Page 85 of Twice as Forbidden

“Vince wouldn’t hurt her. He’s not like that.”

“He’s exactly like that! Have you been listening to me?” I fire back, my voice rising. “He blackmailed her. Roughed her up a few weeks ago. Threatened to rape her. Does that sound like someone incapable of hurting her? Be angry with me all you want, but don’t take it out on Georgia. She’s innocent.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Noah glares at me, his voice laced with hatred and disbelief. “This is all your fault. You seduced her, and she had no choice but to fall on your dick.”

“Noah, that’s enough,” I warn, trying to rein in the spiraling argument.

“No. Fuck you!” he shouts, then tears himself away and disappears down the hall.

“Where the fuck are you going?” I demand, following on his heels.

“Away from you and your lies. I don’t believe a damn thing you’re saying.”

“Noah!” I shout at his back, but he doesn’t stop. “I said fucking stop!” Before I can think, I rush after him, grab him by the shoulders, and slam him against the wall, my grip tight and unrelenting. “Fine. Be the fucking punk kid who doesn’t give a damn about anything. I’m done trying to save you from your own stupidity. You can screw up your life all you want, but I won’t let you screw up hers. Now, give me your phone.”

“No,” he spits back, defiance blazing in his eyes.

“Give me your goddamn phone!” My voice is pure fury.

Emotions flit through his eyes—shock, fear, uncertainty. Stiffly, he digs into his pocket and shoves the phone into my chest.

“All this for pussy?” he sneers. “She wasn’t even that good.”

I shove Noah aside, my grip faltering as I punch in his passcode and swipe to his texts. My breath hitches when I see Vince hasn’t replied.

“Fuck!” I hiss under my breath, redialing Vince’s number. Straight to voicemail. Dammit.

Turning my back on Noah, I grab my own phone and speed-dial Craig. “I need you to trace a number,” I snap, rattling off Georgia’s phone number. “Do it now. While I’m on the phone.”

The seconds stretch as I pace, my chest tight with dread.

“Satellite shows it’s about seven miles from you,” Craig says finally.

“Where?” I ask, desperate.

“Pulling it up now. She’s moving. Wait. Got it. The red light camera footage from the light on Westin Avenue and Fields—she’s in a car. Black sedan. Heading north.”

“Who’s she with?” I bark, gripping the phone like a lifeline.

“I can’t tell.”

I hear a car horn outside, which makes me jump. “Can you see the license plate?” I ask urgently. As I rush toward the door. The honking continues relentlessly as I fling it open. Standing beside the driver’s side, a kid meets my glare. “What the fuck do you want?” I snap.

He raises his hands defensively. “Hey, someone called for an Uber. I’ll wait five minutes before I charge.”

My stomach twists into knots. “Craig, that license plate—who’s it registered to?”

Before he can finish, the kid adds, “Are you taking the ride or what? ’Cause—”

I cut him off, my tone clipped. “What’s the name on the request?”

The kid glances at his phone. “Georgia Price.”

My voice cracks. “Craig—”

I can barely process the next words as he answers, “Veronica Hallstead.”

The name barely registers before I’m bolting toward my car. “Track that sedan. Don’t lose its location, and if they stop, send me the address.” I end the call and sprint to my vehicle, sliding into the driver’s seat with my hands still unsteady. Immediately, I fire up the navigation system and enter in the direction they’re headed. Every second feels critical as I brace myself for whatever comes next.

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