Page 73 of Unleashed
“Wait. What? Now? I need to pack.”
“Not necessary. We’ve already got everything we need.”
Anthony glances at his wristwatch. “Plane’s set to leave in two hours.”
“No. Wait.” I palm my cheeks. “Shit. Two hours? I need to wake Molly.”
“Everly…”
“Isaia, I’m not leaving without saying goodbye to her.”
His jaw flexes, but he nods.
“Luna’s leash is in the bottom drawer in the kitchen. You get her, and I’ll go wake Molly.”
I head down the hall to her room, pushing the door open slowly, quietly. “Molly?”
There’s only silence.
I turn on the light, surprised to find her bed empty, the sheets untouched. Instantly, dread settles like concrete in my gut. It’sfour a.m., and Molly’s never not slept at home. When she’s hooking up with a guy, she brings him here—says other people’s beds give her the ick.
“Molly?” I call her name again, louder this time. There's a hollow echo to it that tumbles around the room and stirs up unease. I check her bathroom, but there’s no sign of her. So, I rush out to the living room. “Molly’s not here.”
Anthony shrugs, too casual. “Maybe she’s at a friend’s house.”
“No.” My chest squeezes tight, panic scraping the inside of my ribs. “Molly always comes home.”
Isaia steps out of my bedroom, Luna’s leash in his hand. His gaze flicks from me to Anthony, then sharpens. “What’s going on?”
“Molly,” I breathe, barely keeping my voice steady. “She’s not here.”
“Fuck.” The word rips out of him, guttural, immediate.
“Wait.” Anthony holds up a hand. “Why areyoupanicking?”
Isaia’s already moving, long strides cutting through the hallway toward Molly’s room. “Because Molly never sleeps out.”
“How the fuck would you know that?”
I turn my head, eyes narrowing on him. “Howwouldyou know that?”
Isaia doesn’t answer—doesn’t need to. He gives me that look, sharp and unflinching. The one that saysyou already know.
“Right. The father of my child is a control-freak-slash-stalker.”
He storms into Molly’s room without responding, his presence filling the space like a storm breaking. His gaze sweeps across every corner, every detail, assessing, searching, calculating. Then it stops and fixes on something that makes his whole body tense.
A Bible. Sitting neatly on the pillow.
“That’s odd,” I whisper, moving to his side. “I didn’t even know she owned a Bible.”
Isaia’s arm shoots out across me, pushing me gently but firmly back. His eyes never leave the object. He approaches it slowly, deliberately, like it could explode if handled wrong. His fingers close around the leather binding, and he opens it. A single page marked. The paper glows with yellow highlighter.
He reads aloud, voice low, almost reverent—almost afraid. “O Lord, God of vengeance, O God of vengeance, shine forth! Rise up, O judge of the earth; repay to the proud what they deserve.” His jaw tightens. “Psalm ninety-four.”
The verse hangs in the air like smoke, choking, suffocating. My skin prickles, every hair on my body standing on end.
“Isaia, what’s going on?” My throat burns with terror, but he doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even blink. Slowly, carefully, he peels back the pillow.
