteps slowing as she caught the look on my face. “Somethin’ wrong, Mystic?”

“You seen them?”

“They ain’t back yet?”

“No.”

Her lips pinched together, her gaze narrowing like she already knew something was off. “They said they’d be home by two.”

It was pushing four now.

I didn’t waste breath, I was already through the back door and crossing the yard, boots chewing up gravel as I made a straight line for the row of bikes parked under the oaks. Spinner was leaning against his bike, mid-conversation with Devil and Thunder, one arm casually slung over a bag of ice like he didn’t have a care in the world—until I tore the calm out of the air.

“Where the fuck are they?” I barked.

Spinner’s brow furrowed. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

“Lucy and Zeynep. They’re not back. Phones are dead.”

His whole demeanor shifted—posture stiff, voice tighter. “They were just—shit.” He pulled out his phone, thumbing through texts with growing urgency. “Lucy hasn’t messaged me.”

Devil straightened, that cold, calculating glint sliding into his eyes like a switch had flipped. “You sure they were going to Oliver’s?”

“That’s what Lucy told Brenda this mornin’, and Zeynep told me before they left.”

Spinner had his phone to his ear now, pacing in tight circles as it rang. “Come on, pick up—Oliver? Are they there?” His expression darkened fast. “They never showed?” He hung up and cursed under his breath. “They didn’t make it.”

Thunder was already heading for the garage. “I’ll take the truck, run the route they should’ve taken.”

“We spread out, cover more ground,” Devil ordered, already walking toward his bike.

I didn’t wait for another word, I swung my leg over the saddle, the engine snarling to life beneath me like it felt the panic in my blood, and I peeled out of the lot like hell itself was chasing me.

The sun had started its slow descent by the time I hit the stretch of old country road that sliced through the woods, shadows getting longer, light breaking through branches like fractured glass. I scanned the tree line, the ditches, the empty road ahead, heart pounding so hard I could hear it over the wind and the engine.

Then my phone rang.

Zeynep’s name lit up the screen, and for a second, my lungs locked up.

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