Page 16 of Pastel Kisses

Jax shakes his head, his jaw tight. “Nothing new.”

Kamden exhales heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. “Police are still following leads, but they’re coming up dry. No real sightings, no new evidence.”

The cards were typed—no handwriting to analyze, nothing to trace. The roses? Never ordered through a florist. No receipts, no witnesses, no record of who dropped them off. Whoever delivered them likely was the kidnapper. Avery’s neighbors live close, but not close enough. Their long driveways and tree-lined lots blocked any view that might’ve caught something—anything—out of the ordinary that night. But there was nothing. No flicker of headlights, no strange car parked along the curb. Just silence. And emptiness. Like she vanished into thin air, and the trail disappeared with her.

I drop into a chair, my stomach twisting. “Feels like we’re just spinning our wheels.”

Jax slams a fist against the table, rattling the papers. “We’re not giving up.”

“No one’s saying that,” Liam says calmly, grabbing another round of beers from the fridge. “We’re just… frustrated.”

Kamden nods, accepting the beer Liam hands him. “We need to get some fresh eyes on this. Maybe a PI. Someone who can dig into things the cops can’t.”

Jax’s eyes darken with determination. “I’ll make some calls.”

We fall into a tense silence, the weight of the situation pressing down on all of us.

Finally, Liam breaks it with a deep breath. “She’s out there, waiting for us to find her.”

I grip my beer, nodding. “Then we keep looking.”

No matter how long it takes, no matter what we have to do.

We’re bringing Avery home.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Avery

It’s been weeks—I think—since I promised myself I’d escape, and there hasn’t been a single opportunity to do so. Not one crack in Sarah’s routine. Not one careless mistake. Not one fucking chance.

With no windows in this dungeon, it’s impossible to gauge time except for the number of times I’ve woken up. Even that isn’t reliable. She drugs me often, leaving me unconscious for what could be weeks at a time, only to wake up groggy, weak, and disoriented. The effects are lasting, messing with my perception of reality, my body sluggish, my thoughts dulled.

The only thing keeping me from slipping into despair is the sharp click of the lock before and after she enters. That sound tells me there’s a key. One that I need. One that’s going to be nearly impossible to steal without her noticing. But that’s only one hurdle. The chain around my ankle is another beast entirely. The metal is thick, old but strong, reinforced with a brand-new padlock that holds it in place.

I’ve pulled, yanked, twisted, even tried slipping my foot through it, but it’s too snug around my ankle. The friction has already rubbed my skin raw, the bruises deepening each time I test its limits. Still, I keep trying because it’s the only thing I can do. It’s the only fight I have in me at the moment.

An exasperated huff escapes as I finally give up—for now. Blowing my hair from my face, I glance around the room, searching for something—anything—that could be useful. But I already know the answer. There’s nothing.

Just like the last time I looked.

And the time before that.

Sarah isn’t careless. She isn’t stupid.

My stomach twists as I think about what she’s doing. She’s been using my disappearance as leverage, twisting it into something she can manipulate. She’s not just trying to take my place—she’s trying to erase me. Make the guys lean on her, turn to her for comfort in the wake of my absence.

And the worst part? It could work.

I want to believe that they wouldn’t, that my guys wouldn’t fall for her bullshit. That their love for me is stronger than whatever she’s spinning, but doubt gnaws at me. They were with her for years. I’ve only had a handful of months with them.Weekshave passed. What happens when I’m missing longer than we were ever together?

Would they still hold out for me? Would they still love me?

The thoughts make my chest ache.

I force myself up from the bed, needing to move, needing to do something. My body protests the motion, stiff and sore from lying down too much. I test my balance, stretching my limbs as I pace the small area I have access to, the chain clanking against the floor with every step. I search for anything I can use as a weapon—a loose nail, a broken piece of furniture, anything.

Nothing. Again.

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