"—ork." Then something clatters, and there is silence.
No, no, no.
"DENIELLE!" I'm losing it. I don't lose it, not even when I found my sister on the road. Not like this. I throw the SUV into reverse and plow out of the garage at a more than unsafe speed. "Den, answer me! Are you there?"
No response. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Disconnecting the call feels like someone is stabbing me in the heart. Peering between the road and my screen, I pull up Ethan's number. He's not on shift until tonight, and I have no clue if he's sleeping or what. It takes two calls before his drowsy voice answers. "B?"
"Get someone to La Déesse. Something is wrong with Denielle," I bark the command and hang up, dialing Denielle's number again. No answer.
I repeat the call attempts until I pull into the alley behind the boutique. I don't bother parking properly. I stop the car in the middle of the small lot, abandoning it with the motor still running.
Thankfully, the back door is not locked during store hours. I'm in the building two seconds after exiting the car.
"DENIELLE!" I race down the hall. "Jesus, woman! Where the fuck are you?"
A girl comes around the corner from the main showroom. "Who are you?"
"Where is Denielle?" I'm in front of her in three strides, and she cranes her neck up at me. She must see that I'm not in the mood for shit talking.
"Upstairs in her office," she supplies in a mousy tone. I follow the direction she points to the stairwell behind me.
Whirling around, I take two steps at a time. "DEN!"
"Third door on the right," the girl calls after me, and I increase my speed. The drumming in my ears mimics the pounding of my shoes against the hardwood. I find her door open and am through it before I can take another breath. She's not there. I scan the room. Her laptop sits open on the desk. Her chair is too far away, though. I cross the distance, and what I discover catapults me back two decades. Denielle's unconscious form lies facedown on the ground. Her phone is next to her, her open palm upward. I fall to my knees, ignoring the pain shooting through my legs.
Oh, god.
Placing two trembling fingers on her neck, I close my eyes. Bile rises in my throat. Where is her pulse? I withdraw my hand, shaking it out. Concentrate, fucker. She is not dead. She can't be. I place my fingers once more against her skin and hold my breath. There! Her pulse is slow but strong. Oh, thank you, Jesus. Relief like I have never experienced before floods me.
"Oh, my god! Denielle." My head whips up. The girl from downstairs stands in the doorframe.
"Call an ambulance." I carefully turn Denielle around and fall on my ass. Pulling her into my lap, I cradle her head. When I don't hear footsteps, I peer up. The bimbo is still standing with her mouth open in the hallway.
"CALL A FUCKING AMBULANCE!" I roar, and she finally jumps into action.
"—arcus?" Denielle's whisper is barely audible.
I touch my hand to her cheek, stroking her hair with the other. "I'm here. Everything will be okay."
She leans into my touch, and my heart skips a beat.
"Th- ank -ou."
Waves of hot and cold rack through me. One second, sweat seeps across my skin, and the next, I'm shivering. "What for?" I lean closer. She's weak, and if the damn ambulance is not here soon, I will take her myself.
"Com— for me." Her eyes blink open, and when our gazes collide, my chest squeezes. She moves her hand ever so slightly, and I interpret it as her attempt to reach for me. I remove my hand from her face and take her fingers. Interlacing mine with hers, she smiles softly.
"Of course I came."
Commotion in the hallway is followed by a breathless Ethan in the doorframe. He takes in the scene, and his eyes bug out. I'm sitting on the floor with a mostly unconscious Denielle Keller—the girl I swore to hate—in my lap, holding on to her hand like it's a lifeline. For her or me is the question.
"What the fuck happened?"
Before I can answer him, sirens alert us to the arrival of the ambulance.
"Fucking finally."
Ethan squats down next to me, scanning Denielle's face. "She's pale," he whispers.