Antonio and his partner Miguel caught the first flight from New York after I called them. They’re here now; it’s the middle of the night, but we’re all wide awake.
Antonio tosses his Armani pinstriped suit jacket onto Sophie’s bed and loosens his tie. His brown eyes are chocolate-colored, while Sophie’s have streaks of bright copper through hers, but I can see the family resemblance.
Miguel stands at the end of Sophie’s bed while Antonio sits on it. He’s the polar opposite of Antonio’s posh, suited style. He wears worn jeans and a T-shirt with a military-style jacket.
I sit on my bed, relieved they’re here because I have no clue what to do. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”
“Of course, Olivanne,” Antonio says.
“It’s just Ollie,“ I say.
He nods with a small smile. “Ollie, I’m glad you didn’t hesitate to call. Can you run us through it again?”
I fiddle with the hem of my sweatshirt. “There’s not much. She texted me.” I reach over to give my phone to Antonio. Miguel leans over his shoulder to read the brief exchange. I wince as they read my message about her going to get laid.
I clear my throat. “Then I noticed she didn’t pack any bags, her charger was here, and I found her phone in her desk drawer.”
Antonio reaches over to open the drawer and takes out Sophie’s phone. “You wouldn’t know the passcode by chance?”
“No, sorry.” I worry my bottom lip.
“I’m going to take this and see if I can figure it out.”
“Any knowledge about who she might have gone away with?” Miguel asks.
“No.” I huff out a laugh. “Kind of a shit roommate, aren’t I?”
“Not at all.” Antonio’s dark eyes are worried but understanding. “Sophie’s a very private person, don’t take offense.”
Miguel gives me a kind smile. “What about socially?”
“She’s well-liked but not really close with anyone. School was her priority.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Sorry, I made her sound like a social outcast, and that’s not it at all. She’s just not into the partying or mindless hanging-out scene, you know?”
Antonio nods. “I know she took her schooling way too seriously and didn’t do much socially. But was there anyone she hung out with?”
I don’t know about Zac and Sophie’s relationship, but I won’t hold back if it can somehow help. “There’s a guy, Zac Watkins, and they studied together sometimes. He’s a…”
Antonio and Miguel wait expectantly.
Manslut is on the tip of my tongue, but I say instead, “He’s a jock. Superstar QB with a real chance for the pros. Likes the ladies, if you know what I mean.”
“Humph.” Antonio frowns. “Could she have gone off with him?”
I shake my head and tell them about Zac being high in his room when I called, and what he’d discovered from his phone calls with the university president and the security team.
Antonio’s phone rings. “Excuse me, Ollie.” He stands from Sophie’s bed as he answers. “Hey, Lok.”
My eyes widen. I know Antonio is a big music executive in New York and is friends with Lok Bello, an international superstar EDM DJ. A zing of excitement whips through me, followed by guilt.
Christ, am I really going to fangirl my roommate’s uncle’s celebrity friend and be giddy that I’m sitting within five feet of a conversation that includes him?
No. No, I’m not.
“No, absolutely not, man,” Antonio says, rubbing his eyes, looking exhausted. “You’re playing to a sold-out show of over a hundred thousand in Toyko. I appreciate it, but there’s not much you can do right now.” He frowns as he listens. “No, I haven’t spoken to Ryn in weeks. You know she’s basically fallen off the map.”
Antonio rakes a hand through his dark, neatly styled hair and replies to whatever Lok says, “Okay, good idea. I’ll call Tag… Yeah, I never thought of them and that they might be able to help. Okay, thanks, brother… I will. Knock ’em dead.”
He hangs up, and Miguel raises a brow. “Tag?”
“Lok suggested that with Tag, Rolf, and Nexin’s security roles and training, they might be able to help until the authorities step up to the plate,” Antonio explains.
My eyes well with tears, this suddenly becoming even more real. “Do you think Soph was taken? Like really?”
Horror stories of people—especially pretty young women—being abducted and sold into human trafficking, never to be heard from again, fill my head.
Miguel steps closer to me, hesitantly and cautiously, because I don’t know him, and he’s a big dude. He reaches down, picks up my water bottle off the floor, and hands it to me.
Antonio comes and crouches in front of me. “Just breathe, Ollie.”
“How are you so calm?” I choke and dig my nails into my palm, trying not to burst into tears.
“I’m not.” Antonio exhales hard. “Just better at faking it, I guess. We’ll figure this out, okay?”
“If she comes waltzing in that door with a big grin because she got some tail, I’ll kick her ass.” I swipe at my tears.
Antonio chuckles, and Miguel grunts with a smile.
“How about you try to get some sleep?” Antonio stifles a yawn.
“You guys should, too. It’s got to be morning in New York time, and you’ve been up all night.”
“We’re going to go check in at the hotel. You’ll be okay here?”
I nod. “You’ll call me if you hear anything? Like, call me right away, regardless of the time?”
“Of course.” Antonio stands and groans, rubbing his left knee. “Hit my thirties and my body is going to shit.” He laughs, and I half laugh, half cry. He puts his hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Try to get some rest, yeah?”
I nod, even though I’m sure I won’t sleep.
Antonio grabs his jacket off Sophie’s bed and slips both his phone and Sophie’s into his pocket. Miguel opens the door for them, and I stand from my bed.
“Make sure you lock your door,” Miguel says as they leave.
