Burn Into Me (Into Me Series Book Two)

Chapter Eight - Nightmare

I wake with a start.

Something's wrong.

I sit up abruptly, glancing around our bedroom.
It's still dark, the only light coming through the windows from the full moon in the sky. I reach my hand out to Jet as I try to figure out what's wrong. My hand doesn't find her.

I look to her side of the bed and find it empty and cold. She never leaves bed without telling me. My eyes flick up to the clock on her bedside table. 4:26 am.

Something's wrong.

I shove the comforter off of me, getting out of bed quickly. I pull on my lounge pants and stick my right hand under my bedside table, finding the sensor and pushing my index finger to it. There's a click that sounds, the familiar weight of an 8mm dropping into my hand. I check the magazine to make sure it's fully loaded and nudge open our bedroom door, holding the pistol in my hands with my finger over the safety.

The house is silent. No lights are on. There are no signs of Jet anywhere.

Something's wrong.

I walk as quietly as I can, avoiding areas of the floor that I know squeak. I try to slow my breathing down, remind myself that I have to stay calm.

I just have to find Jet. Once I find Jet, everything will be okay. Just find Jet, Jackson.

After I finish clearing the top floor, I push my back against the wall and start slowly descending the stairs. I keep my gaze over the railing, looking for movement, light, anything that would show me where she is. Still nothing.

Something's wrong.

Don't panic. She's probably in the kitchen getting a glass of water. Just check the kitchen and if she's not there, she might be in the basement on her electric drum kit. Don't panic until you know you need to panic.

I reach the landing silently, pushing my back up against the wall. I glance around the corner, nothing. I check the front door, still locked. No signs of forced entry. Our keys are on their usual hooks, our shoes in the same spots they're always in, and her work bag leaning against the wall next to my briefcase.

Something's wrong.

I take each step painstakingly slow. I clear the home office, pushing my back up against the wall again. The hair on the back of my neck stands up as my pulse quickens even further. I have to physically restrain myself from sprinting down the rest of the hallway to the kitchen.

Something's wrong.

Come on Jet, where the fuck are you? Please be in the kitchen. Please. Please just be my anxiety getting the best of me.

Something's wrong.

I hear Rosie's aggressive bark from the dining room that lights a fire under my ass, all of the formal training that tells me to take this slowly, methodically, straight out the fucking window. I round the corner and raise my gun to find... nothing? What the hell? Rosie trots up to me with her rope toy in between her teeth, shaking it while she growls lowly. I stand up straight, letting my arms fall relaxed at my side as I sigh.

She's just playing with her toy, Jackson. Relax, man. You're in your fucking head. Jet is probably fine. You're going to walk into the kitchen and she's going to be sitting on the counter with a tub of ice cream in her lap and her phone in her hand, giggling at some stupid TikTok she found.

A sudden, bloodcurdling scream comes from somewhere in the house making me take off in a full sprint toward the sound. That's Jet's scream. I haven't heard one like that since the rally we got gassed at. Why the fuck is she screaming?!