I slip into my dorm room and lean against the door, grinning. Bob may be a nerdy-looking guy, but dayum, he knows how to use that big dick.
Pushing away from the door, I pull out my phone, which has been blowing up, and scan the various group chats and social media messages I’ve gotten. As I read, I sink onto the edge of my bed and frown.
From the gist of all the messages, some big guy on a hog—like a hog; honestly, people really call motorcycles that?—came roaring down one of the campus paths and whisked away a girl. Not only that, but it looked like two other guys were possibly running after the girl.
The thing that has me sitting on the edge of my bed, confused, though, is that a few people messaged, saying they thought the girl might have been Sophie.
But that can’t be right.
A, because I was texting with Sophie close to when people said this happened, and she was leaving for plans to go off the grid this weekend—code for I’m going to get laid all weekend long.
And B, because Sophie is a goodie-two-shoes—I mean, her twelve-year-old cousin, Sylvie, even calls her that. She’s sweet and innocent, and there’s no way she’d be hopping on a ‘hog’ with a rugged-looking guy. Even if, according to the group chat, the man looked like a freaking god of war who was hot as fuck.
I shake my head, pushing my worry and doubts away, and rise off my bed.
There is no way that was Sophie.
If a guy actually did drive down a campus path on a motorcycle to pick up a girl, I’m sure people are exaggerating the other stuff.
Two men chasing a young woman who was rescued by a hot demi-god on two wheels?
Yeah, this is the perfect makings for a mafia dark romance book—my favorite genre.
Deciding to pack for my weekend before I start to party—otherwise, who knows what I’d end up packing?—I go to my closet and pull out my small suitcase, then toss it on my bed. Going to my dresser, I rifle through my shirts, looking for the black one with the iridescent cat on it, and remembering Sophie had borrowed it.
There’s a bang on my door, and Jaxon yells, “Oll, we’re leaving in ten.”
“Shit. I need fifteen,” I yell back as Jaxon is my ride to the pre-game party.
“Fine, fifteen. But I’m leaving then whether your hot ass is ready or not.”
I hurry across the room to Sophie’s closet, where she keeps her laundry basket and yank open the door. I throw clothes out, looking for my shirt, unsure why I’m so determined to pack it. It’s just a shirt, and it isn’t even clean.
My brain and body freeze, though, as I register what I see in the closet.
Sophie’s suitcase.
That realization morphs into alarm, which morphs into a low buzz of panic as I recall all the messages about the girl running on campus.
“That’s a big suitcase,” I reassure myself. “If Soph were going off the grid, AKA getting railed all weekend, she wouldn’t need that big one.” I smirk. “A duffel bag would do.”
My eyes lift, and my smirk falls. Sophie’s duffel bag is sitting on the shelf.
“Okay, don’t panic.” I back out of the closet, staring at the duffel bag as if it’s packed with C4 set to blow. “Maybe she didn’t take anything. Maybe she doesn’t need clothes because the guy is going to keep her naked. Or they’re at a nudist convention or some shit.”
Talking out loud to myself when I’m emotional is my thing, and I know I’m rambling.
“Or maybe she’s off with some rich guy who has everything she needs. Yeah, a mega-rich billionaire, and he’ll lavish my girl with all sorts of luxury clothes and whatever her little heart desires.”
My mind scrambles to keep myself calm.
But then I look at her bed and the desk beside it… and both the idea and reality of calm flies right out the window, and I leap headlong toward hysteria.
Sophie’s phone charger is here.
Okay, yes, that’s not a big whoop in the scheme of things, but Sophie is religious about keeping her phone charged in case anyone in her family needs anything. Not only is Sophie a goodie-two-shoes, but she’s a saint when it comes to being there for her family.
Roommate boundaries and respect for privacy be damned. I rush to her desk and paw through her papers stacked neatly around her closed laptop, looking for a clue about who she might have gone away with. Granted, she didn’t say she was going with someone in her text, but who goes off the grid for the weekend alone?
But I find nothing.
I pull open her desk drawer and my heart stops. “Oh, fuck.”
My hand shakes as I pull out Sophie’s phone. She wouldn’t have left without her phone or any way to connect with her family. There is no fucking way.
