Chapter 2 Drugged
The man who opened the door wasn't who she expected. He was older, maybe in his fifties, with graying hair and a weathered face. He looked at her like she was lost, which she supposed she was.
"Can I help you?" he asked in Italian, his tone careful.
Lyra held up the paper with the address written on it, her hand shaking slightly. "I'm looking for someone," she said in broken Italian, then switched to English. "This address. Do you know them?"
The man glanced at the paper, then back at her. His expression shifted, something like recognition crossing his face before it closed off again.
"No one by that name lives here anymore," he said in English, his accent thick. "They moved. Long time ago."
Her stomach dropped.
"Moved where?" she asked, her voice coming out sharper than she meant.
He shook his head. "I don't know. I bought this house three years ago. The people before me, they didn't leave information."
Three years. She stared at him, trying to process that. The address her mother had given her was three years old, maybe older.
"Please," she said, her voice cracking. "I need to find them. It's important."
The man studied her for a moment, his gaze softening. Then he sighed and stepped back inside. "Wait here."
He disappeared into the house, leaving the door half open. Lyra stood there, her heart pounding, her hands gripping the handle of her suitcase so tight her knuckles hurt, a minute later, he came back with a slip of paper and he handed it to her.
"The real estate agent who sold me the house," he said. "Maybe she knows where they went." He paused, then added, "There's also a bar downtown. The Pit. The man who used to live here, I heard he went there often, someone might know something."
Lyra took the paper, her throat tight. "Thank you."
He nodded and stepped back, closing the door gently. She stood there for a moment, staring at the paper in her hand, then she turned and walked back down the path, dragging her suitcase behind her.
The motel was cheap and smelled like old carpet and cigarette smoke. Lyra paid for one night with the last of her cash and carried her suitcase up to the second floor. The room was small, just a bed, a chair, and a window that overlooked the parking lot. The walls were thin, she could hear a television blaring in the room next door.
She dropped her suitcase by the bed and sat down, the mattress creaking under her weight, her hands were still shaking. She pulled out the slip of paper the man had given her and stared at it. The Pit. It was the only lead she had.
After an hour of sitting in silence, she couldn't take it anymore. She needed air and she needed answers, she grabbed her jacket and left the motel.
The club was loud and crowded, the kind of place where bodies pressed together and the music made it hard to think.
Lyra pushed through the entrance, her arms wrapped around herself even though the air inside was warm, she'd changed into the only clean shirt she had left, a simple black top that covered her shoulders and didn't show anything, she didn't want attention. But the moment she stepped inside, she felt eyes on her.
She ignored them and made her way to the bar, weaving through groups of people who were already drunk or close to it. The bartender was a woman with bleached blonde hair. She looked up as Lyra approached.
"What can I get you?" she asked in Italian.
"Water," Lyra said. "Just water."
The woman raised an eyebrow but poured her a glass without comment. Lyra took it and turned, scanning the room. She didn't know what she was looking for, she didn't even know if anyone here would know her father or Stepbrother, Cade.
She sipped her water slowly, trying to calm the nerves twisting in her stomach. That's when she felt a hand on her lower back, too bold. She flinched and turned, pulling away, a man stood behind her, tall and broad, with slicked-back hair and a grin that made her skin crawl.
"You look lonely," he said in English, his accent rough.
"I'm not," she said, stepping back.
He stepped forward, closing the space between them. "Come on. Let me buy you a drink, something better than water."
"No, thank you."
"Don't be like that." His hand reached out again, brushing her arm.
She pulled away, her heart starting to race. "I said no."
His grin didn't falter. "Relax. I'm just being friendly."
She turned and walked away, pushing through the crowd toward the other side of the room. Her pulse was hammering now, she shouldn't have come here, she should have stayed at the motel.
She found a spot near the wall and leaned against it, trying to steady her breathing. The man didn't follow immediately, but she could still feel his eyes on her from across the room. She took another sip of her water, and It tasted off. She frowned and looked down at the glass. It looked fine.
She took another sip, then set it down on a nearby table, maybe it was just the club. Everything here felt off. The room started to blur at the edges.
She blinked, trying to clear her vision, but it didn't help, her head felt heavy, her legs felt weak. No. She looked up and saw the man from before moving toward her through the crowd, his grin wider now.
Panic shot through her. She pushed off the wall and started walking, but her steps were unsteady, her vision swam, the lights above her stretched and blurred. She stumbled forward, trying to get to the exit, but her legs wouldn't cooperate. The man was closer now, she could hear his voice calling after her, but the words didn't make sense.
She tried to move faster, but her body wasn't listening, and then she collided with something solid, a chest... hard and unyielding. Hands caught her arms, steadying her before she could fall.
"Easy," a voice said, low and rough.
She tried to look up, but her vision was too blurred. All she could see was the outline of a figure, tall and broad, holding her upright.
"Let me go," she mumbled, but the words came out slurred. The hands tightened on her arms, not rough but firm.
"Not a chance."
She felt herself being lifted, her feet leaving the ground, her head lolled against something warm and solid, she tried to push away, but her arms wouldn't move.
"Stop fighting," the voice said, closer now. "I've got you."
Her eyes fluttered shut. The last thing she felt was the steady rhythm of footsteps carrying her out of the noise and into the cool night air, and then nothing.
