TOBY
Isit on the edge of my sofa with my head in my hands.
Bri’s concerned eyes burn into the top of my head, but I don’t have any words of comfort anymore.
It’s been five days.
Five fucking days and we’re still no closer.
Our rats might have squealed a name about who is helping Jonas, but that hasn’t been any fucking help because we can’t find him either.
The motherfucker must have been planning this the whole time he was down there. And here we were, thinking that he was too weak to do anything.
I thought I’d felt hate burning me up inside before, but what I feel right now has nothing on anything he’s done in the past.
Hurting Mum was one thing, something he deserved to die a painful death for. But taking my girl from me? That’s something else entirely, and if he’s hurt her…
Fuck.
I’m going to fucking destroy him.
The need for violence, for blood, bubbles up inside me until I’m not sure I’m going to be able to contain it any longer.
My entire body trembles with pent-up fury, fury that fighting with Nico now only barely takes the edge off.
Nothing short of pushing a fucking blade through that cunt’s heart and twisting it as I watch him die at my feet will lessen it.
I need him dead before me and my girl in my arms, and then I might just be able to see through the red haze that has descended.
Everyone else is either out searching or at school. Stella and Emmie are doing their best at keeping up appearances while Daemon is heading up the search alongside Stefanos, and the guys flit between working and being at school.
Damien wanted me to go, to sit in fucking class and pretend like nothing is wrong in the world. But fuck that. How is that even possible when my fucking world has been ripped away from me?
I understand his concern, that Jonas might be watching and that we need to look like we’re not going to raise hell to find him, but I can’t… I just can’t.
“Let’s go to the house again,” Bri suggests.
She’s the only one who’s stuck by my side through this agony. I know the others are here for me—I know they haven’t abandoned me and that they’re doing what’s needed of them. But Bri hasn’t so much as stepped outside my flat unless she’s right by my side. I appreciate it more than she could know. But equally, I hate looking into her terrified eyes multiple times a day.
I have no fucking clue what excuses she’s made to get out of her life, but her support hasn’t wavered once.
“We’ve been there every day this week,” I grit out, not lifting my eyes from my feet.
“I know, but… There’s a clue there. I know there is. It’s where she went last. It’s where he took her from. There has to be a clue.”
In the past four days, we’ve turned their house upside down looking for this magical piece of evidence that Bri is convinced is right under our noses. But we’ve found nothing. Not a fucking scrap of anything other than the last place her phone tracker registered before she went off grid.
Finally, I lift my head, although I’m nowhere prepared to look into her eyes once more. But before I’m forced to, my phone pings.
I rush to pull it from my pocket as my heart jumps into my throat.
Please, please, I silently beg.
Just give us a clue, baby.
When I pull it in front of me, my eyes damn near pop out of my head.
“Fuck,” I gasp, my hand trembling violently. “It’s her.”