Page 73 of Iced Up Love: Part Two
Shorter.
His phone buzzes again.
“Tonight.”
He looks up, something uneasy settling into his expression.
“He’s suspicious.”
“He should be,” Lucian says. “He’ll still come.”
I don’t respond.
I can feel the time sitting in the room with us, heavy enough that it doesn’t need to be named.
Three days.
Three days since she was taken.
Three days without her.
Her phone goes off.
The sound cuts through everything with a clean edge.
Jackson is closest. He picks it up and whatever he sees lands before he speaks.
“Fuck.”
“Show me.”
He hesitates just long enough to register, then turns the screen toward me.
The video starts.
She’s lying on the bed.
Not trying to sit up.
Not moving properly.
Just there, like her body has weight she can’t lift.
Her hair is tangled, falling across her face in places she hasn’t pushed it away from. Her eyes open and close without fully focusing, the movement lagging behind itself, like the signal isn’t reaching her cleanly.
She’s in her underwear.
The room around her is unfamiliar.
And then the camera moves closer.
My attention drops with it.
To her collarbone.
To the tattoo.
The words are still legible.
