62. Chapter 62

62

Wren

T he smell of stale coffee and disinfectant hits me as I pace the worn carpet of Denver International Airport's arrivals area. My boots make a dull thud with each step, competing with the constant drone of announcements and rolling luggage.

I've been here since 2 PM, burning a day off work to pick up Em. Five hours of watching faces that aren't hers stream past. Five hours of fighting the urge to wave at every blonde who could be her.

The arrivals board flickers, catching my eye. Flight UA1234 from Chicago: ARRIVED . My stomach twists. That's Em's flight. It landed over an hour ago.

"Fuck," I mutter, shoving my hands into my jeans pockets. My fingers brush against my phone, and I yank it out, double-checking the date and time. No, I didn't screw up. This is the right day, the right flight.

A nearby couple reunites, all tearful hugs and sloppy kisses. I look away, my jaw clenching.

Where the hell is she?

I spot an airline employee, a tired-looking woman with graying hair tucked under her cap. I make a beeline for her.

"Excuse me," I say, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. "The flight from Chicago, UA1234. It's landed, right?"

She nods, tapping at her tablet. "Yes, it arrived about an hour and fifteen minutes ago. All passengers have disembarked."

My fingers drum against my thigh. "You sure? My sister was supposed to be on that flight. Emily Davis. Maybe she got bumped to another one?"

The woman's fingers move across the screen. She frowns, shaking her head. "I'm not showing any Emily Davis on later flights from Chicago today. Was she definitely traveling today?"

"Yes," I snap, then force myself to take a breath. Not this lady's fault. "Sorry. Yes, she was supposed to be on that flight. Are there any other planes coming in from Chicago? Maybe she changed her booking?"

More tapping. Another head-shake. "I'm afraid not. The next flight from Chicago isn't until tomorrow morning."

I run a hand through my hair, tugging at the roots. "Shit. Okay, thanks."

I turn away, my mind racing. This isn't like Em. She's always been the responsible one, the planner. She wouldn't just not show up without a word.

A year. It's been a whole fucking year since I've seen her in person. Our last FaceTime call flashes through my mind—Em's face fuller, her hair shorter, choppy bangs framing green eyes that seemed… different. Harder, maybe. She'd talked about her internship, her voice steady and clipped, professional. My little sister, all grown up and corporate.

I fish out my phone, checking our messages for the hundredth time.

Me [Yesterday, 8:14 PM]: Hey, squirt, all set for tomorrow? Can't wait to see your fancy ass waltz off that plane. Bet you don't even remember how to skin a fish anymore.

The message sits there, two blue checkmarks mocking me. Read, but no reply.

Not like Em. Not at all.

A garbled announcement crackles over the speakers. I strain to hear, but it's lost in the general chaos. Fuck it. I hit Em's number, pressing the phone to my ear.

One ring. Two. Three.

"Come on, Em," I mutter, ignoring the side-eye from a nearby mom wrangling a screaming toddler.

Finally, a click. "Emily Davis, where the hell—?"

The voice that cuts me off isn't Em's. It's low, gravelly, vaguely familiar in a way that makes my skin crawl.

"Well, well. If it isn't the prodigal daughter."

My grip on the phone tightens. "Who the fuck is this? Where's Em?"

A chuckle, dry as bones. "Now, now, Wren. Is that any way to talk to your old friend ?"

"Old friend?" I repeat. My jaw clenches.

Where the fuck have I heard that voice before?

I rack my brain, trying to place it.

Think, goddamnit! Who is this bitch?

My eyes dart around the bustling airport, suddenly aware of how exposed I am. A family rushes past, luggage clattering behind them.

The voice on the phone oozes false warmth. "Oh, Wren. I'm hurt. After all we've been through together, how could you forget?"

My stomach lurches. That voice. That fucking voice.

"Elena," I growl, my fingers white-knuckled around the phone. "What the fuck have you done with Em?"

A low chuckle crackles through the speaker. "Oh, come on. Be nice. I remember you, Wren . Every. Single. Day."

I'm about to lose my shit. Eyes seem to be glued to me like I'm a goddamn freak show, waiting for me to explode like a volcano. Rage seethes through me, my breath catching in my throat like a damn fly in a spiderweb. I need a quiet corner, a place where I can let loose and unleash my fury without an audience. I duck into a quieter corner, pressing my back against the cold wall.

"Cut the bullshit. Where's my sister?"

"Your sister? Oh, you mean the pretty little thing with those big, scared eyes?" Elena's tone turns icy. "She's safe. For now."

I lower my voice to a hissing whisper. "Go fuck yourself with a rusty chainsaw and then drown in your own goddamn blood," I snarl, pacing the small corner I've claimed. My free hand curls into a fist, nails biting into my palm. "I swear to God, if you've hurt her—"

"You'll what?" Elena interrupts, her voice laced with amusement. "Come after me? Cry to Daddy? Oh wait, you can't. Because he's here with us, reaping what he's sown."

I freeze. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Your deadbeat dad thought he could play with the big boys. Tried to go into ‘business' with us." Her voice drips with disdain. "But dear old Dad couldn't keep his sticky fingers out of the pot. Stole from us, can you believe it?"

My stomach drops. That stupid, selfish bastard. "He… what?"

"Mmhmm. Thought he could outsmart the Skull Collector. As if." Elena's tone turns sickeningly sweet. "Now he's paying the price. And so is your precious little Em."

I slam my fist into the wall, ignoring the pain that shoots up my arm. "You fucking cunt! Em has nothing to do with this!"

"Language, Wren. Tsk tsk," Elena tuts. "Your sister's involvement is collateral damage. Just like you were supposed to be."

My blood runs cold. "What?"

"Oh yes. Daddy Dearest offered his prettiest daughter up as payment for his debt."

I can't breathe. The world spins around me as I struggle to process her words.

Chill the fuck out, Wren. She's yanking your chain.

I press my forehead against the wall, eyes squeezed shut. "Tell me what the fuck do you want, Elena?"

"Want? Oh, darling. I want so many things," she purrs. "But right now? I want you to understand the position you're in. Your sister, your father—their lives are in my hands. And do you know why?"

I stay silent, bile rising in my throat.

"Because of him," Elena continues. "D. Your knight in blood-stained armor."

"I have nothing to do with D," I spit out. My free hand slams against the wall. "If you want him dead, do it yourself. Leave my family out of it."

A couple walks by, eyebrows raised. I turn away, lowering my voice to a hiss. "I'm fucking telling you, D has nothing to do with me."

Elena laughs, the sound grating. "Oh, sweet little Wren. So naive. You see, D and I, we have history. He used to swear he'd protect me, love me forever. But then he met you, and well… let's just say his priorities changed."

My teeth clench so hard my jaw aches. "You're delusional. D doesn't give a shit about me."

"No?" the bitch's voice becomes cold. "I've seen the way he looks at you, Wren. The great D, brought low by a scrappy little nobody. It's almost poetic, really. And now? Now I'm going to use that against him."