Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 174544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
So I look through Xander’s dopp kit, thinking maybe there was a mix-up and he took mine thinking it was his. He has a Gillette with disposable heads. No straight razor among his toiletries.
“Where the fuck…?” I breathe out, wondering if Xander might’ve taken it and stashed it. No. No. Tension in my neck, I rest a hand against the searing muscle. Could he have? I shouldn’t have brought that razor, knowing we’d be sharing a bathroom.
Then another jarring thought—Luna.
Didn’t she use this bathroom today?
Panic punches me, and I immediately call her. It rings and rings and rings. Then I hear, “Howdy ho, don’t you know that you’ve reached the voice inbox of a very peculiar specimen. If you meant to contact her, she shall review your message once she’s returned from her interplanetary voyage. Can’t say how long it will take, as the universe is a fickle place, but be patient with her. She hopes she won’t let you down.” Her voicemail ends, and a ball is in my throat.
I call again.
She doesn’t answer.
I call a third time. Pick up, Luna.
No answer.
Instead of leaving a message, I leave the bathroom.
Careful not to wake Xander, I sneak over to the adjoining door. My side isn’t locked, but as soon as I try to push her door open, I realize hers is. More hurriedly, I swipe a keycard off the dresser and exit the hotel room.
Since Luna doesn’t know Frog that well anymore, she just wanted to room alone. So Quinn and Frog are sharing a hotel room, but right now, he’s posted outside Luna’s door, sitting and scrolling on his phone. We’re taking extra precautions after the kidnapping and all. I’m positive no one has broken into her room, since her two bodyguards have been swapping late-night duty.
Quinn sees me, then glances back at Luna’s door.
“Just checking on her,” I tell him, nearing with the keycard to her room. I withhold alarm, trying not to alert Oscar’s brother of anything wrong. It might be all in my head.
He stays seated. “Just say you’re taking a three a.m. booty call. I might be six years younger than you, but I’ve been around the block.”
Not her block. Territorial, possessive feelings flex my muscles. I could quip back, tell your block I say hi, with a grin, but I can barely muster one right now. So I just mutter an, “Alright, Quinnie,” and swipe the keycard. Lock flashes green, and I push inside, closing the door behind me.
It’s dark.
“Luna, it’s me,” I whisper, my pulse gradually ascending.
The sheets of her king-sized bed are rumpled. A laptop is folded open on a pillow, but Luna isn’t on the bed. I flip on a light. Her room is empty, but I hear the shower running.
Adrenaline overrides fear, and I sprint to the bathroom. Not even wasting time calling her name, I go for the handle. It’s unlocked, and as soon as I charge inside, the single thought in my head is please be alive.
I won’t survive if she dies; in this second, I feel that truth radiate through me.
“Luna?” I bolt for the glass shower stall. She’s sitting on the black tile, her head tucked against her knees and thin arms wrapped around her bent legs. Hot water pelts her naked body, steam billowing to the ceiling, and with my heart shredded in my throat, I snag a towel and quickly rush into the shower.
“Luna?” I call out, her head just barely lifting. Her eyes are puffy and bloodshot, and I swivel the faucet, shutting off the cascade of water.
Bending down to her, I wrap the towel around her shoulders, cocooning her, but I’m checking the wet tile for my razor. Blood, is there blood? No—what if it washed down the drain? I see her watching me search, and so I end up sitting in front of Luna, slowing my movements. I edge closer to her, spreading my legs open so she’s between them. She hardly stirs.
Then I gently touch her left arm, checking for cuts. Right arm. Her legs. Insides of her thighs. When I lift my gaze to hers, knowing she’s not harmed, an onslaught of emotion slams against me. My eyes sear, my nose runs, and I wipe it with the back of my hand before I hold her splotchy, flushed cheek, my fingers nestling in her wet hair.
She hasn’t torn away from my gaze, but hers is so wrecked.
“What’s going on, Luna?” I whisper.
She opens her mouth, but she’s choked for words. It takes her a long time to speak, but when she does, her voice quakes. “I just really want my memories back.” She breaks into a gutted noise, sobbing against her knees. “They’re not coming back like I hoped they would.”
I touch the back of her head and kiss her forehead. I weave my arms around her small frame.