I nod and run a hand through my hair, anxious to get back into the gym and find Trix, put my hands and lips on her to know she's okay.

Sylvia pulls out her clipboard and slides on her gla.s.ses. "Hmm, okay, let's see here . . ."

I practice my deep breathing and wait until she gets her f.u.c.king s.h.i.t together.

She peeks up at me from over her gla.s.ses. "You remember where to go, right?"

"Yes, I do." I point back down the hallway that leads to the gym, but my feet are already moving.

"Your nametag!" She waves, but I'm halfway there. "That boy's in a hurry."

She has no idea.

Once in the gym, my eyes search out the huddle of dancing girls for the flash of platinum and purple, but come up empty. Maybe she's not here yet? I walk around, scouring the place from the mats to the tops of the bleachers and everything in between.

Still nothing.

Last night was probably rough on her. Maybe she slept in? I head over to the kickboxing area and drop to the mats, keeping alert. I don't know how much time pa.s.ses, but a small group of kids slowly makes its way over. I greet them without taking my eyes off the gym at large when there's a tug on my shirt.

I peer down and find Denny, whose mouth is turned into a frown. "Mr. Mason?"

I kneel to his eye level and hold out my fist for a b.u.mp. "Den, what's up?"

His dark brown eyes meet mine. "She's not coming."

My chest constricts. "Who?" I ask, although my gut tells me I already know.

"Miss Trixy." He sighs. "She's not coming."

My pulse hammers in my neck. "How do you know that, Den?"

He kicks at the mat then shrugs. "Because she always gets here early to bring me breakfast."

My heart pinches at the rejected sound in his voice. "Maybe she's sick?"

He shakes his head. "Nope. She's never sick. She shows up sick just to bring me breakfast."

The pain in my chest turns into the rapid throb of panic. "Huh, well, why don't you get your gloves on and start shadow boxing while I go talk to Miss Sylvia, okay?"

He nods and his eyes get watery before he dips his chin and heads to the gloves. "Den, buddy, I'll find out what's going on. I promise."

He doesn't respond, but straps on gloves that dwarf his tiny hands, and the same feeling of foreboding I had last night hits me again hard. With an urgency for answers on my heels, I jog to the front desk where Sylvia has her nose pressed to a computer screen. I knock on the counter to get her attention rather than scaring the s.h.i.t out of her again, which I'm liable to do with the way I'm feeling.

"Sylvia, did Trix call in sick today?" My stomach flips over on itself as I wait for her answer.

Her eyes scrunch up along with her mouth. "Yeah, funny huh? As long as she's been here, she's never missed a day."

What the f.u.c.k? "Right. Did she say what was wrong?"

Her face turns sad. "Yeah, she had to go back home, something about having to take care of her sister."

I grip the counter, suddenly lightheaded. "Her sister?"

"As long as she's been volunteering here, I never even knew she had a sister."

I swallow and fight the urge to rub my temples. "She has a few. Did she happen to say which one?"

"No, she just said she needed time off and was looking forward to getting out of the city and into the Majestic Mountains."

"Where?"

She pushes up her gla.s.ses. "Where she's from. The Majestic Mountains? I've never heard of it, but it sounds lovely."

What the h.e.l.l is she talking about?

"Great, okay." I pat the countertop. "Thanks."

She nods then goes back to her computer.

I return to the gym, but feel disconnected as my mind attempts to process.

Last night she needed some s.p.a.ce. Today she's headed back to Los Gatos. Maybe one of her sisters is sick, and this is all part of the s.p.a.ce she needs to figure things out. I pull my phone from my pocket and dial her again, the call going straight to voicemail.

Something isn't right. And I'm not giving up until I figure out what it is.

Three days later...

This is bulls.h.i.t.

All of it.

They say there's a thin line between love and hate, and I've been f.u.c.king living there for the last seventy-two hours.

I've practically worn holes in my d.a.m.n phone from my repeated calls and text messages, none of them returned. I've driven by her house and burst in past her roommate only to find that she hasn't been there in days. Calls to Zeus's are pointless. For whatever reason, maybe company policy, they can't tell me s.h.i.t.

Which is why I'm heading over there now to find Santos and torture the motherf.u.c.ker until he tells me every single thing that happened the night he took her out of that villa.

It's not even seven p.m., and there's a line to get into the club. I push past to the front, and the bouncer holds his hands up. "Gotta stand in line with the rest of them."

"I need to talk to Santos."

"Don't give a f.u.c.k. Still need to wait in line." He nods to the back of the line, but f.u.c.k him. I've waited long enough.

I move from the front door and around the building to the back. From what I've noticed, Santos usually handles the girls' side of the club rather than the customer side. The back door is used for exit only and is locked from the inside. If I wait out back long enough, Santos's sure to pop his head out eventually.

The ba.s.s throbs, and I pace the length of brick wall, waiting. No matter how many times I check the parking lot for Trix's car, I find myself jerking to attention every time a new one pulls in or even f.u.c.king pa.s.ses by. My arms tense and my legs burn with unspent energy. I'm antsy as h.e.l.l and getting more impatient as every second pa.s.ses.

The sun disappears and the air cools, letting me know I've been out here for a while, when suddenly the back door swings open. I rush over just as Santos' face appears and a group of men tumble out.

He catches sight of me, and I don't miss the slight reaction on the usually stone-faced bouncer.

"Santos, I need a minute." I rush up the steps and brace open the door.

