Saving Hailey: Dark Academia, Enemies To Lovers, Mafia Romance (Shadows of Obsession Book 2)
Saving Hailey: Chapter 1

There’s beauty in chaos. Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ FɪndNovᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Every kind of chaos if you pay enough attention.

I believed it not long ago. I was fucking certain, but seven long days of anarchy reigning supreme in my mind proved me wrong.

There’s no beauty in this chaos… only pain.

Raw, indescribable agony drags after me like a ball and chain.

The cigarette in my hand feels more like a lifeline than a distraction, its sharp taste stoking the guilt chewing at my brain cells. Hailey’s you stink hits me every time I light one, but even a shitty distraction from my obsessive thoughts is better than none, so I don’t stop, wrinkling my nose every evening when I hit the shower.

I really do fucking stink.

“Carter, you can’t smoke in—” The bouncer outside Delta cuts himself off when I flick my burning cigarette onto the pavement, narrowly missing his ear.

Slamming my hands against the double door, I send both wings banging against the walls of the narrow entryway, startling the hostess, who shuffles away as I enter the illuminated glass corridor.

Thumping bass shakes the club, seeping into my bones and jangling my nerves. Emerging in the POP room, I shove through the crowd, marching with purpose, my back muscles denser than stone, heart pounding an uneasy rhythm.

I’ve made my decision, but that doesn’t mean I’m looking forward to the shitshow about to happen in Dante’s office.

Broadway appears in my path like he grew out of the floor, his wide eyes brimming with unrestrained horror.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he snaps, his voice raised so I’ll hear him over the blaring music. He braces his open palm against my chest to stop me. “Get out of here before it’s too late.”

“I’m not leaving.” I swat his hand away, rounding the bulk of his tall frame.

“Fuck! Carter, this isn’t the way to go.” He glues his back to the door I’m heading for, eyes wide. “Calm down and think. If he has anything solid, you’ll end up doing time!”

“Why do you think he’s coming? How did he figure out who I am? He has her, Broadway.” I jab my finger into his chest. “He knows where she is.”

“You think he’ll tell you that?” he scoffs, shaking his head. “Jeremy said he has a fucking warrant!”

Dante told me that ten minutes ago, his tone crossing the line between suggestion and order when he recommended I head for the safe house.

I asked him why.

“Jeremy called,”he replied. The slight shake to his words didn’t bode well. Dante’s normally the epitome of control, always one step ahead of the game. “Hold on, I’ll get him on the line. You should hear it from him.”

The sweet sound of “Take This Lonely Heart”by Nothing but Thieves blasting from the speakers in my Corvette was hijacked by a bleak dial tone.

I was on my way forthe weekly meeting—a last-minute decision to make an appearance in Delta after ghosting both my crew and my boss all week, fruitlessly chasing even the most tentative of leads. I’ve searched all over Ohio for Hailey, leaving no stone unturned. Her home state seemed the best place to look, but I keep coming up empty.

At this pace I won’t find her for years.

Vaughn learned from his mistake. He hid Hailey much better this time around.

The phone clicked and Jeremy’s curt, biting voice filtered through my Corvette’s speakers, making me smirk. “Carrow.”

The façade was there, as always.

Despite everything the biggest mafia boss in the States has done for him, Jeremy still pretends he’s doing Dante a favor. He pretends their cooperation is an inconvenience rather than a godsend.

Thanks to Dante, he’s put four daughters through college without one cent of debt, and there’s enough left to put his grandkids through as well. Even with the six trust funds, he has more cash than one man can spend in a lifetime. He’s the Chief of Police in Chicago and has been helping Dante for years. Evidence goes missing, crime scenes are miraculously swept clean of prints or polluted when there’s no time, and get-out-of-jail free cards are handed out whenever required.

Without Jeremy’s help, we’d all be serving life sentences. Thankfully, he’s more than eager to help. And so are many other officers in Chicago.

“Carter’s here,”Dante barked, breaking the silence punctuated by the heavy thump of my heart. “Tell him what you told me.”

The pause that followed covered the back of my neck with sweat. I could almost picture Jeremy’s grimace before he sighed, feigning exasperation.

“We’re coming for you, Beckett. You don’t have much time to vanish if you don’t want a pair of shiny new bracelets.”

