Page 54 of Blake

In the chaos that ensued, people stumbled and bumped into one another as they tried to figure out what was happening.

"He went that way!" Nash suddenly yelled, pointing toward the back of the room. The distraction worked, as several heads turned to follow his finger, buying them precious seconds to make their escape.

"Come on," Blake said, grabbing Jax by the arm and pulling him toward the nearest exit. They sprinted through the dark halls, hearts pounding in their ears until they finally burst through the doors into the cool night air.

"Nash?" Jax gasped, scanning the area for any sign of their brother.

"I don't know," Blake admitted, his chest tightening with worry. They couldn't leave without Nash, but every second they lingered put them all at risk.

"Let's give him a few more seconds," Jax suggested, his eyes never leaving the door they'd just exited.

Blake nodded, his jaw set in determination and ready to jump back into action if needed.

"Three . . . two . . . one . . ." Jax counted under his breath, each number like a countdown to potential disaster.

"Where the hell is he?" Blake growled, frustration boiling beneath the surface as the agonizing weight of uncertainty threatened to crush him.

Jax's eyes darted between the gala's exit and Blake, panic evident in his gaze. "You need to go, Blake," he insisted, placing a hand on his brother's arm. "Get cleaned up. Your shirt’s covered in blood. I'll wait for Nash a while longer."

"Are you sure?" Blake asked, torn between loyalty to his brothers and the need to protect himself.

"Go," Jax urged, determination hardening his voice. "I'll handle it."

Blake nodded, clenching his jaw as he sprinted to his car parked down the street. As he sped off towards the Haven, his mind raced with thoughts of the night's events. His knuckles throbbed; a physical reminder of his own uncontrollable anger.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he muttered, gripping the steering wheel tighter. It wasn't that he hadn't killed before—his time in the military had numbed him to the concept. He’d even killed a couple of lowlife scumbags in the city before now. Quick and clean and undetected. But killing a councilor? In plain sight? That was different. He'd let his emotions get the better of him, and now the consequences loomed large.

He questioned his ability to protect Savannah—sweet, strong Savannah who'd captured his heart in such a short time. Was he really capable of being the Daddy she needed? Doubts clawed at his insides, gnawing away at his resolve.

As he pulled into The Haven's parking lot, the weight of the evening pressed down on him like a heavy burden, drowning him in uncertainty. He stumbled through the door, his body still tense with adrenaline.

"Blake!" Rosie gasped, her brown eyes widening as she took in the blood smeared across his hands and face. "What happened?"

"Where's Savannah?" he demanded, his voice hoarse with worry.

Rosie hesitated, biting her lip. "She's . . . gone out, Blake."

His heart plummeted, dread knotting his stomach. "Gone where?"

"I don't know," she admitted, her own worry evident. "She left a while ago. I kinda feel like it was my fault. I’m so sorry.”

The walls closed in on him, suffocating him with the realization that Savannah was out there, alone and potentially in danger. He had to find her—he couldn't lose another person he cared about.

Chapter sixteen

SAVANNAH

Escaping from The Haven while Blake, Jax, and Nash were out was surprisingly easy. She and Rosie had concocted a plan where Rosie distracted the guard by telling him she’d spilled her juice near some electrical cables and was scared there would be a fire.

Savannah, who had taken off her frilly outfit, simply crept out of the door the moment he turned his back.

And now she was free. Properly free. Out on the streets of Chicago, being the big brave girl she was.

The evening air was cool on her face, a stark contrast to the warmth she had just left behind. Headlights streaked by as she walked, and there was a little rain too, but she had no money for a cab. It didn’t matter, anyway. She lived in a much rougher neighborhood than this. She was perfectly capable of walking through the city at night. Besides, it was only eight o’clock. Not exactly witching hour.

She headed for her old foster home. She had run away from it so many times that she had learned the streets around the houselike the back of her hand. When she reached the familiar house, its looming silhouette sent a shiver down Savannah's spine.

It stood on a worn-out street corner, its peeling paint and broken shutters a testament to years of neglect. The yard was overgrown with weeds, and the dim glow from a single, flickering porch light cast eerie shadows on the cracked walkway leading to the front door.

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