Chapter 243
Serena
I woke up drowning.
Not in water—in something worse. In the thick, suffocating certainty that Wesley was dead. That I'd watched his skull explode in a spray of red and bone, his body crumpling like a discarded puppet while Felix stood over him, laughing.
The scream tore out of me before I could stop it.
"Serena—"
Lance's arms locked around me instantly, pulling me against his chest with a force that bordered on desperation. His heart hammered against my cheek, matching the frantic rhythm of my own. One hand cradled the back of my head while the other pressed flat against my spine, holding me together when I felt like I might shatter.
"What happened?" His voice was rough with sleep and something darker. "Tell me."
I couldn't speak. Couldn't form words around the images still burning behind my eyelids. Wesley's eyes, wide and accusing in that final moment. The gun. The blood. So much blood.
"Serena." Lance's grip tightened. "Look at me."
I forced my eyes open, met his gaze in the pre-dawn darkness. Even now, even terrified and half-awake, he looked like he was already calculating, already planning how to fix whatever had broken me.
"I saw—" My voice cracked. I swallowed hard, tried again. "Fuck. I saw Wesley. He was... Lance, he was dead."
The words hung between us like a curse.
Lance's expression didn't change, but I felt the shift in him. The way his muscles tensed, coiled tight beneath his skin. "It was a dream. Just a dream."
"He went after Felix." The words tumbled out faster now, frantic and disjointed. "You sent him, and he—the bullet hit him right in the head, Lance. Right in the—"
"Stop." His hands moved to cup my face, thumbs brushing away tears I hadn't realized were falling. "Wesley isn't that fragile. You know that."
But I could hear it in his voice—the hairline fracture in his certainty. The fear he was trying so hard to bury.
"Have you heard from him?" I demanded. "Since last night? Any calls, any texts—"
"No."
The single word dropped like a stone.
I shoved away from him, ignoring the flash of hurt that crossed his face. My hands were shaking as I grabbed my phone from the nightstand, nearly dropping it twice before I managed to pull up Wesley's contact.
The call went straight to voicemail.
I tried again. Same result.
"Serena—"
"Shut up." I was already dialing a third time, pressing the phone so hard against my ear it hurt. "Come on, come on, you bastard, pick up—"
Nothing.
Lance was out of bed now, reaching for his own phone with movements that had lost their usual grace. For the first time since I'd known him, he looked genuinely rattled.
Before either of us could speak, someone knocked on the door. Hard. Urgent.
"Lance!" Vincent's voice, stripped of its usual calm. "I need you both in the living room. Now."
The look Lance and I exchanged needed no translation. Something was very, very wrong.
---
We threw on clothes in silence—me in yesterday's jeans and one of Lance's shirts, him in slacks and a button-down he didn't bother tucking in. By the time we reached the living room, Vincent was pacing like a caged animal, his phone clutched in one white-knuckled hand.
He stopped when he saw us, his face a mask of barely controlled panic.
"Wesley's been issued a warrant for his arrest."
The words hit me like a physical blow. I actually stumbled, would have fallen if Lance hadn't caught my elbow.
"What the fuck?" The profanity burst out of me, sharp and disbelieving. "Why? What did they—"
"Last night." Vincent's voice was tight, clipped. "He led a gang into Lawson Estate. Attempted kidnapping of Thomas and Felix. Arthur was there. So were the police. They caught him red-handed."
My vision tunneled. The room tilted sideways.
"His men shot Felix," Vincent continued, each word landing like a hammer blow. "Not fatally, but enough to make it assault with a deadly weapon. The ones who were arrested? They're already talking. Gave up everything—the kidnapping plot, other crimes. They're saying Wesley was the mastermind."
Lance's face had gone absolutely still. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the room like a blade.
"Felix was injured?"
"Lance." I grabbed his arm, hard enough to bruise. "That's not the fucking point. Why was Wesley at the estate at all? He wouldn't be that reckless. He wouldn't just—" I turned to Vincent, desperate. "The police response time. That's not normal, is it? They were waiting for him."
Vincent nodded grimly. "Thomas and Felix set a trap. The moment Wesley entered the property, they triggered a silent alarm. All they had to do was stall him long enough for law enforcement to arrive."
"Jesus Christ." I was shaking now, full-body tremors I couldn't control. "Where is he? Is he okay? You said he was issued a warrant, which means he got away, right? He's not in custody?"
The look on Vincent's face made my blood run cold.
"Miss Vance, him getting away might be the worst possible outcome."
"What are you talking about?" But even as I asked, I knew. God help me, I knew.