Page 71 of Was I Ever Real
She never calls me.
I fight the foreboding chill crawling up my scalp and answer. “Yeah?”
She skips over all formalities, her voice carrying a worried lilt that puts me on edge. “Have you seen Lenix today?”
“Not since this morning. Why? What’s wrong?” I say hurriedly.
Staying silent for far too long, my patience almost snaps before she speaks again. “She didn’t come back from lunch, and her phone is going straight to voicemail, but her car is still parked outside the office.”
“Fuck,” I hiss, my mind already miles deep into the worst case scenario.
“I’m worried, Connor,” she says, her voice shaking.
“Call Byzantine, and let him know,” I tell her through clenched teeth. “We’ll take care of it.”
I hang up, practically sprinting to my car. Before I drive off, I pull up Lenix’s voicemail, and notice that it was left around the same time Sunny says she saw her last. I slam my phone on the dash and peel out of the parking lot. Her voice floats out of the speaker and I’m having trouble concentrating on the road ahead.
Where the fuck am I even going?
Office.
By the tone of her voice, I know she’s seen the news. The gory little gift I left on the Capitol steps. Did it have to be so public? No.
But did it thrill me to know that Sacro Nuntio would see one of theirs desecrated across national news? Absolutely.
I knew Lenix wouldn’t approve. Her heart isn’t as black as mine. Not even close. But I also know in my fuckingbonesthat she hasn’t run away on her own accord this time. Not to mention she left her car behind. That should be the first glaring clue.
I’m seething, stuck in downtown traffic and this close to driving up the sidewalks, forcing everyone out of my way. I slam the steering wheel with my palm in frustration, saving Lenix’s voicemail and dialing Bastian next. He answers on the first ring.
“If this is about your wife, Byzantine already told me. I was about to call. Her phone hasn’t moved in hours. East corner of Wilfred and Mullins.”
“Can you access the street cameras?”
“Working on it.” I hear the fast sounds of his typing while he falls silent.
“Call me the second you do.”
He ends the call without saying another word.
I’m only five minutes away from her last known location but time stretches into an infinite moment of stress, impatience, and fear. Before I decide to plow into someone’s bumper forcing them tofucking move, I give up and park. I run the last block, arriving at the east corner of Wilfred and Mullins with trepidation spiking my adrenaline.
My first sweep of the sidewalk comes up with nothing and I’m about to jump down Bastian’s throat when I notice a garbage can a few steps away. Stalking over to it, I peer inside, my heart plummeting into my guts when I find Lenix’s phone inside. It looks deliberately smashed, the screen obliterated. The rage spewing up and out of me is pure and unfiltered. I see red, my vision blackening.
Glock in hand, my brain is void of rational thought. Knowing the phone is beyond repair, I empty my bullets into it, clenching my teeth until the fucking thing is in pieces. I’m left empty, lightyears away from any relief. I don’t bother placating any wary onlookers and get the fuck out of there, texting both Byzantine and Bastian to meet me at my place.
The smoke from the joint I just rolled spills out of my mouth when they finally enter the study. I’d already be three drinks deep if I didn’t need to keep some kind of clear head—the weed now a necessity if I plan to survive the day without killing anyone, myself included.
“You got anything?” I bark.
Bastian gives me a look that almost passes for compassion, before saying, “They got her.”
I snap.
Losing the last shreds of my control, I swipe my hands across my desk, the contents crashing on the floor. My fist slams into the mahogany wood over and over, swearing loudly, losing myself in these confusing, devouring feelings I can barely describe, until slowly, I claw my way back from the spiral I slipped into.
A few strands of hair have fallen into my eyes, I take a deep breath, smoothing it back. Crouching down, I pick up the joint, my knuckles now swollen and bleeding. I focus on the physical pain while taking a long drag, the smoke weighing me back to earth.
Both Byzantine and Bastian are close to the fireplace, tight-lipped and standing at attention waiting for me to speak.