"Workin', don't have a minute." He tries unsuccessfully to shut the door.

"What happened the night you took Trix from the villa? Ever since then, she won't talk to me. Guess she went home, but . . ." I blow out a long breath, suddenly feeling pathetic for being here. Guy's girlfriend dumps his a.s.s, and he chases after every person she knows searching for answers. I rub the back of my neck. "I'm sorry, I know this sounds crazy, but I can't help but wonder if maybe she said something to you about being p.i.s.sed at me? Something doesn't feel right."

He doesn't give anything away by his expression, but steps outside. I release the door, and he catches it before it slams shut, grunting as if holding the thing open is causing him pain. His eyes close and he clutches his ribs, breathing through his teeth.

I've been around injuries long enough to know exactly what that is. Broken ribs.

"Rough night?" I nod to his ribs, but he ignores me.

"Rough few days."

He steps under the light, and it's then I notice a fading black eye and a scab on his lip. "What the f.u.c.k happened to you?"

"Got messed up with the wrong people." He stares at me in a way that has me shifting on my feet. "You know what that's like?"

"I do."

He nods. "Yeah. You do. So does she."

I shake my head, feeling the weight of defeat crash over me. "So you're saying she thinks I'm the wrong people?" f.u.c.k, I knew it. She thinks I'm a drug dealer and a partic.i.p.ating member of B3. What she saw at the beach, knows about my ties to Elijah, and the way I man-handled her at that party, she has all the evidence against me.

He taps his temple, his eyes wide. "Think."

"I-".

"Think."

Think about what? "When you see her, will you please tell her to call me? It's cool if she's over us." It so f.u.c.king is not! "But I need to hear her say it."

His eyes dart to the lot behind me, his jaw hard. "Think harder."

"I know I f.u.c.ked up."

Why the h.e.l.l does he look so disappointed?

This was a mistake. I wave him off and move back down the steps. "Speaking in riddles, what the f.u.c.k?"

He mumbles something that I can't make out, but my guess is whatever it is will only make me angrier. I hop in my truck and head over to Rex's for poker night, feeling like I've lost the other half of my soul.

Now I get what Trix was talking about when she'd mention Lana's death. Losing someone you love is horrific. Knowing it happened is bad enough, but not knowing why is excruciating.

If she'd just let me explain, I could fix all this. Whatever she thinks of me is wrong and doesn't justify this kind of punishment.

Is this it? Did I lose her?

Rex reaches two hands into the middle of the table and rakes his winnings toward him. "You forget to take your meds today, Baywatch?"

"That's not funny." Gia, who took Talon's spot at the table tonight after the guy called to say he had last-minute p.u.s.s.y to slay, his words, not mine, slaps her man on the arm.

He cringes and stacks his chips in nice even towers. "Sorry, baby."

I swig off my beer while flipping a chip over my fingers.

"Mase, man, Rex's is right." Lane leans back in his chair, scowling. "Someone kill your kitten?"

How do I even answer that? No, f.u.c.kface, but my girl, the one you so proudly f.u.c.ked, promised me she'd never say good-bye and f.u.c.king left my a.s.s. Yes, I'm a p.u.s.s.y-a.s.s b.i.t.c.h, but love'll do that to you.

"I'm good." I shrug and motion for Lane to deal the f.u.c.king cards already.

I feel the steely gray eyes of Gia as her glare bores into me. First thing I did when I got here was ask if she'd talked to Trix. She said she hadn't, but judging by the look of pity on her face, I'd say she knows things aren't good between us. Thankfully, Lane showed up before she was able to question me further, but I can see by the way she's studying me she's itching for more information.

A few more beers later, and we've managed to play poker without the subject of Trix and me coming up. I threw back more booze than I should've, and the game wasn't holding my attention, so I ended up losing all my money. I've never been readier to go home and pa.s.s out, hoping I wake up tomorrow with my girl in my arms surrounded by her clean floral scent with her blond and purple-streaked hair tossed across my chest as if this is all just some s.h.i.tty dream.

"Think I'm getting a Harley," Lane says, pulling me from my thoughts.

"Sweet." Gia leans in. "What kind?"

"Fat Boy. Guy I know is sellin' one."

She moans. "Ohh, yeah. Fat Boys are sweet."

Lane nods. "You ever ridden one?"

Rex visibly tenses, but Gia's too wrapped up in the conversation to notice.

"No, but I've ridden on the back of one. Super smooth ride."

Rex clears his throat. "Oh yeah, how smooth?" He tugs on the barbell through his eyebrow so much so that I have to look away, afraid he's gonna rip the f.u.c.king thing from his skin.

Gia sits back, her face draining of what little color it has. "Rex-"

"Come on, Gia." He leans in toward her and something about the way he's doing it makes me want to jump in between them to protect her. "Why don't you tell us how f.u.c.king smooth that ride is, huh? We wanna know."

She shakes her head and drops her gaze. "I'm sorry. I-"

"Sorry what? That you brought this s.h.i.t up again?"

Her chin jerks up to glare at Rex. "Again? You never let me talk about it. Ever! It's like you brought me home and just expect me to dive right into your life and leave everything that happened back in Denver!"

"Drop it." Aggression rolls off Rex in waves that make the hair on my arms stand on end.

She throws her hands in the air. "See! There you go again!"

"I'm not talkin' about this right now," Rex growls and flicks a rubber band at his wrist.