Two wrinkles dented the space between my brows, and the hum of Chicago’s busy streets muted into nothing. “We? Who’s we, Jeremy?”

“Me, for starters, because he doesn’t have jurisdiction.”

I ground my teeth, summoning my last shards of patience. Jeremy loves a tension-building pause. Considering what he does for us, we indulge him, but his penchant for dramatics was the last thing I needed in that moment. Or any other day to be perfectly honest.

I think Broadway’s the only one who enjoys Jeremy’s cryptic, short sentences. Must be his actor side.

“Who’s he, Jeremy?” I prompted, swallowing my exasperation, even though my impatience filled the Corvette’s entire compact interior, so thick it could be cut with a knife.

“He’s an annoying problem. Barged into the precinct wielding an arrest warrant like a fucking sword and making demands like he’s the fucking boss.”

“Name, now,”Dante clipped. “Don’t keep him guessing.”

“Charles Vaughn.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes briefly. What the fuck is Charles Vaughn doing in Chicago?

And, more importantly: “What are the charges?” I asked, an apple-sized lump lodged in my throat.

“Murder.”

More sweat coated my back, introducing gut-wrenching dread significantly stronger than confusion or shock.

Fuck.

Murder charges usually mean evidence, solid evidence. Vaughn wouldn’t travel all this way on a whim. He has something on me. Fuck knows what but definitely something.

Dante cleared his throat, the sound distorting, like he leaned over the phone. I imagined a few choice words beelining for exit on the tip of his tongue, but none made it past his lips.

Yelled orders from Jeremy’s end boomed around me in surround sound.

“Shit,”Jeremy drawled. “Time’s up. We’re rolling out.”

“Who’s dead?”I demanded, squeezing the life out of the steering wheel.

My mind opened the floodgates to worst-case scenarios and went straight to Hailey which meant my insides were this close to folding inwards.

“Get ready!”Jeremy shouted, presumably to his team, but it sounded like a subtle warning for me. Then—under his breath—he added, “It won’t stick,” and the call dropped.

I raked a hand through my hair, taking deep breaths. Not that it helped curb the fear. The growl of the V8 grew louder the harder my foot pumped the gas pedal, one thought echoing inside my head on repeat.

It’s not Hailey. She’s okay. She’s alive.

Vaughn would be in pieces if my girl was dead. He wouldn’t drive from Ohio to bust my ass for murdering his daughter. He’d be damn near catatonic. Any father would be.

I run a hand down my face, cooling my temper while Broadway barricades the door leading out of the POP room.

As if that will fucking stop me.

“The warrant won’t stick,” I say, stroking his rational side. “It’s been a week. If Vaughn had solid evidence, he would’ve been here the day after Hailey left Lakeside. I know what I’m doing, Broadway.”

“Do you?!” he booms, his chest heaving. “Because it looks like you lost sight of the goal.”

“She is my goal.” I get in his face, my hands balled into fists at my sides. It’s all I can do to stop myself grabbing him by the collar and shoving him aside.

He means well, but he doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand there’s no me without her. Not anymore.

Bad drug.

Perfect high.

My sweet fucking downfall.

“I want her back. I need her back and Vaughn’s my key to getting her. Get out of my way.”

Broadway grinds his teeth, staring me down for three heartbeats. He’s known me long enough to see in my eyes that I’ll make him move if he doesn’t. “I hope she’s worth it.”

Fierce, protective rage detonates inside me, scorching my veins. But beneath that rage lies a fear so deep, so fucking profound, it almost brings me to my knees.

The fear of never seeing Hailey again.

Never hearing her voice.

Never telling her how much she means to me.

I don’t grace Broadway with a reply, shouldering past him into the next room.

My hands shake, my knuckles bleached from how hard I’m clenching them, as I power through the room like a wrecking ball. Any assholes that don’t step aside in time get shoved out of my way. My self-control is hanging by a thread and it’s a struggle to hold on to my sanity. It wouldn’t take much to slip into madness. I’m barely keeping from tearing apart everyone within reach to let out a fraction of the rage gunning through me.

