Page 2 of Halfway to Hell
“Miss Mornin,” Officer Lloyd said, his tone measured, “if you hear from Sunday, please let her know—we can keep her safe. All she has to do is call us. We’ll come get her.”
Yeah, because you’ve done such a stellar job so far.
“Thank you. I’m sure she’ll call me,” Monday said, her voice tight as she hung up the phone.
But the second she dropped the receiver, her heart felt like it was about to rip through her chest. She was freaking out. Sunday didn’t have a damn cell phone—she always used Dalton’s whenever she called to check in.
Which meant if she’d run… she was on her own.
Monday looked out at the packed bar. Music pulsed. Glasses clinked. The club girls laughed in the background. Business as usual.
But nothing about tonight felt usual.
She couldn’t leave—not yet. She didn’t know where her sister was. And until she did, she was stuck here. Waiting. Worrying. Burning with the urge to hunt Dalton Smith down and end him herself.
“Hey babe, can I get a beer?”
“Yeah,” Monday replied, barely glancing up.
Trying to recover from the phone call her body moved on autopilot. Muscle memory keeping the drinks flowing while her brain stayed locked on Sunday.
Somehow, she managed to keep it together long enough to finish her shift. Barely.
By the end of the night, she was wrecked—mentally drained and running on fumes. Every time the bar phone rang, her heart jumped. She stopped whatever she was doing to answer it herself. Just in case.
But Sunday never called.
And now Monday was more than just anxious—she was spiraling. She tried to tell herself there was no reason to expectanything different. They didn’t rely on each other, hadn’t for years. Seeing one another once, maybe twice a year, was their version of normal.
But that didn’t matter now. None of it did.
She was terrified for her sister. And worse—she had no idea where to even start looking.
“Monday.”
The deep voice behind her made her jump. She grabbed the edge of the counter to steady herself before turning.
“Vicious. How can I help you?”
His gaze was steady. Unblinking. “Who called?” He’d kept an eye on the pretty bartender most of the night. She’d gotten a call that had rattled her. Now, it was time for her to talk.
She blinked, stalling, her mind scrambling through the dozens of calls that had come in tonight. “It was someone asking how late we’re open,” she said, nodding toward the phone.
“No.” His voice dropped, firmer now, “The call you got earlier. The one that’s had you distracted all evening.”
Damn it.
She thought she’d masked it well. Thought she’d kept her head down, kept it business as usual. Clearly not well enough.
Monday didn’t like dragging her family problems into work. Especially not here. Not in front of the club. But the truth was, she needed help. Real help.
Even if she drove to Sudbury tonight, she had no clue where Sunday was. And if Dalton had her—if that piece of shit was hiding her or worse—what the hell could Monday even do alone?
“I need some help,” she admitted, her voice low.
Vicious nodded once, no hesitation. “Come sit down and talk to me.”
She didn’t know Vicious well, not personally. But over the past few years, she’d watched him change. The man who used to black out drunk and stir chaos in every room had settled down. Got married. Shifted from party animal to something closer to a leader. A boss.
