Page 45 of Lessons In Grey
I called Jack and put the phone on speaker as I jerked on some jeans.
“Fuck, what time is it there?”
“I need you to find an address for me right now,” I said, throwing around the blankets I had ripped off my bed. I picked up my mattress and tossed it across the room again, wading through the clothes, the papers, the broken frames. I would never get my deposit back, but money meant nothing right now.
“What happened, Greyson?”
“Get thefuckingaddress, Jack,” I snarled. “Emily Belle Glass.” I promised I would never cross this line, but I had no choice now. I couldn’t trust that she would be okay.
I had to get there.
Because if she were dead…
That rage flamed through me, and I slammed my fist through the drywall. “Fuck!”
“What happened to her?” Jack asked, his tone even, calm.
He knew something about this. Although, I didn’t think Rae had ever…if she had, he never would have said.
He had met his girl two years ago now. Around Halloween. The shit they went through…maybe it’d be good if Rae called her. Maybe it would help her make sense of the secrets I was about to spill over the next few days.
“Just get me the address, Jack, please. Please, get me the address. I need thegoddamnaddress,” I rushed, jerking on my running shoes and my black hoodie.
Seconds ticked by. “Okay, I sent it to your phone. She’ll be okay, Greyson. She’s going to be okay.”
I grabbed my keys, trying to keep the memories from flooding through me while the panic and rage from that time slowly tightened around my lungs. “Yeah, tell Malachi if she isn’t then he’ll have another Az on his hands.” I wouldn’t lose her. I wouldnotlose her.
“You’re not going to turn into Azrael.”
I hung up and sprinted for the door.
The house was huge, but dear Mr. Glass had cheaped out on security for God knows what stupid reason. It took very little effort to get through the front door. No cameras, no anything. Fuckingidiot.
The house was dark, silent. Not a sound to be heard through the mansion.
I jogged for the stairs, taking everything in as I ran up them two at a time.
No pictures of Charlie or Emily’s mother. Not a single one. As if they had never existed at all.
The carpeted hall made it easy to jog down. Bathroom, storage closet, her father’s room.
Charlie’s room.
I slowed, staring at the name spray-painted on the door in black. My brows furrowed at the crudeness of it. Not a single memory of the girl here, yet her door still had her name written on it?
Had Jordan done that to hurt her?
I glanced up and down the hall before slowly turning the knob and opening the door just enough to peek in.
He was laying in his bed sleeping peacefully while my girl was in her room carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. The walls had been spray-painted, the room was trashed. It looked like a drug den.
There had to be at least three other bedrooms in this house, and thismanchose Charlie’s bedroom?
God, I wanted to fucking kill him.
But not now. Not yet.
I closed it quietly and continued down the hall to the next bedroom. I pushed it open a crack, seeing the black, green, and neon pink colors coating the room.