Was that even Sophie who sent me that text?
Or maybe someone forced her to send it?
“Shit, shit, shit.”
I’m full-out panicking now. I drop Sophie’s phone like it scalded me and slam the drawer shut.
I don’t know what to do. Or who to call. Sophie’s social circle is small as she focused entirely on her studies. Other than me, the only other person she sometimes hangs out with is Zac Watkins.
“Maybe Zac knows where Sophie is. Who she might have went away with,” I ramble out loud as my panic threatens to explode. “Maybe he can talk me off the ledge or know what to do.”
My hand shakes harder as I take out my phone to see if I still have Zac’s number from when we had a group assignment together last year. I’m not sure if I kept it because the guy is too much of a pussy-slayin’ man-whore, even for me, and I like taking dick.
I find it in my contacts and click ‘call.’ It rings five times before he finally picks up.
“I’m too high to get it up, but Walt next door can fuck you if you want.”
“Goddamnit, Zac, what the hell is wrong with you?” I snap, anger replacing my panic. The guy has the world at his feet—rich and connected family, hot as hell, athletic and talent coming out his ass, girls dropping at his feet.
“Who dis?” he sniggers. “Ma, is that you?”
“Get your shit together and focus you… you douche canoe,” I sputter and call him what Sophie has called him.
“Soph?” It sounds like he perks up and is a bit more coherent.
“Not Sophie, her roommate Ollie.”
“Why you calling? Honestly, I’m too high to get my dick up—”
“I’m not calling to make an appointment to ride your diseased dick,” I hiss, then take a deep breath to calm down. “Have you talked to Sophie?”
“Umm….”
I’m not sure if he’s stalling or actually trying to remember if he had.
“Zac, this is important.”
“Why? Is Soph okay?” He’s back to sounding a bit more coherent.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly and pace our small dorm room. “She texted saying she was going off the grid for the weekend, and then I get all these messages about some guy on a motorcycle grabbing up a girl who some say kinda looked like Sophie, who had another two men chasing her.” I catch my breath after my long-winded ramble.
“What?” he asks, then the fucker starts to laugh. Hysterically, like a goddamn hyena. “Ollie… Fuck, that’s a good one.” He laughs again. “This is Sophie we’re talking about.”
“Yeah, I know,” I grind out. “I thought the same. But then I noticed her suitcase, duffel bag, phone charger, and phone are still here.”
“Shit,” he sobers instantly. “She’s never without her phone. Sylvie has been having trouble with—”
He shuts up suddenly, and I narrow my eyes.
“How close, exactly, are you two?”
“Focus, Ollie. That’s not important. Sophie is.”
“Did you just… gaslight me, you dick?”
He sighs, mumbling something I can’t make out. Then, there’s a loud thump, and he grunts, “Fuck, I really am too high. Can’t even stand up.”
Christ, he’s going to be no help.
“Focus, Zac. Did you talk to Sophie earlier? Do you know who she was seeing these past few months?”
“So many rando questions,” he mumbles, then chuckles. “But no, she won’t say jackshit about her mystery love.”
I bite my lip, trying not to scream. “What about earlier? Did you talk to her?”
“Yeah, I talked to her but she didn’t say anything about going away.”
“Okay, so either that’s a new development or… or someone took her.” I swallow down my panic.
“That’s wild, Ollie. No way. Why would anyone kidnap Soph? She’s sweet and innocent as fuck, and she doesn’t come with a trust fund. And her mystery love isn’t gonna be some biker guy. Totally not her type.”
“Oh, and rich, athletic assholes who can’t keep it in their pants are her type?” I snark.
“No,” he grunts. “An asshole like that would never deserve her.”
Not for the first time, I wonder if there’s something between Zac and Sophie besides being partners on a project and the odd-time study partner. But he’s right; Sophie would never be into someone like him. However, maybe he pines for her.
Either way, that isn’t the focus here. Sophie is.
“She never said anything to you about her ‘mystery love?’” I push.
“No. She was tight as a nun’s—”
“Don’t even say it,” I snap. “Focus, you douche canoe.”