Three months ago, I saw beauty on the dancefloors of Bravo and Delta. There was something hypnotic about skimpily dressed bodies moving to the rhythm pumping from the tall speakers. Something mesmerizing in their red lips, coquettish smiles, bouncing boobs, and the damp hair kissing their necks.

Now I can’t see it.

My gaze sweeps the club as I charge toward the metal staircase. The same scenes play out before my eyes, the same music vibrates the heavy, hot air.

At first glance, it’s the same chaos I’ve basked in for years.

Nothing’s changed, but everything feels different.

Like I’m watching a sepia-toned movie on worn-out film.

No color, no life. No beauty…

No escaping the torment of losing Hailey.

Seven days. That’s how long she’s been gone. Seven days of swinging between cold logic and panicked frenzy. Seven days spent wondering what’s happening with her and remembering every moment we spent together.

How the fuck did she sink her claws so deep into my bones that even a week apart can’t break me free?

I don’t even want to break free…

I want her to sink her claws deeper.

And I want her back right now, even if rational thinking tells me she’s safe with Matthews, hidden away on Vaughn’s orders.

The evidence was on Chloe’s phone, which she handed over willingly when I barged into her room minutes after I realized Hailey ran. Within half an hour, Ryder’s digging confirmed Hailey used it to dial Matthews.

Without knowing what was said I had no idea where to start looking. Not that it stopped me. I drove around for hours while Ryder combed the scarce surveillance footage from town, tracing Matthews’ car as he took my girl away, but there are no surveillance cameras in the miles of dense woods leading every direction out of town, so they lost the trail in the web of roads.

The only consolation was the snapshot Ryder sent me. It clearly showed Hailey in the passenger seat, and seeing her safe with her father’s friend quenched an iota of my despair.

As much as I hate that she’s gone, at least I know who she left with. Matthews would’ve taken her straight to a new Vaughn-approved hiding place.

Which means she’s safe.

That’s what I keep telling myself. It’s a mantra against the dark scenarios invading my thoughts because I’m in fucking pieces. She can’t be perfectly safe unless she’s with me.

That thought is a vice around my heart, its jaws contracting every day. It’s not rational, but rational hasn’t been my strongest suit the past week. I’m a pendulum swinging between calculated logic and emotional overwhelm.

It doesn’t help that our tight surveillance on Vaughn hasn’t produced a single clue. I’m shooting blind, checking every location I can think of while Jackson and Ryder keep digging. So far, all we have are dead ends. Wherever Vaughn hid her, it’s a much better choice than Lakeside.

He should’ve led with that.

And I should’ve stormed into his precinct days ago. Confronting the man face to face wouldn’t have been smart, but neither is coming to Delta knowing damn well he’ll read me my rights.

Fuck it. Smart hasn’t gotten me anywhere.

It’s time for drastic measures.

“Are they here yet?” I ask Broadway, glancing down the metal stairs.

He’s two steps below, the wrinkles marring his forehead a visible representation of his foul mood. “Not yet. You can still leave.”

“Not happening.” I whip my neck left and right but the pleasant crack doesn’t ease the cold dread gnawing at my bones. Maybe a glass of Bourbon will help. “Better go get me a drink.”

“Shall I prepare your last meal too?” he bites back, veering left as we reach the top.

My gaze leaps toward the back office and through the haze of dim lights, I catch Dante’s intense gaze staring right at me. He doesn’t look fazed by my presence as he moves his attention back to his wife standing before him.

She’s flushed, cheeks pink—probably from however long she spent on the dance floor—dark hair damp around her temples, chest heaving. She beams at her husband, rising on the tips of her stilettoes to reach his lips.

A sudden mounting sense of discomfort poisons my system. I slow my step, dropping my gaze. Three months ago, I would’ve smirked at this public display of affection… at Dante’sblatant manifestation of feelings, but now I can’t fucking watch.

Men like him don’t indulge quick kisses in front of crowds of strangers, but he never gave a shit. He knows he can protect Layla. Besides, no one in their right mind would dare hurt her these days so he never holds back, showing her off regardless of who’s watching.

And I know I wouldn’t—

Correction: I won’t hold back once I find Hailey.

I look up five seconds later, checking they’re done. They are and Dante’s rapt attention is on me while Layla does a one-eighty, stilettoing away.

