Page 2 of Break Me
“What’s the address and whose is it?” I cut her off. I don’t need to write it down.
I head down the stairs, taking them two at a time as she tells me where she thinks my girl is, about a ten-minute drive from here. And her voice nearly breaks when she says, “Hurry.”
As if she needs to tell me that.
I head to the kitchen to pull the gun from the top drawer. Only to find it isn’t fucking there. But I don’t have time to deal with that shit right now.
In seconds, I’m out the door and in the Range Rover, address on my phone, and I’m pulling out onto the main road, going double the limit. If a cop wants to pull me, he’ll have to fucking escort me to wherever the hell I’m going right now.
I make a left turn after a few kilometers and find myself barreling through a neighborhood with identical faded brick homes in varying states of disarray. I know about this area. It’s right outside of a street nicknamed Heroin Alley.
I’m gripping the steering wheel so hard my hands hurt, but if I don’t, they’ll start shaking, and I need to find this address. Now.
Why the hell would Bianca be here? She doesn’t do drugs. She doesn’t even smoke weed. I mean, lately she’s started drinking, but so what? Doesn’t everyone in their early 20s drink? And yeah, we’ve had a few fights lately, and our relationship is certainly not traditional, but still…Bianca wouldn’t come here. Not willingly.
I find the address and pull up outside the curb. This house has weeds as high as the first-floor windows and a Jeep that looks like it’s seen better days in the driveway. But there are lights on inside.
I glance at my phone before I get out. Bianca hasn’t called me back. Or text me. But I’ve got half a dozen unread messages from her sister. They’ll have to stay unread until I get this taken care of.
I get out of the car, take the keys and my phone. I lock the Range and sprint up the driveway, past the Jeep. I rap my knuckles against the screen door, counting to ten in my head. If someone doesn’t come by then, I’ll go in through the window.
I spot a few cigarettes tossed on the porch, overflowing out of the ashtray. My mind is spinning. This is not Bianca’s thing. She even hates Shade, and I own the damn place.
I’m on ‘nine’ when the door is pulled open, and I wrench open the screen door, grateful it’s unlocked or else I might’ve pulled it off its hinges.
There’s a dude standing in the doorway, his eyes narrowed, and he’s wearing a white tank, jeans that hang low on his hips, and he looks like he hasn’t shaved or showered in days.
“Can I help you?” he growls, taking me in.
“Actually,” I say, stepping forward, “you can.” I glance behind him but see nothing but a staircase. “I’m looking for Bianca.”
He clenches his jaw, eyeing me up and down. “And why the hell would you be looking for her at two in the goddamn morning?”
I smell cigarette smoke from either him or this house. Or both.
I clench my fists, the screen door open against my back.
“She’s here.” It isn’t a question because he doesn’t seem at all surprised by her name.
The dude makes to close the door on my face as he says, “Get the fuck off my property before I—”
But I don’t find out what empty threat he’s got because I lunge forward, knocking him and the door aside.
He stumbles against the wall and the door closes at my back as I take the place in. It’s junky, clothes and blankets on the dirty linoleum floor, a chipped coffee table crowded around a small television just before the narrow staircase. And the smell of smoke is worse in here.
“What the hell, man?” the dude growls, regaining his balance, pushing himself off the wall.
I turn to him and shove him, hard, back into it. “Where is she?” I’m not angry as much as I’m fucking terrified.
The guy’s eyes go wide. He’s probably in his thirties, maybe ten years older than me. And I still don’t get it. Why is Bianca here? Is she even here? And why did her sister know she might be here?
“Man, she came to me—”
I shove him again, into the wall, and then I start yelling her name, walking up the stairs. “Bianca!” I call out, looking up into the dark landing. “Bianca!”
I hear movement, and something that sounds like a sob. I hear the guy swear under his breath behind me, but I start running, and see a light on, just a hint of it beneath a door that isn’t closed properly at the top of the stairs.
Another choked sob.
