Page 55 of Saved By The King's Gamma

I open up the messages, only when I do I see a picture message from a thread he was in. I gasp at the mutilated body of a woman, and Gannon looks at me. He glances down at the screen before trying to snatch the phone.

“I thought you were calling Azalea,” he growls, trying to reach for his phone.

“Why is Blaire on your phone?” I ask, staring down, horrified at the screen. Why? I had no doubt it was her. I would recognize her face anywhere, it haunts my dreams, and I always wondered what happened to her. I hoped she got free of the pack, but here she is dead on his phone screen. Yet as I scroll through the photos, I begin to feel sick.

“Blaire?” Gannon asks.

“Pullover. I am going to be sick,” I tell him, and he rips the car to the side of the road.

I toss the door open, throwing up. And empty my stomach. Seeing her mutilated body makes me sick, dry heaving until nothing but bile remains. Gannon races around the car, snatching the phone from my hand and pocketing it. He goes to grab me, but I take a step away and stand up.

“Did you kill her?” I ask, horrified, wondering why he would send that to Liam.

“What? No!” he says, stepping toward me, but I take another step back.

“Abbie?”

“Why is she on your phone?” I demand, and his brows pinch. Gannon pulls his phone out and looks at the screen.

“You know this girl?”

“Yes. Her name is Blaire. She was one of Kade’s girls. Now answer me. Did you kill her?” I demand.

“No. Of course not. She was one of the bodies we found, I sent it to Liam so he could forward them to the packs so we could try to identify her. Wait … she is from Kade’s pack?” he asks.

“Yes, I just said that. She was one of the rogues there. She worked in the brothel,” I tell him. Gannon looks at his screen again and flicks through the pictures. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head.

“What?” I ask him, feeling my legs shaking.

“We found a nurse not far from Blaire but in the opposite direction as the day after we got you back, she washed down the river at the back of the castle.”

“You want me to look. You think they are linked?” I ask, taking a step forward.

“Just let me zoom in on her face. I don’t want you seeing the rest,” Gannon tells me. I nod, already wishing I could unsee Blaire’s body.

He turns the screen to show me, and I stumble back, clutching my mouth, tears brim in my eyes. “You know her?” he asks.

“She is the nurse who helped me escape. She undid my handcuffs.”

Gannon comes over, wrapping his arms around me, and he kisses my hair.

“I’m sorry, love,” he whispers, and I clutch the front of his shirt. He rubs my arms before pulling away from me.

“We need to get back. I need to speak to the King and Damian about this,” he says and I sniffle but climb back in the car, and he shuts my door.

He gets back in the driver’s seat before reaching over and grabbing a blanket, a water bottle, and some mints. Gannon puts the blanket over me, and I shakily open the water bottle, gulping it down. He turns the heater up, which helps with my shaking against the cool night air. Or maybe it was my shock because he was still in a shirt and didn’t look cold.

“Come on, let’s get you home,” Gannon whispers, pulling back onto the road.

27

The weight of responsibility churns in my stomach like a storm as I watch Gannon stir from his makeshift bed. With each groan or snore that escapes his lips, the reality of Cassandra’s precarious fate bears down on me. His body sits up from the couch with a series of pops and cracks as he stretches.

I’d offered many times to trade places with him, to take the couch so he could sleep in comfort, but Gannon is as stubborn as he is protective. He stretches, long limbs extending until his back issues a loud crack, the sound echoing off the walls and pricking at my conscience. Guilt gnaws at me, adding to the queasiness that refuses to abate.

Despite the turmoil inside me, my hands move with purpose, setting out his clothes on the bed. Meanwhile, I pull on my uniform when I notice him watching me.

My fingers brush over the fabric, smoothing out invisible creases, while my other senses remain acutely aware of his presence in the room, studying me.

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