Page 42 of Triple Power Play 3
But right now, he remains quiet, his mind elsewhere, his eyes haunted, face pale. His chest rises and falls with rapid, shallow breaths. He’s crashing, with no one else here to deal with him—only me.
He places the glass on the counter with more force than necessary and shakes his head.
I rise from the couch and approach with caution. “What’s up with you?”
His gaze connects with mine, but it’s vacant. “No,” he mumbles. That doesn’t make sense, and his speech is hollow.
A knot forms in the pit of my stomach. If he took something, I’ll knock his ass out and drag him to rehab.
Panic creeps in, and my voice elevates. “Jackson, what the fuck is wrong? What did you take?”
Annoyance crosses his face, and he curls his lip. “No.” He blinks once, twice, his dilated pupils focusing. He shakes his head again. “No, I did not.”
Holy shit. “Are you hallucinating?”
“No, I’m… It’s a flashback.”
Flashbacks, I can understand and deal with. I’ve been there myself a few times. “Okay, did something happen? Is it me?” I scan the shorts and T-shirt I changed into. “You swear you didn’t take anything?”
“No, it’s not you, and no, I’m not high.” His fingers tremble, and he grips the edge of the counter, his knuckles turning white. “I got a text.” He drops his head, and there’s an agonizing pause before he glances up, eyes glazed over. “It’s…” He trails off, his awareness fading as he envisions whatever has him so shaken. “Aurora.” Her name sounds ripped from him, raw and jagged.
I step closer, my heart in my throat. “What about her?”
“They want her. Can you get to her?”
His mind must still be in the dark, caged. If he thought there was a genuine threat to her, he’d be gone. He wouldn’t be standing in front of me.
“Where’s your phone? Please tell me you didn’t break it.” Even if he did, I’m five steps ahead, forming a plan for every likely scenario. I’m zoned in.
He gestures to the bedroom, and I don’t delay. I find the phone intact on the bathroom floor. Thank fuck these thingsare damn near indestructible, and his password is still Aurora’s birthday.
The message is already open on the screen, a gritty picture that takes my brain an absurd amount of time to process. It’s a rusty jail cell built underneath a set of wooden stairs. Inside, there’s a filthy, decaying mattress on a wet cement floor. There’s no blanket or pillow, nothing but a bucket in the corner.
I read the accompanying text, and my vision blurs, darkening around the edges:
9-2740
I miss you, but your girl will do. I’m saving the spot just for her.
The ID is anonymous—five numbers generated randomly.
I know this is a scare tactic. I know not to engage.But violence like I’ve never known has my fingers moving without thought of consequence.
Touch her, and I’ll tear you apart piece by excruciating piece.
And I will. I’ll call on every broken shard of me to destroy this motherfucker.
Actions and operations race through my mind. On my phone, I check Aurora’s location. She’s at a sports bar across from the arena, a few blocks away. I consider alerting Ethan, but interrupting their date is a surefire way to send her into a panic, and she’ll have questions.
I need eyes on Aurora.
Charlie
And I need to stop enabling your obsessive stalking.
This is legitimate. We received a threat.
Charlie
