Page 48 of The Fight

The cop’s face hardens, and his tone comes out more sharp. “We’ll handle this, kid.”

I open my mouth to speak again, but my dad steps up behind me and clamps me on the shoulder. “Thank you for coming so quickly. I’m Henry Cornell. I made the call…”

I drown out the rest of their conversation as my dad starts giving them a rundown of what I feel I’ve already repeated a million times. The wedding, the texts, Richard Slane, the blood. My brain is short-circuiting with every passing second, but I still don’t feel we’ve gotten any sort of answers—any leads.

The front door opens again, and I turn around. My dad is huddled with the officers at the foot of the steps, still explaining all he knows, as Sylvia steps out with a yearbook in her hands. Before she can reach my dad, though, I jog back up the steps and stop her.

“Let me see.”

Her face is red and puffy, and tears still stain her cheeks, but she doesn’t put up a fight. She hands the book over, then moves to where the cops are.

I start flipping through it in my hands, going down the alphabetized names of every class, hunting for Slane. The photos are old and faded, and every page is fraying along the edges, but I keep turning, keep scanning every face and every name.

Richard Slane.

The name practically jumps off the page when I see it. I run my finger over it, then drag it across the page, finding the corresponding picture.

It hits me like a punch in the gut. My mind scrambles to process, but it doesn’t take long for the truth to settle in. The name isn’t just some distant figure anymore. It’s Blake. It’s always been Blake.

The sick realization eats me whole. All the pieces that didn’t make sense before—him showing up out of nowhere, taking an interest in me—it all clicks into place. A surge of new anger floods me. It was him. Blake has been behind all of this. I shouldhave seen it sooner, but the promise of something exciting clouded all of it. I want to scream.

My hands grip the book tighter as I continue to stare at his picture. I guess some part of me wishes the picture would morph into something else, someone else, but I know it won’t. I am partially responsible for this bullshit.

Slamming it shut, I let it fall to the ground. My hands tremble, and I feel like I’m suffocating in my own skin.Whoosh,whoosh,whoosh. The familiar sound of blood rushing in my ears meets me, and I know there is only one thing to do.

I can’t just stand here.

I can’t wait.

I hear my dad calling behind me as I push past him and the cops and start running across the driveway, but I don’t look back. My body is moving on instinct, and that alone is fucking deadly. I reach my Jeep and yank the door open.

Wasting no time, I hurry and start the car, then slam my foot into the pedal. The tires screech across the pavement as I go, and the lights from the house fade into the distance of my rearview mirror.

I won’t stop until she’s safe.

CHAPTER THIRTY

BLAIR

The silence in the shed is deafening. Every second that passes feels like an eternity, and my wrists burn from the tight restraints. I try to stay calm, to control my breathing, but my heart betrays me, thudding hard in my chest, a constant reminder of how much danger I’m in.

Blake is still gone, but every second without him in the room feels like a fleeting chance, a small window where I could do something—anything—to get free. But the rope around my wrists keeps me tethered to the chair, and every time I try to move, my body aches like I’ve been hit by a train. I squint, trying to make out my surroundings, but everything is too dark, or my eyes are still not adjusted. I don’t know.

Every part of me screams to get out of here, to fight, to run, but the restraints digging into my skin remind me that I can’t. I can’t move, and the silence is growing louder, more suffocating with each passing second. The only sound is the faint creak of wood in the distance and the buzz of the single bulb overhead.

And then, a noise. My pulse quickens.

He’s back.

I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to see the inevitable coming, but then I hear it.

“Blair.” His voice is so low I almost miss it.

Freezing, I open my eyes, then turn toward the door slowly. My body starts to jerk on instinct, and my eyes blur with even more tears.

“Shay.”

My breath suddenly stops as he steps toward me. This isn’t the normal Shay I’m used to. His footsteps are quicker, and I can practically see the tension wrapped around him. He isn’t just angry—he’s fucking pissed.

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