Nicolai

The past twelve days have been the worst of my life.

And that says a hell of a lot considering some of the shit I've been through. Not only am I wrecked without Sutton, but I still don't know where Ezra is. He was supposed to come to the house that day, but Jason got there first, and Ez never showed up.

I've been calling and texting him like some kind of stalker ex-boyfriend, but his phone just goes to voicemail and the texts go undelivered. I've driven by his apartment building, but when I ring the buzzer for his unit, I get no answer.

My mind keeps going to the darkest possible places, no matter how much I try to shove the thoughts away. I can't help but think that it's not a coincidence that Jason showed up in Ezra's place that night. How else would he have known where we were?

And if that's the case...there's no way Jason would've just let Ezra off with a warning for giving us a place to hide.

With a sigh, I get up and grab another beer from the fridge and settle back down in front of my laptop. I've been trying all week to figure out what the fuck Jason is doing behind the scenes of the club. Since Ezra never told me whatever he was going to tell me that night, I don't have all the facts.

And it's not like I can just ask Sutton.

My finger has hovered over her number so many times. I've wanted to text her, call her. Anything just to know that she's okay. But the last thing I would want is to get her any kind of shit with her dad or Jason.

Red hot rage runs through my veins at the idea of her getting in "trouble" with that asswipe. He shouldn't control any part of her. Neither should her father, for that matter. She's a grown ass woman and should be allowed to make her own choices, but the fact is, I know this business better than anyone.

I guess I just hoped we'd be able to beat it.

I take another swig of my beer and stare at her contact. Surely, I could just text her. Right? I mean, if she doesn't text me back, she hasn't done anything for either of them to get angry about.

I just want her to know I'm still here.

I take a deep breath and hold it, tapping her contact and typing out a simple text that just says Hi, I hope you're okay. Miss you.

I let out my breath on an exhale and hit Send.

But my heart sinks to the pit of my stomach when the blue text bounces back green.

Fuck.

She blocked me. There's no way Sutton would ever have another phone besides an iPhone, so I know that's not the problem. She must've...wait, maybe...

I chew on my bottom lip as I close my message app and open Instagram, typing in her username.

She doesn't show in search.

Maybe Jason made her delete it. I open TikTok and check, only to have the same result. I switch over to my old burner account where I used to like and comment on videos about my favorite fanfictions (not a word). No one, and I mean no one knew about that account.

Swallowing hard, I type in her username.

And there she is. Her beautiful face, laughing and smiling, fills up my screen. Her half a dozen viral videos of her playing piano among her goofy dances with Dom and edits for her favorite books and characters. There are even a couple she forced me to do. She hasn't posted since before we broke up.

But this proves it. She did block me. On every platform I could have reached her on.

I throw my phone across the room, hearing it shatter as it hits the brick wall of my brownstone.

I don't care.

It can match the pieces of my broken fucking heart.

***

I fell asleep on my couch last night, drunk after figuring out Sutton blocked me. I haven't drank that much in a long time, and this hangover I'm nursing this morning—more like this afternoon—reminds me why.

I'm dragging down the hall to the bathroom when I look over and see my shattered phone on the floor. Fantastic. Guess I know what I'll be doing first thing this morning.

I leave the phone where it lays and stay on my path to the bathroom; I need to shower and brush my teeth after the night I had. There's no way I can get out there and figure out what happened to Ezra if I'm feeling like reheated garbage.

Standing under the scalding stream of water, I let it wash away the remnants of the sweat that had been clinging to my skin, wishing it could wash away the regret I have about letting Sutton go.

I should have never let Jason take her. I should have fought harder to keep her with me.

But even now, I know in my heart that would have been futile. She wasn't going to go against her father's wishes. Her mother had already walked out on them both; she wouldn't be the one to let him down or worse, put him in danger. Even though I think Xavier is a piece of shit, he is still her father, and I don't think me trying to convince her to come around to my way of thinking would have been such a good idea.

After my shower, I put on actual clothes for the first time in days, pick up my broken phone, and head for the door. Luckily, it somehow still works, and it's only the back that's broken. While it isn't perfect, it'll get me through until I get a new one.

Score one point for me at least.

The only place I can think to find any information about Ezra is a place I really don't need to be going, but it's the only choice I have. There are several reasons I shouldn't be going to Wicked Sins, the top of the list being that Sutton will be there performing since it's Saturday night. But I don't know what else to do.

Except for one thing.

And that's an even more dangerous resort than going to the club.

But honestly? What do I have to lose? I already lost the one thing that brought me any peace. The one thing I truly love.

So I change direction and head for SoHo. That's the last place I knew of that Anthony lived, but that was years ago. Surely, he would know where Ezra is. Surely, he'd be able to tell me that my worst fear is ridiculous.

Thirty minutes later, I'm walking up to the luxury condo building where I hope to whatever god is watching is still Anthony's home. There's a guard at the door, and he stops me as I walk over the threshold.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"I really hope so. Does Anthony Banks still live here?"

