Page 67 of DFF: Delicate Freakin' Flower

My grip around the phone tightened so hard I half-expected to hear the plastic casing crack under the pressure. “Hold on, Gabby,” I muttered, my voice low, almost a prayer. “I’m almost there.”

“Fuck this,” Jesse’s voice snapped through the comms. It was followed by the distinct sound of a door splintering under force.

I was already moving, sprinting down the seventeenth-floor hallway, boots pounding against the carpet. I barely noticed the hotel staff stepping aside, their wide-eyed expressions blurring past as I ran full tilt toward Room 1712.

The door was wide open by the time I got there. Jesse stood in the middle of the room, gun raised, his gaze sweeping the corners like he still expected something—or someone—to lunge out at him. He shook his head.

“She’s not here,” he clipped, his breathing ragged.

I shoved past him and stepped inside. Everything was untouched. There was no chaos, broken glass, or overturned chairs. Most importantly, there was no blood. The sheets were neatly tucked, the window was closed, and the air still held that crisp, impersonal scent of fresh linen and money. It looked like no one had been here at all. No fight, no struggle, just absence.

“Shit,” I breathed, scanning the room again. “She planned this.”

Behind me, Marcus stepped in with Elijah on his heels. Jesse was already moving again, checking the closet and the bathroom like maybe he’d missed something. But I knew the truth, and the cold certainty of it settled in my gut like a stone. Gabby wasn't here, and she’d likely gone on purpose.

Wes brought up the rear, his laptop slung over one shoulder and headset hanging loosely around his neck. His frown deepened as he stepped inside, scanning the room and the tension thickening in the air.

“She bailed on her own?” he asked uncertainly.

“She didn’t bail,” Marcus replied, moving to the window and peering out. “She walked out. Probably the same way Maddox came in.”

Jesse gave a half-laugh as he holstered his weapon. “I like her, girl’s got huevos. Straight up.”

“Yeah, well,” I snapped, still pacing the room as the adrenaline refused to settle, “she also walked into something we might not be able to pull her out of.”

That shut everyone up. Then Elijah spoke, his voice quiet but firm.

“Guys.”

He was crouched beside the TV stand, fingertips brushing along the inside edge of a decorative bookend. He leaned in and slowly pulled something free—a pinhole camera, small enough to miss if you weren’t looking for it. He held it up between two fingers.

“Still warm,” he noted. Then, gesturing toward the armchair, he added, “There’s more, she wired the room.”

He passed a tiny recorder to Wes, who was already setting up. His laptop was open in seconds, cords snaking out of his bag as if they knew exactly where to go. He moved with the kind of speed that came from muscle memory, fingers flying across the keys as he worked to sync the data.

The room fell into silence. The only sounds were the soft hum of the laptop fan and the occasional frustrated curse under Wes’s breath as he pieced everything together.

Then the screen lit up, and a grainy video feed flickered to life. It was the room we were standing in now and showed Gabby sitting on the edge of the bed.

Then Maddox entered.

The footage played, and everything in me dropped. My stomach bottomed out, and a thick, sick weight settled behind my ribs.

Jesse sucked in a sharp breath, Marcus swore under his breath, and Wes went pale, visibly shaken as he watched the scene unfold. Elijah said nothing. He stood off to the side with his arms folded, his jaw clenched tighter with every passing second.

“No,” I whispered, stepping closer to the screen. “No, no, no.”

The video kept going. We couldn’t hear the words, but we didn’t need to. The tension between them, the body language, the deliberate pacing of the conversation—it told us everything.

I'd been right when I'd said that Gabby hadn’t been taken. She’d made a choice and walked into it with her eyes open.

And now we had no idea if we’d get her back.

I could see it on her face. The moment it hit her, there might not be a way out. That whatever choice Maddox had given her, it came with a cost she was willing to pay. I saw the shift in her eyes, the quiet resignation, and then, the flicker of resolve.

She wasn’t being taken, she was making a choice.

“She’s sacrificing herself.” Marcus's voice was low and grim. “She’s trying to end it without dragging us down with her.”

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