Chapter 30 I’m Coming For You
Maddox drove back to Grace's house with his heart heavy in his chest, and guilt kept gnawing at him.
He was a fool, such a complete and utter fool.
He'd actually done it. Had actually agreed to drug his best friend, he taken those pills from her father and slipped them into her drink, all while telling himself he was doing the right thing. That he was protecting her.
What kind of person or friend did that make him?
He doubted he could even call himself a friend after what he did.
His hands tightened on the steering wheel as he pulled onto their street. He'd heard about what happened at the hospital when he went to tell Grant that he couldn’t go through with it, but apparently, he didn’t need to because Grant was on him the moment he saw him, shouting and trying to fight him while Maddox easily kept avoiding his blows.
Maddox learnt that Grace had smashed the necklace and left, he saw the pieces in Sarah’s hands as she kept crying and saying that she had lost her baby.
And all Maddox could think was that he'd contributed to that. He'd been part of the betrayal that had pushed her to that point.
He needed to see her, had to apologize, even though he knew that sorry would never be enough and she might never forgive him, as she had every right not to.
But he had to try.
Maddox parked down the street from her house to make sure she didn’t sneak out back, his stomach churning with anxiety. What was he even going to say? How did you apologize for something like this?
He sat there for a moment, trying to gather his courage, trying to find the right words that probably didn't exist.
Then he noticed something that made his blood run cold.
The front door was ajar.
Not wide open, but enough that he could see the darkness inside, that something was very wrong.
Grace's mother was obsessive about keeping doors closed, she was always worried about the heating bill or about bugs getting in, about security. The front door was never left open like that.
Never.
Maddox got out of his car, his heart starting to pound. Something felt off. The evening air suddenly felt too cold against his skin, and the street seemed quieter than usual.
"Grace?" he called out as he approached the house, but his voice came out weaker than he intended.
No response.
He quickened his pace, jogging up the path to the front door. He pushed it open wider and stepped inside.
And immediately stopped in his tracks.
The living room looked like a war zone. A lamp lay on its side, the shade crushed and bent. The coffee table had been shoved several feet from where it normally sat, one of its legs splintered. Magazines were scattered across the floor, some of them torn.
And near the entrance to the kitchen, there were deep scratches gouged into the hardwood floor, like someone had been dragged, their shoes scraping against the wood as they fought.
Or like someone had been trying desperately to stop themselves from being taken.
"Grace!" Maddox shouted, his voice cracking with panic. "Grace, are you here?"
He rushed through the living room, his eyes taking in more details with each passing second. A picture frame knocked off the wall, the glass shattered and scattered across the floor. A chair overturned. Small drops of what might have been blood near the doorway.
No, no, no.
"Grace!" he screamed again, louder this time, more desperate.
He took the stairs two at a time, his legs pumping, his breath coming in sharp gasps. He burst into her room, but it was empty. The bed was made, everything neat and in its place. Untouched.
Like she'd never made it up here.
Maddox checked her parents' room. Empty. The bathroom. Empty. The guest room. The closet. The small storage space at the end of the hall, was empty.
He ran back downstairs, his mind racing, his heart hammering so hard he could feel it in his throat. The kitchen. He hadn't checked the kitchen properly.
But the kitchen was clean, didn’t look disturbed.
Which meant whatever had happened, it had all happened in the living room. Near the front door.
Someone had broken in and there had been a fight.
And Grace was gone.
Maddox stood in the middle of the destroyed living room, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts. His hands were shaking. His whole body was shaking.
He pulled out his phone, his fingers fumbling with it. He needed to call her to hear her voice, needed her to answer and tell him she was okay, that she'd just gone to a friend's house and she was fine.
He dialed her number, the sequence of digits he knew by heart, and pressed the phone to his ear.
It rang once.
Twice.
And then he heard it, it was quite faint but unmistakable. The sound of a phone ringing.
Maddox's phone lowered from his ear slowly, his brow creasing as he turned toward the sound, his feet carrying him back toward the front door.
The sound was coming from outside.
He stepped out onto the porch and down the path, following the sound. It was coming from the lawn, somewhere off to the side.
There, partially hidden in the overgrown grass near the edge of the property, he saw it.
A phone.
Maddox moved toward it, each step feeling like it took an eternity. He bent down, his hand reaching out even though part of him was screaming not to, screaming that if he picked it up, if he confirmed what he already knew, then it would make it real.
His fingers closed around the device, and he lifted it from the grass.
The screen was cracked. A spiderweb of fractures spread across the glass, and through the damage he could see his own name displayed on the screen. His call is still connected.
It was Grace's phone.
Maddox stared at it, his mind refusing to process what he was seeing. Sure, she might go off sometimes without her phone, but this was different.
