““I was going to yell my lungs out when I got to her for pulling this kind of shit. Once I got to the location, I called her number again and again, trying to reach her. I called maybe thirty times before I heard the faint sound of a ringtone and found her cell in a dumpster among cardboard, junk food leftovers and cigarette butts. Desperation and distress coursed through my veins. I kicked the dumpster so hard, I left a dent. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I yelled, not caring about people around me watching my very public meltdown. She hadn’t run away. Wouldn’t run away. I knew my lovebird—she was the fighting kind. The only running she’d ever do was to get her cardio fix. No, this was not her trying to break free. This was him trying to get even. It was the moment I realized that, for the first time, Brock was one step ahead of me.””
