Page 73 of Gatsby's Starlet
That got something.
His eyes shifted just slightly, something darker settling in behind them before he answered. “Yeah… he does.”
My breath caught, my head shaking before I could stop it. “Please don’t do this,” I pleaded.
“He warned you,” Kane added, almost casually, like none of this mattered, like I didn’t matter.
My mind spun, searching for a way out that didn’t exist, every option collapsing before I could even reach it, and still I tried one last time. “Let go of me.”
He didn’t.
Instead, his other hand came up and grabbed my bag, yanking it from my shoulder like it had always been his. “Convenient,” he muttered. “You already packed.” He threw thesuitcase against the wall and added, “But you won’t be needin’ any clothes.”
Panic flared hard now, my body reacting before my mind could catch up as I twisted again, trying to break free, trying to get distance, but it didn’t matter, because he was stronger, faster, and he wasn’t letting me go.
“Come on,” he said, tightening his grip as he pulled me forward, rough enough to bruise and not something I could fight, I stumbled with the movement, my breath coming fast and uneven as the reality of it crashed down all at once.
I was leaving.
Not the way I planned.
Not on my terms.
And as he dragged me toward the door, my gaze flicked back just once, toward my room, toward the note sitting there waiting for Gatsby—a warning he’d never get in time.
SOMETHING WAS OFFbefore I even knocked,not something I could name, just a low warning settling in my gut the second I pulled up outside her place, the house sitting too still with the lights off and her car in the driveway likeit should’ve been, everything exactly where I expected it and somehow wrong anyway.
I stood there a second longer than I should have, listening, like I was waiting for something inside to shift, before I finally stepped forward and knocked, once and then harder, my voice following it low and rough.
“Evie.”
Nothing answered me, no movement, no sound, not even the kind of quiet that felt normal, and that was enough to have me stepping back, already pulling my phone out and calling her, my eyes dragging over the house again while it rang, slower this time, picking at details that didn’t line up no matter how I looked at them.
It rang longer than it ever did, longer than she usually let it, until it dropped to voicemail like she’d made that choice, and I stood there a second staring at the screen before calling again, getting the same result, the feeling in my chest pressing in tighter now, not panic, not yet, but close enough that it started digging under my skin.
My gaze shifted back to the door and then past it, already moving before I fully decided to, stepping off the porch and cutting toward the side of the house because if she wasn’t answering the front, I’d find another way in, my boots hitting gravel as the quiet seemed to close in tighter the further I went.
I made it halfway around before a voice cut in behind me, loud enough to stop me where I was.
“Hey—”
I turned fast, shoulders already tight, finding a kid standing in the next driveway with a bike tipped sideways against his leg like he’d rolled up quick and wasn’t sure what to do with himself now that he had my attention, his eyes flicking between me and the house before he spoke.
“She ain’t home.”
I didn’t answer right away, just looked at him, letting that sit there a second before I asked, “What?”
“She left,” he said, shrugging like it didn’t matter, nodding toward the driveway. “Saw her earlier. She left on a motorcycle.”
My chest tightened just enough to notice, my gaze shifting back to the car and then the house before landing on him again.
“What color?”
“Black,” he said, squinting a little like he was trying to remember it clearer.
My Harley was black and maybe the kid was confused, thinking of another day. But it still didn’t sit right, not with the way the place felt, not with the way my gut was still pulling tight.
“When?” I pushed.
