Page 152 of Blindside Sinner

“Coach.” I walk in to find him standing at the whiteboard with a marker in his hand. “I need to leave.”

He rolls his eyes. “I don’t care what piece of ass you have waiting for you who just can’t keep her hands to herself—we’re in the middle of a game, Daniels.”

“This is important, even if you don’t believe me.” I look to Dixon for help.

He glances back at me. “This about Sloan?”

“She’s not here. She’salwayshere, man. But tonight, she’s not.”

I watch his throat bob with a fearful swallow. He gets what it means. As irritatingly flippant as my best friend can be, he’s still my best friend for a good reason: because he’s ride or fucking die.

He turns. “Beck’s not lying, Coach. She wouldn’t risk it. Something happened.”

Those words sound scary enough in my head. Out loud, they’re downright terrifying.

Coach eyes me. “You really mean it, don’t you?”

I nod. “I really do.”

He sighs. “Alright, Daniels. Do what you have to do.”

I’m gone before the words are finished falling from his lips. I rip off my uniform and chuck on my street clothes, then go dashing outside.

I drove myself tonight since Sloan had her meeting with Vivian, so I leap behind the wheel and zoom out of the parking lot. My gut is telling me to go home, so that’s where I go.

And when I pull up, I know I chose right.

The gates are still wide open. Sloanneverforgets to close them behind her.

The door to her car is still open, too, and the engine is humming along merrily. I see her bag in the passenger seat, keys in the ignition, her cell phone charging on the center console.

But there’s no sign of Sloan.

I run to the house and burst through the front door hard enough that it slams against the foyer wall and the whole building shakes.

“Sloan? Sloan! Sloan, where are you?”

I call out her name again and again as I check the kitchen, her bedroom, my bedroom, the guest apartment, every nook and cranny I can think of.

She’s gone. Disappeared into thin air.

But of course, people don’t just disappear. They do one of two things.

They either leave…

Or they get taken.

As I stand in her room, I look down at my phone and dial Dixon. The game is going to be over soon and I can leave a voicemail.

But to my surprise, he picks up on the second ring. “Yo, did you find her?”

“No. She’s not here. Her car’s here. Keys. Phone. Purse. But she’s not.” My mind is reeling with possibilities and none of them are worth a shit.

And then a text notification bleeps through.

“Hang on.” It could be her.

It’s not, though. It’s a text from a number I haven’t used in a long, long time. Just two words at first.

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