Page 106 of Beneath the Stars (Sugarlake 1)

I smirk. It’s touching how he thinks I give a fuck.

“I will pull you over this counter and revel in the last fucking breath you take, smiling at the cameras once I’m done. So if you know where she is, if you know anything, you better tell me. Right. Fucking. Now.”

He jerks away, but I yank him back. The chains cut into his skin, a trail of blood dripping down his neck. I’ve been waiting a long fucking time to get my hands on this prick. He’s not going anywhere.

“Man, come on. I don’t know! She ain’t lived here for years. Last I knew, she was gone to Arizona.”

“When was this?” I hiss through my teeth.

“She called a buddy of mine a few months ago... ow, quit!”

The door chimes and it distracts me long enough for him to wrench out of my grasp, the cheap chains breaking.

He runs over to the register and grabs the phone, pointing it at me. “Get outta here ‘fore I call the cops. I told you what I know. I don’t mess with Lily no more, not in years.”

I clench my fists. The urge to beat the fuck out of him is strong, but I hold myself together, repeating the serenity prayer in my head. The man who walked into the store is warily watching our interaction.

“You’re fucking lucky,” I point out.

Turning around, I speed-walk to my truck, knocking someone in the shoulder on my way out. I don’t breathe until I’m in my seat, slamming my palms on the steering wheel.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!”

My heart is racing and my mind is spinning.

Arizona. She’s in Arizona.

44

Alina

I think I might be in shock. Back when Lily overdosed and disappeared, a lot was left unsaid. Chase was closed off, and I was too afraid of pushing him to pry, so I didn’t hear the details. I didn’t realize he spent hours searching, and when he finally found her she was on the brink of death. Chase has lived with this memory seared into his brain, torturing him. An entire experience that would shape the rest of his life, and I had no idea of its depth. I never knew. My heart cracks because I never thought to ask.

He tells me about the gas station. My eyes grow wide with every sentence he utters. I’m cozy in a pair of his basketball shorts and a tee, sitting on his couch, watching him pace a hole through his living room floor.

“I mean, I have to do something, right?” he asks.

“You don’t have to do anything. Do you think you should?”

He rips at his thick, dark hair. I’m surprised he has any left on his head after the years of abuse the strands have endured.

“I should have killed that motherfucker. I’m gonna go back. You think he’s still there?” He stops in the middle of the room, spinning to face me. His fists open and close at his sides.

“I think you should take a deep breath.” I inhale and blow it out to show him how it’s done. He mimics me, and some of the rigidity leaves his posture. “Now, come over here. Sit down and we can talk this through.” I pat the spot next to me.

He plops on the couch. I scoot him forward so he’s on the edge, and I squeeze behind him, my fingers kneading the tension out of his shoulders. He groans, his head dropping to give me better access.

“Have you talked to your folks about any of this? I mean, do you ever bring up Lily?”

He blows out a breath. “No. We don’t talk about her.”

My hands pause their movements. His words surprise me. “Never?”

“Never.”

“Well… then I think that’s the first step. You need to talk to ‘em. For all we know, they could’ve been in contact with her and not told you.”

His shoulders tighten. “They wouldn’t do that.”

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