Shaking off the unwanted jealousy that he has what I lost, I pick up my pace, following him to the office surprised to find it empty. I haven’t looked toward the VIP table to check if Dante’s men are there.

Two lines wrinkle my forehead when he sits in his leather chair, hooking his index finger in the collar of his shirt and tugging twice. He’s not the type to pop a few buttons. Not since he became the king of the underground, perching on top of the ladder every morally gray man in America wants to climb.

His mouth opens, then falls shut when a single beep of the motion detector informs us that someone’s entered the corridor. Five seconds later, there’s a rap on the door.

“Come in,” Dante barks.

Broadway enters, balancing a tray on the flat of his hand like a professional waiter. He’s brought more than two glasses.

It’s five to nine in the evening, which means our weekly meeting starts soon and Dante’s men should be flocking in here.

“Where’s everyone else?” I ask, ignoring Broadway’s eyes shooting daggers my way.

“I only told Broadway about Vaughn,” Dante explains, plucking his drink from the lineup. “I had a feeling you weren’t going to stay away. I want to see how this plays out.”

He trusts his men implicitly but always tests their loyalty. I considered it an insult for a long time, especially after I took three bullets for his wife, but after I learned about the betrayal Dante suffered at the hands of a man he trusted with his life, I started testing my small crew.

Better safe than sorry.

This world is fucking brutal.

“Did Jeremy tell you who I killed?” I ask.

“No, he didn’t. You know what he’s like. He gave us a heads-up and hinted he wasn’t sure the warrant was genuine.”

I cock an eyebrow. Charles Vaughn using dirty tricks to get me into an interrogation room? Now that’s a twist I didn’t expect.

The dread filling my chest ebbs away, replaced by a cold, calculating focus.

“Are you sure this is your call?” Dante asks, leaning back in his seat. “You know where the safe house is, Carter. If you get in your car now, you can be there in three hours.”

I grab my drink, swirling the amber liquid in the crystal glass. Any other day, disappearing would be my priority. I’ve made it eight years without wearing cuffs, and I’d prefer to keep it that way, but I’m out of options. Vaughn’s my last resort. He knows where Hailey is and he will tell me even if the confession is the last fucking thing he ever says.

He wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t connected Nash Wright with Carter Willard, which gives me hope the corpse is not my girl. It gives me hope that she told Vaughn about me, which would be my confirmation that he has her. That she’s safe. Out of my reach, but safe.

Right now, confirmation is worth its weight in gold. Without it I might lose my sanity.

I don’t have a single solid lead. Not one concrete piece of information. It’s all wishful thinking. If something happened to Hailey, if it’s her murder I’m being accused of—

I inhale a sharp breath, numbing the pain tearing my heart wide open. The mere thought that she’s dead fucking wrecks me.

“I’m staying,” I say, throwing a hefty sip of Bourbon at the back of my throat. “Vaughn knows where she is.”

Dante’s features pinch but, of all people, he understands the risks I’m willing to take for a chance to find Hailey. For a confirmation that she’s safe.

The not knowing, the uncertainty, has been eating me alive since I found her room at Lakeside empty.

A minute passes, stretching like bubble gum pulled between teeth and fingers, before Dante bobs his head. He gets it because Layla’s his entire world. Not one material or immaterial thing matters more to him than her so I bet he can relate. He walked a mile in my shoes eight years ago. He knows what losing your meaning means.

“Fine. We’ll do it your way. I’ll brief our lawyer. He’ll start preparing a line of defense in case the warrant holds up.”

Even if it does, Michael Foley will dismiss the charges before dawn. He’s the best lawyer in Chicago, strictly on Dante’s payroll, and as skilled at burying evidence as Jeremy Smith.

Not that he’ll have much to bury; I haven’t killed anyone lately… save for Jensen, but there’s no way Vaughn knows that.

“Don’t send him out yet. I get one phone call, don’t I?”

“Yes, you do. I’ll wait for your call.”

The characteristic beep sounds again, letting us know the rest of the entourage is coming. Just as the door handle rattles, Dante summons Broadway’s attention.

“Not a word out of you,” he says. “And stop pouting.”

“I’ll be fine,” I add, hiding my smirk behind the glass.

“You better be.”

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