“Fucking douche canoe.” He half-chuckles, half-groans. “She’s not wrong, you know.”
God, this is like trying to herd rabid cats.
“As her roommate, Ollie, I thought she might’ve said something to you.”
“No.” I chew on my lip. “Four months ago, she didn’t stay here for a week, and whenever I met her at school, she looked happy as hell. Then, these past months, she’s looked like hell. She’d never talk about it, though.”
“She seemed to be a little better these past two months,” Zac murmurs. “But she wouldn’t open up to me, either.”
I force back the tears that want to burst free. “Zac, what do we do? I’m really worried.”
“Call the police?”
“And say what?” I know at this point they’ll just roll their eyes at me with the ‘evidence’ I have.
“Right. There’s probably like some rule of her having to be missing for twenty-four hours or shit, right?”
With the text saying she is gone for the weekend, would they not start the twenty-four hours until after the weekend? That could mean they wouldn’t contemplate looking into Sophie’s absence until Monday night or the next day. And who knows what could happen to her during that time?
Tears well in my eyes as the panic and worry rise again.
“I’ll call the president of the university,” Zac says.
I angrily wipe my tears. “Of course, you have him on speed dial.”
“And good thing, too, yeah?” he snaps.
“Sorry.”
He sighs. “I have a buddy with campus security, I’ll see what they have to say about what happened. If that story wasn’t fake news, they should be interviewing some of the students.”
“Okay. You’ll call them right away?”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know; maybe because you’re high as hell?”
He grumbles something, then sighs. “Sit tight. I’ll call you back.”
I make sure my phone ringer is on and pace the room. Jaxon comes and goes after I yell through the door that I’m not coming. I keep getting messages in the group chat about what has gone down. No one in the chat actually saw it themselves, and it’s all rumors. Some even said they were sure they just saw Sophie getting on a bus and tell me not to worry. I’m not sure what to believe.
I’m obsessively checking my phone to ensure I haven’t missed a call and to make sure I have service as I pace. My lip is raw from chewing on it.
When my phone rings in my clutched hand, I jump but answer it quickly. “What did they say?” I ask Zac.
“It seems like fake news.”
“What?”
“The president just dismissed it as some kind of prank or glory story, so I called Jack, my buddy with the security team.”
“And?”
“He said there’s nothing on the security feeds that has a guy coming down any of the campus pathways on a motorcycle.”
“Did they talk to any of the students?”
“No. There’s no video to corroborate, and the president told security it wasn’t a high priority. It’s just a group trying to sensationalize shit or something. Plus, the security needed to go to a frat house because some students had done too much coke and were freaking out. The president said that was the priority to contain and do damage control so those rich assholes didn’t end up in jail or the news.”
I close my eyes, feeling at a loss.
“What if you call Soph’s uncle?”
“Antonio?” I wonder again how Zac, a casual classmate at best and a periodic study partner at most, has such insight into my roommate.
“Yeah, she’s close with him, right?”
“You’re right.” I grab that as an action because I need to do something. “I’ll call him. Soph gave me his number in case of emergency.”
“Keep me posted.”
I sit on Sophie’s bed. “You gonna tell me what’s going on between you and my roommate?”
“Nothing to tell,” he grunts.
“Lies.”
“No, Ollie.” He exhales heavily, sounding weary. “Not lies, just secrets.”
“Secrets? Secrets that could get her in trouble?” I whisper.
“No. Not mine, at least.”
“Hers?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” He sounds just as worried as me. “That’s the thing with secrets; they can become prisons before we know it.”
“Do you think…” I can’t get anything further out because my throat closes shut.
“Let’s not jump to crazy conclusions. Maybe she is off the grid with the love of her life getting her rocks off.”
I choke out a laugh.
“Let me know what Antonio says,” he says.
There’s a bang that sounds like a door hitting the wall, then a chorus of giggles.
“Out. Get out, Ella, Meg, and Naomi,” Zac grouses, then groans. “Fuck, I gotta go. Keep me in the loop.”
Zac obviously has secrets, but I’m more concerned with trying to unearth Sophie’s and hope to hell that Antonio has some threads we can pull.