The older man gives me a blank look and says, "Unfortunately, I can't disclose details regarding residents and their personal business."

I heave a sigh and pull my wallet out of my back pocket, fishing a hundred dollar bill out of it. Folding it over my middle finger, I offer it to him. "Does this help?"

He looks at the bill and back at me several times before taking it, pushing it into the inside pocket of his suit coat. "A bit. Mr. Banks no longer lives here."

My eyebrows furrow. "What? Since when?"

"A little over a week ago."

A little over a week ago. What the hell kind of timing is that? "What happened? Do you have any idea where he went?"

The guard eyes my wallet in my hand. "I'm having a little trouble remembering the details..."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," I grumble, pulling another hundred out and shoving it into his palm. "Does that jog your memory?"

"Yeah," he says with a grin. "He said he had to get out of this city, and I quote, 'Before that little fucker gets him too.'"

My stomach sinks. "Fuck. Do you know who he was talking about?"

"Well, don't quote me on this, but if I was a betting man, I'd put this $200 you just gave me on that scumbag Jason Kincaid."

Even the doorman who gives information to strangers for money thinks Jason is a scumbag. Nice.

"Any idea where I can find him?"

The doorman shakes his head. "No amount of money could make me give you that information. I want Mr. Banks to stay safe."

He sounds sincere, so I don't press him. This is enough for now.

"Fair. Thank you for the information," I say, heading for the door.

"Son?" he calls, and when I turn, I don't see a greedy old mister but a gentleman who works long hours and probably gets paid minimum wage.

"Yeah?"

"Whatever you're looking for, be careful. I don't know much about the business Mr. Banks was in, but I do know that in the past months, it's turned into something he didn't like. And when he tried to stop it, he was met with the kind of resistance that puts people in danger."

I cross the lobby back to him and hand him another hundred with a sad smile.

"What's this for? I can't take this. I shouldn't have t—"

"Stop. You can. You just gave me the knowledge that my gut wasn't off. Something is wrong here, and I'm going to figure it out. Thank you," I say, squeezing his hand.

He smiles and shakes my hand. "All right...but be careful."

"I'll do my best."

And I will. I have to find my friend, put an end to this shit, and get Sutton back.

Easier said than done, though, because I know where I need to go next. And it's a terrible idea.

***

I walk up to Wicked Sins.

It's the best place to start looking. If anyone knows where Ezra is, it'll be someone there.

Pulling on my baseball cap from my back pocket, I show my fake ID and blend in with the crowd, listening for any conversations that may sound relevant. I buy a beer and nurse it, watching the stage for the moment when Sutton will step on stage.

My nerves are buzzing with the anticipation of seeing her. Even though I won't be able to talk to her or let her know I'm there, just the idea of seeing her is so comforting. Just to know she's—

"Welcome to Wicked Sins, everybody. Tonight, we have our new resident pianist in the house, Kayla..."

The announcer's voice trails off as I watch another woman walk onto the stage and sit at the piano—Sutton's piano—and begin to play. She isn't even close to Sutton's level, and the fact that she isn't here is so foreign, so...worrisome.

Why isn't she here?

I turn to the man next to me and ask, "Hey, where's the regular pianist who's been here for years?"

He better not give me a nasty answer, or it'll be the last fucking thing he ever says.

Luckily, he's respectful. "She was so talented, wasn't she? She doesn't play here anymore. I guess since she got engaged to the boss's best friend, they keep her under lock and key."

My blood boils at the thought of Jason telling her where she can and can't go. Granted, playing at the club wasn't her dream or anything, but it was the one time where she could perform. And he's taken that away from her too?

I swear, when I get my hands on him...

I mutter a thank you and move around the room, continuing to listen to conversations until finally, I hear something about Anthony. Leaning against the wall, I pretend to watch the dancers as I listen.

"...Yeah, I heard Xavier's brother left because he was scared that they were gonna kill him next," a man says, tossing back a glass of dark amber liquid.

"What? Who?"

The other man shrugs. "I don't know who he was talking about, but that's what I heard."

His friend sighs and takes a sip from his beer. "What happened to Ezra was sad as fuck, huh?"

No. My hands start to quiver, and I have to sit the beer down on the table to my left.

The man with the whiskey tumbler clicks his tongue and shakes his head. "Tragic. He was a good dude. He didn't deserve that...to be run off the road and then left for dead. And in Jersey, no less?"

Oh my god, no no no.

"Fucked up...you can't tell me that was random. I'm with Anthony on that one."

The two men turn and walk back toward the bar. "Same, man."

And I turn toward the bathroom so I can vomit up the contents of my stomach.

Once I've expelled everything I've eaten or drank in the last few hours, I rinse my mouth and brace myself with both hands on the sink, hanging my head between my elbows.

I have to find out who killed Ezra. If it was Jason, that means he has something massive to hide.

Something that could hurt Sutton.

I can't let that happen. It doesn't matter that she blocked me. I can't stay away from her anymore.

I have to find a way to protect her before it's too late.