Chapter 3

The next morning, my phone rang. It was Ethan. His voice was frantic, laced with a manufactured panic I knew all too well.

"Jocelyn, you need to get to the hospital. Right now."

"What happened?" I asked, my voice calm.

"It's Sabrina! She had a severe anxiety attack. She... she tried to hurt herself. She's saying it's because you were harassing her about the guitar."

I almost laughed. Harassing her. I sent one email.

"She's lost a lot of blood," Ethan continued, his voice breaking with fake emotion. "The doctors say she needs a transfusion, and her blood type is rare. O-negative."

My blood ran cold.

I am O-negative.

"Jocelyn, you're O-negative, right? You have to come donate. It's an emergency. She could die."

I was supposed to have a meeting that afternoon. A big one. A legendary music producer from Nashville, a friend of my father's, was in Austin for SXSW. He had heard some of my old demos and wanted to talk. It was the first step I had planned for my comeback.

"I have a meeting, Ethan."

"A meeting?" he scoffed, his voice turning ugly. "A meeting about what? Your little songs? Sabrina's life is on the line, and you're talking about a meeting? What is wrong with you? Get to the hospital now!"

He gave me the address of a private clinic, not a major hospital. That was the first red flag.

I hung up, my mind racing. I wasn't going. This was a manipulation, a sick game. I grabbed my laptop and my purse and headed for the door, planning to go straight to my meeting.

I never made it.

On the highway, a black SUV swerved in front of my car, forcing me to slam on the brakes.

Ethan jumped out of the passenger side, his face contorted with rage. His security guard, a mountain of a man, got out of the driver's side.

Ethan wrenched my car door open. "I told you to go to the hospital!" he screamed.

"I'm not doing it, Ethan. This is insane."

His hand flew out and he slapped me, hard, across the face. The sting was sharp, shocking.

"You will do what I say," he hissed, his face inches from mine.

Before I could react, the security guard was there. He grabbed my arms, his grip like iron, and hauled me out of my car. I struggled, but it was useless. He was too strong.

They dragged me to the SUV and shoved me into the back seat.

They were taking me to the clinic. Against my will.

As they drove, I saw my phone light up with a call from the producer's assistant. I missed my meeting. Ethan had made sure of it.

They were kidnapping me to force me to give my blood to his mistress.

The last remnants of the woman who loved Ethan Lester died on that highway.