She had left it behind not willingly. Which meant it had been taken from her, or it had fallen during the struggle.
Maddox's grip tightened on the phone, and he felt it crack further beneath his fingers. He looked back at the house, at the open door, and at the destruction visible even from here.
Someone had come here. Someone had broken into Grace's house and they'd attacked her. Judging by the evidence, she'd fought back. Hard, but they'd taken her anyway.
They took her.
The realization weakened him and Maddox felt his legs go weak. He stumbled, nearly falling, and had to grab onto the mailbox to keep himself upright.
Grace was gone, someone had taken her, and he had no idea who it was or where.
And it was his fault.
If he'd come sooner, if he'd never agreed to drug her in the first place, if he'd been the friend she deserved instead of the coward he'd been, maybe this wouldn't have happened.
Maybe he could have protected her, but he hadn't. And now she was gone, and all he had was her broken phone, a destroyed living room, and guilt that felt like it was going to crush him from the inside out.
Maddox stood there for a long moment, Grace's phone clutched in his hand, and tried to think past the panic and self-loathing. Tried to figure out what to do.
He needed to call someone. The police. Her parents. Someone.
But even as he thought it, he hesitated. The police would ask questions. Would want to know why he was here, what he knew, and end up making him a suspect. And if they found out about the drugs, about what he'd done at that party, he could end up in jail. And that wouldn't help Grace at all.
Her parents. He should call her parents.
But Grace had just disowned them. Had broken her grandmother's necklace and told them they weren't her family anymore. He paused, she had broken her necklace.
Maddox's jaw clenched, anger cutting through the fear, no wonder she had been found.
He looked down at the phone again, at the cracked screen, and noticed something he'd missed before. There was dirt on it. Fresh dirt, like it had been dropped and then stepped on.
Or kicked.
Maddox turned, scanning the lawn more carefully now. And that's when he saw them.
Footprints.
Multiple sets, pressed into the soft earth where the grass was thinner. They led from the house toward the street, and he followed them and saw there were huge gaps between each one, like people had been running. There were three sets, maybe four. Most were adult-sized, all heavy, like whoever made them had been wearing boots.
Work boots. Or tactical boots.
Not dress shoes. Not the kind of thing Vance or his people would wear.
The one leading was smaller, Maddox followed the footprints down the path, till they stopped abruptly.
Someone had been here. Multiple someones. They'd broken into Grace's house, fought with her, dragged her out to the street, chased her, and—
Maddox looked up, then looked at the footprints again, Grace was running away from those people and she was running towards his house.
He wanted to scream, wanted to punch something. He hadn’t been there, he wanted to go back in time and make different choices, be a better friend. None of these would’ve happened if he hadn’t done what he did.
Maddox stood there with her broken phone and tried to figure out what to do next.
He looked at the footprints again, his mind racing, they told him something.
This wasn't random, it wasn't some opportunistic break-in or a crime of passion. This was planned. Professional. The kind of thing that required multiple people working together, the kind of thing that left minimal evidence behind.
They had specifically come for Grace.
Maddox pulled out his own phone with shaking hands and stared at the screen. He needed help. Real help. Someone who could actually do something, who had resources and connections and the ability to find Grace before whoever took her did whatever they were planning to do.
His thumb hovered over the emergency call button, but he hesitated.
The police would help, yes. But they'd also ask questions. Would investigate. Would potentially uncover what he'd done, what her father had planned. And that could make things worse.
Obviously, Vance would walk off free but he would be behind bars and wouldn’t be of any help to Grace from there thus he needed someone else. Someone who cared about Grace, who would drop everything to help find her.
Someone like Enzo.
The thought surprised him, but once it formed, Maddox couldn't shake it. Grace had mentioned him a few times, always dismissively, always like he didn't matter. But Maddox had seen them in that room, he had seen the way Enzo looked at her.
Like she was the only person in the room, when he was also clearly there.
Maddox didn't have Enzo's number, but he knew people who might. And if anyone had the resources to find Grace, to track down whoever had taken her, it would be someone like that.
Someone with connections and power. With the kind of reach that went beyond what the police could do.
But—
That would have been the case if the situation had played out differently. Right now, the kidnappers had been sloppy enough to leave behind traces of her scent. Enough for the nose of a sensitive wereywho happened to be her mate—to follow.
“Idiot,” he clicked his tongue condescendingly.
Maddox had made his decision.
He took one last look at Grace's house, at the destruction inside, at the evidence of violence that marked where his best friend had been taken.
And then he ran to his car, Grace's broken phone still clutched in his hand, and started making calls.
He would find her, he had to. He had no choice but to find her.
Because this was his fault, and he'd be damned if he let his mate pay the price for his mistakes.