Vengeance (Master's Protege 1)

“Well, about an hour later, I heard the front door open and close again. I yelled after her, but either she ignored me, or she didn’t hear me. Honestly either could’ve happened.”

“Did you see her?” Violet asks.

“When she came home?”

“Yeah.”

Lottie shakes her head.

“So she didn’t respond, and you didn’t see her,” Violet says. “Is it feasible that it was someone else who came into the house and left again?”

Lottie’s magnified eyes widen. “Oh. Oh, God, I didn’t think of that.”

“Do you lock your door?” Violet asks, shooting me another look as if to warn me not to lose my shit.

“Well… sometimes, yes, sometimes no.”

Even Violet looks frustrated at this point. “Lottie, this is important. Did you lock the door last night?”

Lottie winces. “I have no idea.”

Violet’s lips thin. I run my thumb over the metal handle of my gun to calm my nerves.

“So she probably didn’t come home,” I supply.

“No.”

Lottie’s companion shifts on his feet, as if enduring something uncomfortable.

Violet keeps her voice gentle. “What makes you think she didn’t just go back out with him? Why call us?”

She turns to face me. “She left her phone here. She didn’t tell me where she was going. And that on its own might not have really concerned me. But we have a rule, we always tell each other where the other’s going.”

The one smart fucking thing she’s told me today.

“I’m going into her room,” I tell Lottie over my shoulder, halfway in.

“Mr. Master, I don’t think that’s a wise idea—”

I ignore her. Violet walks in behind me and voices my thoughts when she looks around the room.

“Oooh. Oh my.”

The gauzy black curtains are drawn over the windows, but it isn’t dark enough to hide the large, king-sized bed decorated with a circular, plush blanket in purples and blacks, the skeletons that dance along every flat surface in a macabre display, or the feathery dream catchers that hang from the ceiling. That isn’t what’s got my attention, though, nor Violet’s.

A curved, black leather chair sits in one corner of the room.

“Is that what I think it is?” I say out of the corner of my mouth to Violet.

“A chair designed for tantric sex and multiple positions or partners?” Violet responds. “Ohhh yeah.”

I curse under my breath. “And you know this because…”

“I believe that question violates our confidentiality agreement, Mr. Master.”

“We don’t have a confidentiality agreement, Miss Price.”

Her tight-lipped smile makes me want to smack her saucy little ass.

She steps further into the room and looks around. “Something for sure’s off,” she says. “Look.”

She points to where Skylar’s phone sits, plugged into the wall. Her laptop’s beside it, and the little bowl for her cats is empty. “No way she’d leave without putting fresh water and food out for her pets.”

Lottie stands in the doorway. “And you called the police?”

“I did.” She sighs. “They won’t touch the case. They said that she hasn’t been missing long enough and we have no evidence.”

What she doesn’t say is that knowing I’m Skylar’s brother doesn’t help the situation.

Violet’s frowning, my sister’s phone in her hand. It’s password-protected, and she hasn’t gotten far with it.

“We’re taking this with us,” she says. “I’m sure I’ll be able to get in.”

Lottie doesn’t protest.

Moons line every surface of the room. Half-moons pinned to the wall with Latin phrases I don’t know, a full moon framed in silver above an end table that’s actually a half-moon shape.

“Why all the moons?”

Violet frowns, her eyes quickly flitting over every detail. “You said she was dating a vampire?”

“Miss Price, there’s no such thing as fucking vampires.”

She nods. “Look, there may not be in our world—in the practical world we both inhabit—but in hers? There are. And it’s noteworthy.”

I give her this and don’t argue again.

After scouring Skylar’s room and the rest of the apartment, I get directions for Bubbles and Broomsticks. Back in the truck, Violet frowns as she fiddles with Skylar’s phone. She’s tried her birthday, her astrological sign, every obvious password she could think of, and finally locks herself out of it for fifteen minutes.

“Damn it,” she mutters, scowling. She takes her own phone out. “Have you noticed that your sister’s companions are all sort of outcasts? You’ve got Lottie, who’s sweet but wears glasses, is overweight and dresses in costumes. Probably not the most popular girl in her class. Were all her friends sort of unpopular?”

“Mhm.”

I flick on the directionals and take a left.

“Like… the boyfriend who’s essentially androgynous, and I bet if we investigated her other friends, we’d find something similar.”

I nod, not sure how this has anything to do with the case.

“Our goal right now is to bring back everything we can to my men. Tonight, we’ll go over every detail and see what we can piece together.”

“Your men. That sounds so…” Her voice trails off.

“So what?”

“Like, masculine.”

I grunt. “What should I call them? My employees?”