I lock it behind them, then sit on the foot of my bed, staring at Sophie’s empty one, and finally burst into tears.
I hardly slept after Antonio and Miguel left. I’m out of my mind with worry about Sophie and that I might miss her coming home.
My hip aches from lying on my side, curled into a ball, staring at her bed. My thumbnail is chewed off.
A knock on the door makes my heart stop, then it restarts at the beat of galloping horses as I throw back the comforter and bolt to the door.
Maybe Sophie forgot her key.
Or maybe it’s the police coming to tell me she’s dead.
My hand shakes as I grip the knob without turning it, and my breathing turns ragged.
“Ollie? You in there?”
It’s Zac. Not Sophie.
I rest my head against the door, my knees wanting to buckle as more worry falls onto my shoulders.
Opening the door, I stare at Zac through blurry, tear-filled eyes. He shuts the door and hugs me awkwardly.
“So, I take it no word from Soph yet?”
I push away, sniffling, wiping my nose, and going to get a tissue from Sophie’s desk. Staring at her untouched pillow, my voice quivers, “No.”
Zac sighs and sits on Sophie’s bed. He looks like shit. His normally neat-styled golden-blonde hair is askew, and his eyes are bloodshot. “She’s fine.”
“Oh, and you know that how?” I huff, stomping over to my bed and sitting on it cross-legged.
“Cause… It’s Sophie. Come on, the girl is as straight-laced as they come. What sort of trouble is she going to get herself into?”
“Tell that to every woman and girl who goes missing and winds up dead, Zac,” I snap. “This doesn’t have to be something she did to bring onto herself. Trouble finds all sorts of innocent people.”
I look at him, like really look at him. I ignore the chiseled features, his hard, athletic build, and his cocky good looks. His face is pale and drawn, and his blue eyes are worried. “And cut the shit, Zac. You’re as worried as me. Otherwise, why are you here?”
“Maybe I felt like getting my cock sucked.”
I grab the closest thing to me—my pillow—and chuck it at him. He knocks it away, and the asshole laughs. I channel my inner Sophie and grit, “Drop the douche canoe man-whore act for once in your life.”
His cocky smile falls. “I’m sorry.” He hangs his head and rubs his temples. “I asked around at the party last night. A few claimed they saw it, but I don’t know if I believe them. People are always talking shit and trying to look like a big deal around me.”
“Oh, the hard, torturous life of Zac Watkins. Rich boy with the world at his feet.” Guilt slices across my chest when I see him balk at my words. “Shit… I’m sorry. I’m normally not such a bitch.”
He looks at me from under his lashes. “We’ll call it even for my douche canoe man-whore comment, yeah?”
“Yeah.” I chew on my lip. “What did those people say?”
“Reinforced the rumors that a girl who looked like Sophie was running and a big bike came down the path.” He shoots me a wary glance. “Said the guy was huge… Theo said the guy pulled out what looked like a gun.”
The blood drains from my face. “What? Why aren’t the police all over this?”
“Because there’s nothing on the surveillance feeds. I got Jack to check again. There’s nothing. No guy on a motorcycle. No girl running with two other guys running after her. No gun.”
“Why didn’t Theo call the police?”
“Fucker claimed he didn’t want to get involved.” Zac interlinks his fingers and pushes them out, cracking them. I notice the knuckles on his right hand are busted up. “No one else with Theo thinks they saw a gun, though. They think he’s exaggerating and showboating.”
“I feel like I should call the police and make a report.”
“I asked Jack. He said we could, but with Sophie’s text, plus nothing being found on the surveillance feed, they likely won’t do anything at this point.”
My eyes well with tears again, and I hang my head.
“Have you slept, Ollie?”
“Not really.” I sniff, pushing back the tears.
“Ate?”
“No.”
“Why don’t you go shower and grab a bite to eat?”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to leave in case Sophie comes back.”
“How about I stay here and wait?”
I lift my head and push back my riot of curls. “Why would you do that? Are you going to do something perverted, like jizz all over our underwear or something?”
“Really?” he scoffs.
“I’m sorry, but in a way, I’m not sorry. I mean… you are, well… You.” The cocky, vain, egotistical jock who has no shortage of women wanting to take a ride on his disco stick. “And why the hell are you so concerned about my friend?” I cross my arms across my chest. My perky tits nearly pop out of my tank top, but his gaze doesn’t even flicker downward to glance at them.
“She’s… she’s good people, okay?”
“I know that. How do you know that, though?”
He looks like he wants to say something, but he bites it back. “Look, do you want to go shower and get some food? I can stay here. Or not. Whatever.”
“I’ll go shower, but I’ll order in food.” I shift off the bed and stand. “Thank you.”
I go to my closet, grab my shower bag and towel, and head to the door.
“I won’t jizz on your underwear… just your pillow and sheets.” Zac smirks.
“I’m sorry, I said that. You’re… just confusing.”
His smirk falls. “Soph sees through all my bullshit to what’s underneath. Doesn’t let me get away with being a douche canoe man-whore.”
His face looks so tormented before he hides behind what I now suspect is a mask—a mask that Sophie has seen through while everyone else is oblivious.
“She’s good people,” I repeat his description of Sophie, my throat thick.
His throat bobs. “She’s fine, don’t worry.”
Even though I know he’s saying those words to reassure and try to convince himself, they make me feel slightly better.
