Accidentally Yours Chapter 59

****Lola****

She was. For the bar. For celebrating. For whatever came next.

The bar was all low light and warm shadows, music pulsing in time with the heartbeat of the city. Brick walls caught the gold glow from Edison bulbs strung overhead, and every table felt like it belonged to someone dangerous.

Gino claimed a high-top near the back, the perfect vantage point to watch and be watched. Lola dropped onto the stool, the wrap over her new tattoo warm against her skin.

***Two days of grinding work done. Tonight, I get to just breathe.***

The first two round were easy—a citrusy cocktail with enough sugar to hide the bite. Gino tried to match her sip for sip, Dom lobbed playful dares across the table, and for once, she let herself just exist in their orbit, loose and laughing.

Halfway through round two, she slipped to the bar to order another for the table. The guys were busy charming a pair of women who’d wandered over.

That’s when he appeared.

Tall. Crisp shirt with the top two buttons undone. The kind of smile that had been practiced in mirrors until it looked effortless.

“You were in the competition, right?” His voice was smooth, pitched just low enough to cut through the noise.

She angled her head, a smirk already forming. “Depends who’s asking.”

“I didn’t see your work, but if it’s half as good as you look…” He let the pause hang, like an open door.

She raised a brow. “You could tighten up your line work.”

He laughed, leaning in. “Guess I’ll have to prove myself. Let me buy you a shot.”

Her first instinct was to decline, but the bartender was already setting down two short glasses, amber liquid catching the light.

“Second place is still worth celebrating,” he said, sliding one toward her. “To the runner-up.”

***Fine. One quick toast, then I’m gone.***

Two drinks on an empty stomach had proven to impair judgment.

She tapped her glass to his, tapped it on the bar and tossed it back. Smooth. Too smooth. No burn. No bite.

***Exactly what regret tastes like, too sugary sweet.***

The effect was immediate—like someone had pulled the plug on her body. Her knees went watery. The edges of the room warped, bending in ways they shouldn’t.

***No. No, no, no.***

Her fingers curled on instinct around the bar, but his hand was already at her elbow, deceptively gentle.

“Easy,” he murmured, steering her toward the side exit like they’d arrived together.

The bass of the music was just a vibration now, muffled and far away. She tried to pull back, but her limbs were sandbags.

***Damn it Lo, you fucking idiot. WHY. We don't accept drinks from strangers, we know this. Baba is going to murder me when she finds out.***

The last thing she saw before the dark swallowed her was their table—servers and girls all over the place.

***Where the hell are they—***

And then nothing.

****Gino****

The bar was loud enough to rattle bones—lights strobing, bass thumping like it had a grudge. Gino kept one eye on the high-top where Dom was holding court, the other on the redhead weaving through the crowd toward the bar. Lola was trouble wrapped in a bandanna and black stilettos, and every guy in here seemed to know it.

***Stay sharp, Gino. She’s only grabbing drinks, not wandering into enemy territory.***

A crash ripped through the noise—a tray of glasses hitting tile. He turned just in time to see a server on her knees, mopping up a river of whiskey that was fast soaking into Dom’s jeans.

“Guess that’s one way to get my attention,” Dom said, flashing the girl a grin.

Another server swooped in with fresh napkins, leaning low enough that Gino had a sudden, uninvited view down her shirt.

***Eyes up. Focus.***

But the scene had a gravity to it—one of those stupid little whirlpools you couldn’t quite step out of without looking like an asshole. Girls laughing, Dom eating it up, glass getting cleaned up, liquids being sopped up with already drenched napkins.

Gino’s laugh cut off mid-breath. The bar was still loud, the air thick with heat and bodies, but something in his chest went cold.

Red hair—gone. The spot at the bar where Lola had been was empty except for the round of drinks she should be walking to this table.

***No. No, she was just here.***

He started moving without thinking, scanning the crowd for that flash of cherry and the curve of those ridiculous glasses.

Dom clocked him instantly, the two women he’d been humoring forgotten in an instant. “What is it?”

“She’s gone.” The words came out like gravel.

Dom didn’t ask who. He just fell in step, shoulders cutting a path through the press of people while Gino’s eyes raked the room.

***She wouldn’t just walk off. Not here. Not without one of us even as defiant as she is.***

They reached the bar, the smell of lime and cheap whiskey curling under Gino’s nose. He grabbed the nearest bartender by the wrist, hard enough to get his full attention. “The girl who was here—red hair, bandanna, glasses—where’d she go?”

The bartender frowned, thinking. “Left with a guy. Looked like they knew each other.”

The cold in Gino’s chest turned sharp. “No, she didn’t.”

Dom’s jaw tightened. “Side exit?”

The bartender nodded.

“Call Nico,” Gino said, already pushing toward the door. “Tell him we’ve got a problem.”

They moved faster now, every step making the music and laughter behind them sound faker, smaller.

***Hang on, Red. I swear to God, hang on.***

The side door slammed back so hard it ricocheted off the wall. Cold night air hit Gino’s face like a slap—sharp, sour with dumpster rot and exhaust.

The alley was narrow, lit in stuttering patches by a single flickering bulb. Empty.

Then he saw it.

One of her stilettos, tipped on its side like it had been dropped mid-step. The delicate strap was twisted, heel scuffed.

Gino’s gut dropped. ***She didn’t take those off.***

“Fuck,” Dom muttered, already scanning.

Gino crouched, scooping the shoe up like it was evidence—and it was. Couldn’t have been there long.

That’s when he noticed it—two faint, uneven lines carved through the thin layer of dirt and grit, running from the door toward the street. Drag marks. One deeper, like her heel catching over and over.

His chest went tight. She wasn’t walking.

They followed the marks halfway down the alley before they just… stopped. No tire tread, no footprints—just nothing. Like she’d been lifted.

Tires squealed in the distance, the echo bouncing off the buildings. Gino turned the corner just in time to catch the tail lights disappearing onto the main street.

Too far to chase. Too close to have missed her by more than seconds.

Gino didn’t wait for a plan—plans were for people who had time, and he’d just watched his clock get stolen.

Dom was already yanking his phone out. “Jake—it’s us. Side alley off Kincaid's—Lola’s been grabbed. Pull every camera within six blocks. Traffic, street, private security, I don’t care—find me a plate and a face.”

“Got it,” Jake’s voice snapped back. “Her phone’s moving south—dark sedan, two in front, one in back.”

***That one in back—God, let it be her.***

The idea of it being someone else didn’t exist. It was her. And if they didn’t get there in time, if she was gone when they opened that door… Gino shoved the thought down so hard it made his teeth ache.

Gino’s knuckles were white on the wheel, pedal to the floor, weaving through late-night traffic until the black sedan cut sharp into a side street. He followed without a breath of hesitation, both vehicles dropping into the wide, sloped concrete channel like something out of a bad dream.

When it finally swerved into a side street and dropped into the wide, sloped concrete channel, Gino followed without a breath of hesitation. The tires screamed, the undercarriage scraped, but he didn’t slow. Couldn’t.

He could see her hair in the back window. Head slumped forward.

***No. No no no no—***