Page 52 of Better as It

“They have her,” I choke out. “They grabbed her. I just watched it happen.”

“WHERE?” Tripp barks.

“My house.”

“Go,” he says instantly. “Go now. BW—ride with him. Tank, alert outer circle. Nobody moves solo. We find her.”

We’re on the road in under three minutes.

I don’t feel the engine. Don’t feel the wheels or the road or even my own heart. Just the scream inside me that won’t stop.

They took her. They took her.

And she is pregnant. Helpless. But still tried to fight.

God, she fought.

Tears blur my vision, but I blink them back.

I can't break down. Not yet.

Not until she's in my arms.

My house is trashed. Skye is pacing like crazy, her eyes swollen, her white fur matted in blood. Someone hit her in the face, either really hard or multiple times. I don’t know which.

Looking around, she follows. The door is off the hinges. Table overturned. Blood on the floor, hers, maybe? One of theirs?

BW sweeps the rooms while I replay the feed again and again, scanning for a plate, a face, anything.

There’s nothing.

Whoever they were, they were clean. Fast. Professional.

“Security feeds are down,” I mutter. “Jammed it somehow.”

“They knew what they were doing,” BW says grimly.

I pick up her phone. Smashed. Useless.

Then I kneel by the couch, where she was dragged across the floor.

The blanket she always uses is still crumpled near the corner.

I bury my face in it.

I breathe her in.

Then I stand.

I’m not crying.

I’m a burning inferno of rage.

Tripp calls while we’re still sweeping for clues.

“Road crew says a black SUV blew through the county border checkpoint twenty minutes ago. Heading south. Fast.”

I grit my teeth. “The Vulcans?”

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