Page 118 of The Scarab's Game

“Where’s the disc?” I demanded.

Scarlett’s voice sliced through my earpiece. “I told you it wasn’t the job you were?—”

“Shut it, Scar!” I snapped, fear twisting into anger. “Where’s the fucking disc?”

Jayce’s reply came swiftly. “I’m almost back to the Exotic Garden.”

Could we deliver the disc to Noah in time? What would Enzo do to Jenn if we didn’t? The image of the dead guards flashed through my mind—Enzo’s handiwork, no doubt. More memories flooded over me—the cocky taunts I’d shot at him before the beatings started in New York, the first time I saw myself in the mirror at the hospital in Venice?—

Oh god, what he might do toherthat he hadn’t done to me.

I swallowed hard. “How fast can you run it down here, Jayce?”

Rav’s boat pulled up next to me.

Drew chimed in. “I’m faster and almost at the Garden, anyway.”

“Not faster in your dress shoes,” Jayce retorted.

I tuned out their bickering, my gaze fixed on Noah’s boat. The sooner I had the disc, the sooner Jenn would be safe in my arms again. “Both of you run. Whoever’s in front, take it.”

“Will, where’s the spare drone?” Rav asked as he tossed a line to the dock.

“On its way,” Will replied, “but the battery’s almost dead.”

A faint whirring passed overhead as the drone made for the boat. At least we’d have eyes on Jenn soon.

This was my fault. I’d insisted on taking the disc, a stupid, unnecessary risk. Why? Pride? Revenge? Ego?

And she was the one paying for it.

“We’ll get her back safely,” Rav said as he secured the boat.

“This is my fault,” I muttered, barely keeping my voice steady. “If I?—”

Dante burst through the door behind us. “Emmett! Did you find her?”

Exactly what I needed. A target. “What are you doing down here, De Rosa?”

“You left in such a hurry, I—” Dante started, his eyes wild with concern.

“Your father and his merry men took her,” I spat, the words tasting bitter in my mouth.

Mr. Thatcher’s warning from years ago echoed in my mind. He’d told me I would hurt Jenn, and now it had come true in a way worse than either of us could have imagined.

Dante’s hands balled into fists, and he pressed them against his forehead. “Tell me she’s not working with them?”

His words ignited a fury deep inside me. I advanced on him. He’d pay. For bringing her here. For getting her involved.

“Working with them?” I threw my hands in the air, holding back the need to punch him or throw him into the water. “They kidnapped her!”

Dante’s lip curled, and his fist flew—lights burst in my vision—straight into my cheekbone. The impact sent me reeling.

A bag flew over my head. Next came the fist to my ribs. The boot?—

Snap out of it, Emmett!

You’re not in New York. You’re not in Venice. Get the fuck over it.

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