A second later, Echo blurts out, “She’s gone,” as she rushes into the room. When she sees me, her expression mirrors the horror filling my thoughts. Her wail of disbelief rips my heart right out. She whirls around, eyes scanning the room with her hands clutching at her chest. Her face contorts, and she drags in a breath. And as much as I’m feeling this, Echo is beside herself, shaking. I get to my feet, going to her. I’ve just pulled her into my arms when silent sobs begin to wrack her body. “Where is he?” she cries against my chest, her tears wetting my shirt.
“Where the fuck could they be?” comes Wilder’s torn-up voice from the doorway. I turn my head toward him, unable to speak. His jaw locks, teeth grinding, dark eyes expressing everything he’s thinking. We failed them. But we’ll find them.
Beckham is right there, too, stock-still, his gaze flicking from us to the empty toddler bed. “No. Oh, fuck, no.” He clenches his hair in his hands, slowly shaking his head. He blinks hard. “What about Davis? I thought he was supposed to be here. Didn’t your sister say he was crashing in the den on the couch?”
Echo’s mouth drops into an O, then she nods rapidly, a choked sound escaping her as she pulls out of my hold, pushes past the guys, and sprints toward the stairs.
As we thunder behind her, from somewhere in the dark house, a strangled, garbled noise reaches my ears, then a grating, scratching sound. Familiarity with the house means Echo doesn’t bother to turn on the lights as she jets past the kitchen and heads for the den to look for Davis, desperate for him to be there despite the fact that the asshole is on our shit list. But the ugly truth is if he heard something or sawanything, it might be helpful, no matter that I’m so angry the thought of him makes my blood boil.
As we get to the eating area off the kitchen, Echo turns down the hall and heads for the den, but I stop. There’s another odd sound, like a moan.
I grip Beckham’s shoulder, and mutter low, “Go with her, please.” He nods and takes off behind her without question. I pause, and this time I’m able to distinguish what the scraping noise is. It’s one of the chairs. Throwing out an arm, I catch Wilder, whispering fiercely, “Hit the switch over there, would you?”
A second later, light floods the room, and my eyes bug right out of my head.
Davis sits at the kitchen table, shirtless and strapped to a chair with zip ties at his ankles and wrists. One glance, and it’s apparent he’s been on the receiving end of another beating. Echo and I had laid into him, but he looks so much worse. My stomach turns as I let my eyes scan over him. He’s sporting a newly blackened eye, the split in his chin is open and bleeding again, and there’s a cut at his brow and one on the opposite cheekbone. His mouth has been duct-taped shut, his eyes wild as he struggles against his bonds.
Oh, Christ.I swallow hard. This is bad. Blood drips down his chest from slices made into his skin. “Fuck, Davis,” I hiss out, stepping forward. Laying a hand on his shoulder, I urge him to sit up straight.Holy fucking shit.Someone carved a word acrosshis pecs.Pussy.I blink, my eyes traveling to the table where the instrument used to inflict the damage is in plain sight. A wickedly sharp kitchen knife.
“That’s fucked up,” Wilder grits out, right before he raises his voice. “Echo! Beck! In here!”
The terror in Davis’s eyes tells the entire story. I exhale harshly, hurrying forward to tear the tape from his face at the same time Wilder grabs a pair of kitchen shears from the block on the counter and goes about clipping the zip ties. He gives an angry shout as I free his mouth, and after a hard swallow, he gasps out, “They have them. They took them. I’m sorry.”
Echo stops cold as she enters the room, her gaze darting over her brother and his many injuries. The blood drains from her already pale skin, and she brings her hands up to cover the lower portion of her face as her eyes widen. She’s clearly having trouble taking all this in. “Davis. Who took them?”
His breathing is haggard and raw sounding, as if he’s been screaming for a while. With the jerk of his head, he says in a few clipped words, “There’s a note. On the motherfucking counter. Don’t know what it says.” An anguished sob of torment bursts from him. “I couldn’t stop them. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Them.How many are we talking about Davis?” I whirl toward the kitchen counter that divides the two rooms, snatching up the piece of paper. It’s blood-covered, too, a quickly scrawled message as if whoever wrote it was in a hurry to get the fuck out of here. I read it aloud. “You’ve taken something from us, now it’s our turn to take from you.”Fuck.It sounds just like what the psycho on the phone had said when he broke in here.Motherfucker.
“Two of them,” he mutters. “These guys caught me by surprise. Slapped the tape on my face and tied me up before I could alert the girls. They came down, and it was immediate chaos. I’m so fucking sorry I couldn’t help them.”
Beckham steps in front of Davis as he rubs at his wrists, gripping his jaw, forcing him to focus. “How the fuck long ago are we talking?”
“I don’t know. Maybe fifteen minutes?” He heaves out a haggard breath. “I think it was the guy Kara’s been dating.”
“Todd.” Beckham rolls his eyes and throws up some air quotes.
“Yes. That’s what she called him. But River called him Brian,” Davis mutters. “I don’t know. This is all my fault.” His eyes crash shut, his hand moving shakily to his carved chest. It comes away sticky with blood, and I half wonder if he’s about to pass the fuck out. He’s not my main focus, though.
Echo’s breaths are coming shallow and quick, and I can tell she’s moving swiftly toward panic. “Chase?” Her voice breaks a little as she says his name. It tears my fucking heart out. And I get it because I feel the same.
Davis winces. “They didn’t hurt him that I know of. He was still asleep when they ran out of here with him wrapped in a blanket. He had that stuffed monkey he’s always sleeping with in his arms.”
Echo’s been trying to hold back, but a sob bursts loose with that information, and my eyes crash shut. I pull her to my chest. “We’re gonna find them,” I rasp into her hair and press my lips to the top of her head. Motherfucking Todd or Brian and whoever the fuck else is responsible. Someone will have to stop me from putting them six feet under.
With tears cascading freely down her cheeks, Echo lifts her head to pin her gaze on her brother. “Who the fuck was the other person?”
He shakes his head, his teeth clenched. “I didn’t recognize him and didn’t catch his name. Tall. Dark hair. He said something about paying for what I did, that they’d be back. That everyone’s going to pay.” As if to clear his head, he gives it asharp shake as blood continues to flow down the side of his face. “He said something about his sister, but that was right after the Brian or Todd guy whipped me in the face with the back of his fist. My ears were ringing, so I don’t really know if I was following what he was saying correctly.”
“Do Freya and Smith have another sibling?” Wilder questions, his brows raised. I hadn’t noticed him leave the room, but he’s come back with a first aid kit.
Echo shakes her head. “No. I would think if there was another brother or sister, they would have been listed among her surviving relatives at the memorial with the rest of the family.”
My brow pinches, my brain going into fucking overdrive. I scrub my hands over my face in aggravation because the only other person I can think of that was involved in this whole shit show is dead. There’s a thickness in my throat when I mutter, “Okay, what about Alicia?” I let out a harsh exhale. “I remember her having a brother.”
Beckham nods. He looks like he’s going to be sick. “Megan’s stepson. Yes. He was older than Alicia by quite a few years, if I remember correctly.” His forehead pinches. “He’d be about?—”
Before he can finish, a horrible popping and crackling sound coming from the direction of the den makes all of us jump.
