Page 155 of Before Dawn

“Ah, so everyone’s just in love. I wonder if it’s the season,” Ronan muttered, sarcasm thick in his voice. “Tell her I say hello.”

Mikkel rolled his eyes, clearly unamused. “Did you need something?”

Ronan’s tone shifted, turning grave. “I have a message from Dillon. Something’s happened to Azzaria, and he can’t get to her friend—which I’m guessing is who you’redoing—so he said to call you.”

The warmth in my body vanished. My skin went cold. My stomach twisted painfully.

“I was with her this morning,” I blurted, my voice unsteady. “What happened?”

Ronan cleared his throat. “She ran into her ex, but Dillon stopped it before things escalated. They’re headed to his penthouse.”

Azzaria’s ex. Matthew.

I shot up from Mikkel’s lap, my breath coming in sharp, shallow pulls. “Mikkel…”

He was already moving, his eyes dark with concern as he caught my waist, steadying me. “I know, let’s go.”

The thought of her in distress, of Matthew anywhere near her, tore through me with a ferocity that left me shaking.

We waited in Dillon’s study, the silence stretching, thick and suffocating. Panic clawed up my throat, my breath slow but heavy. Every second that passed only fed the gnawing dread in my chest.

Mikkel sat beside me, his warmth a tether. He massaged my palm, then pressed into my neck, each stroke unraveling tension. His touch grounded me just enough to keep me from spiraling.

The room was filled with faces I barely knew but had heard plenty about. Ronan and Lucio, identical in appearance but sharp in contrast—one with an easy smirk, the other with an intensity that spoke volumes. And then there was Arnoldo. Unlike the others, he didn’t try to blend into the weight of the moment.

“So you got one best friend and Azzaria got the other?” His voice cut through the silence, careless, almost amused.

Mikkel’s response was instant, his tone sharp enough to slice. “Time and fucking place, Reyes.”

Arnoldo smirked, unbothered. “Ah, he speaks.” He stretched, arms draping over the back of the chair. “I’d argue my question lightened the mood.”

“You’re an asshole,” Ronan muttered, shaking his head.

Arnoldo shrugged. “I’m blunt.”

Lucio exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Ignore him,” he told me. “He was born without a filter.”

Arnoldo only winked.

I barely processed their exchange before my focus snapped back to the one thing that mattered. “Where’s Dillon?” I asked, my voice strained with urgency.

“No cl—” Ronan began, but the door swung open before he could finish.

Dillon stood in the frame, his expression drawn tight, a bottle of scotch clenched in his fist. The tension rolled off him in waves, dark and volatile.

“Where is she?” The words left my lips in a rush, my pulse pounding. “Is she okay? Did he do anything to her?”

Dillon’s gaze swept over us, his jaw ticking before he exhaled sharply. “She’s sleeping.” His grip tightened around the bottle. “Don’t go to her.” The last part came out a low warning, rough with frustration.

Mikkel’s head lifted, his gaze hardening.

“Xander.” His voice was quiet but carried the kind of authority that sent a ripple through the room. “Watch your tone when you’re speaking to her.”

Ishouldn’thave found that hot.

Not the time, Abigail. I needed a cold shower. No, a damn ice bath.

Dillon exhaled, some of the tension in his shoulders easing. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “I’m just… pissed.”

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