Page 116 of Unseen Danger
“Because she’s super annoying.” Nevaeh punched Jazz’s shoulder before turning away with a grin.
Jazz’s laugh chased her as Nevaeh and Alvarez headed for the open door. “What’s the big hurry?” The teasing tone followed close behind. “He’ll still be sleeping by the time you get there.”
“You just wait till—” Something white on the doorframe caught Nevaeh’s gaze, killing the retort on her lips.
“Is that…” Jazz’s unfinished question came from behind Nevaeh’s shoulder as they both stopped.
Nevaeh reached for the folded paper taped to the wooden doorframe. It opened easily with a light touch from the tip of her pinky.
Her eyes locked on the typed text.
I haven’t forgotten you. I’m watching. You’ll be next.
Thirty-Two
A blood-curdling scream penetrated the walls, jolting Branson awake and out of bed in one fluid motion.
He snatched his Glock from the nightstand and darted for his bedroom door, yanking it open.
His gaze cleared the empty hallway as he went to D-Chop’s suite. He knocked on the closed door. “D-Chop?”
He gave it one second. Any longer could be too long.
Gripping the nob, he turned it. Unlocked, as expected.
He swung the door in and lifted his gun.
The lounge attached to D-Chop’s bedroom suite was a mess, throw pillows on the floor by the white sofa, empty wine glasses on the coffee table.
But it was empty.
Branson stepped inside, gaze locked on the open doorway that led to D-Chop’s bedroom.
Movement made him level his Glock in that direction.
A young woman stumbled through, her hands pressed over her face, covering her eyes as she whimpered.
Branson had seen the petite woman only briefly last night when she’d come to visit D-Chop. Another fan the rapper had picked up, this time at the Wilton High concert.
Branson’s gut clenched at the thought of what could’ve caused her hysterics now. He skirted past her as she headed for the sofa.
He ducked into the bedroom, weapon ready.
He scanned for D-Chop.
The rapper stood at the side of the king-sized bed in his boxers.
Relief slowed the adrenaline coursing through Branson.
Until he followed the direction of D-Chop’s stunned stare.
A butcher’s knife stabbed into a pillow at the head of the bed. Had D-Chop been sleeping there?
“D-Chop?” Branson lowered his gun as he moved toward the rapper, scanning him for any sign of injury. “Are you all right?”
The man stared at the knife, unblinking.
“D-Chop? Branson?” Louis’s shout came from the lounge area. He was staying overnight in Darren’s bedroom now, much farther down the hall.