Page 83 of Wicked Truths
I grip the phone tighter. “Who kidnapped him?”
“The van that took him was a blacked-out SUV with false plates. Every person seen taking Rafe was wearing a mask, so we can’t be sure. Just get here. The helicopter is ready to go.”
I nod, even though he can’t see me. “I’m on my way. One more call to make.”
“Is Cade making progress? Does he have more information on who was in the club that night?” Antonio asks before I disconnect.
“He’s working on it.”
I disconnect and immediately dial Dante.
“Where are you?” I ask the moment he answers.
“At Cade and Rafe’s apartment. We’re going through the security footage from the club.”
“Be ready. I’ll be there in an hour. We’re going to rescue your brother.”
21
Amara
Tap! Tap! Tap!
I jolt awake, bolting upright as my heart pounds like a bird is trying to break free of my chest.
The pain behind my eyes is like a bomb is exploding with such a blinding, merciless intensity that I grab my head with both hands. My fingers dig into my scalp, and I curl into a tight ball as hot tears stream down my face, dampening the pillow beneath me.
My breathing is shallow as I pant through the pain, counting each inhale and shaky exhale, but the agony only intensifies with each passing second.
“Make it stop,” I sob, rocking back and forth in a desperate rhythm. My voice breaks, barely recognizable through the raw anguish. “Please make it stop. I can’t—I can’t take it anymore.”
The throbbing behind my temples feels like someone is hammering my skull.
Big strong arms wrap around me. “Shh, I’m here.”
I press my face against his chest, inhaling his scent—cologne, expensive fabric. It’s familiar.
The pain in my head is unbearable, but somehow, his presence makes it marginally better.
“Why?” I choke out between sobs. “Why would someone want me dead?”
The words dangle in the air between us. I hate how weak I sound, how pathetic. Is this normally me?
Am I this person?
How would I know when I can’t remember who I am?
I pull back slightly, wiping at my tears with shaking hands. “I’m sorry.”
Then I look at him. A stranger, or is he?
“Who are you?”
He sighs. “Caleb. You have to remember me.”
I stare at Caleb, trying to find something familiar about him. His gray eyes, almost silver in this light, search mine with what looks like hope and that makes my skin prickle.
There’s something there, maybe it’s the glasses or his scent, I don’t know what it is and right now it’s like looking for a four-leaf clover in a field. You know it’s there, but how do you find it?
