Page 10 of Pastel Kisses

And Lennox…

God, Lennox. His easygoing demeanor would be gone, replaced by an edge so sharp it could cut steel. He’s been through something like this before. He knows what it’s like to be trapped, at the mercy of a psychotic woman with delusions of love and ownership. The fact that it’s happening again—to someone he loves—must be destroying him.

A fresh stab of guilt twists in my stomach as my mind shifts to my dad.

He must be beside himself.

The last time I saw him, he was grilling the guys, trying to figure out if they were worthy of me. Now, he’s probably on a warpath, tearing through town like a one-man army, demanding answers. He doesn’t understand our relationship completely, but he does know one thing—those men love me. And if I’m in danger, they’ll do everything in their power to bring me home.

But knowing my dad, he won’t just sit back and wait for them to figure it out. No. He’s in the trenches, making calls, digging up every piece of information he can get his hands on. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already confronting the police, demanding why the hell they haven’t found me yet.

The thought of him suffering like this guts me.

And then—there’s Roman.

I squeeze my eyes shut, picturing my best friend pacing back and forth in the bakery, running a nervous hand through his hair, his expression caught somewhere between worry and full-blown panic.

He probably thinks I ghosted him, at first. But after missing a shift at the shop? After not answering my phone?

He knows.

He knows something is wrong.

And if he knows, that means he’s already spiraling, calling my dad, calling the guys, calling everyone who might have the slightest clue where I am.

Roman doesn’t do well with fear. He masks it with sarcasm and dramatics, but I can feel his voice trembling through the memory of our last conversation. He knows I wouldn’t just disappear. He knows I wouldn’t leave him hanging like that.

And the bakery…

The thought of it sitting there, doors locked, lights dimmed, the scent of cinnamon and sugar lingering in the air from the last batch of pastries I made before I was taken—it’s unbearable.

Who’s running it? Is Roman trying to keep things going, praying that I’ll walk through the door any second?

Or has he closed it entirely, shutting down our little piece of the world until I come back?

A broken sob shatters the silence.

I barely register that it’s mine.

I press the heel of my palm against my mouth, forcing myself to swallow the rest of my emotions. Breaking down won’t get me out of here. Crying won’t save me.

But thinking will.

I have to stay sharp.

Think, Avery.

I try to recall anything from before Sarah drugged me. Was the door locked? Did I hear a car? Was there anyone else with her?

No. Just her.

Sarah is dangerous, but she’s only one person.

That means she’s limited.

She’s keeping me alive for a reason. Maybe it’s to gloat, maybe it’s to wait for the right moment to stage her grand entrance back into the guys’ lives.

But she’s underestimating me.

---