by Smoke , Lucy
"She's strong," Braxton tells me, his hand touching the opposite side.
We will find her, I think to myself. Because I can't think of what will happen if we don't.
"Call in a team," I rasp out. "At least ten. I want guns at the ready. Do you fucking understand me?" Unable to meet my own eyes any longer, I shut them and squeeze them tight. "When we find her"—I shove the words out, unwilling to give myself any other options—"we go in hard and fast. Any resistance will be met with blood."
There's a moment of silent tension, and then Braxton answers me. "It will be done," he says.
Abel's hand tightens on my right side, and when he speaks, his tone is just as dark. Gone is his usual pseudo-light, the persona he's perfected over the years. Instead, all I hear is the real him. "We get her back," he says. "And we kill the rest."
I nod. Whoever has taken our girl doesn't fucking realize what they've done. They have no idea the absolute fucking hell we're about to unleash. May God have mercy for whoever we're about to face because we certainly won't.
42
Avalon
I wake with my face pressed to something warm and soft. Fabric against my cheek. I feel something crusted to my upper lip and the rims of my nostrils, but when I reach for them with my right hand, my left comes with it and smacks into my face, making me groan.
"A-Ava?" Corina's shaking voice sounds hoarse, and it makes me blink my eyes open to realize that she is the something warm and soft. I leverage myself away from her shoulder as I sway from side to side. Her big, luminous eyes look down at me. "A-are you okay?" she stutters.
Am I okay? My head fucking feels like someone slammed it into a car door repeatedly. I don't know how long I've been out. My hands are tied, the hard plastic of white zip ties scratching against the skin of my wrists, making me scowl. No, I am definitely not fucking okay. Instead of saying any of that, however, I just ask the one question that's most prevalent in my mind right now.
"Where are we?" I demand.
She sniffles. "I-I don't know," she stutters out, her eyes darting from me to someone across the room. My head swivels, and I realize we're in some sort of back office with a cheap, blocky metal desk pushed into the corner with a guard—a maskless one—sitting there cleaning his gun. He eyes the two of us with a scowl and a raised brow when he sees that I'm awake.
My upper lip curls back automatically, but with nothing to do, I let my head slump against the wall at my back. My nose twitches, irritated by the dried blood sticking to the skin under it. My face throbs, but it's nothing more than a dull ache right now. I doubt my nose is actually broken, but I have to wonder if the drugs they shot us up with work as a pain reliever too.
"Hey!" I snap to the guy in the corner. "What the fuck are we doing here?"
"Avalon!" Corina hisses my way in a panic. "Don't!"
The man merely continues what he's doing. He doesn't answer. I scowl. The door opens, and another man comes in, this one familiar—it's the same man who punched me. His eyes seek the two of us out first as if to make sure we're still there. When he sees me glaring right back at him, the corner of his mouth twitches up. I'm proud to see the bruising that's already started forming around the edges of the white bandage that covers the bridge of his nose.
"You woke up fast," he comments dryly, sounding slightly nasal. I don't know what the fuck he means by that because, as far as I know, he stuck Corina with the same shit, and she appears as if she's been awake for a little longer. Her limbs tremble and shiver against my side as she flicks a look up at the new man before her eyes find the floor again.
I decide to try again with the new asshole. "What are we doing here?" I demand. "What do you want with us?"
He smirks my way and continues on past until he reaches the desk and pulls out the chair on the other side of it, taking a seat and propping his legs up. His hands arch behind his head, weaving together at the back of his skull as he stares me down, smiling and waiting. I have the distinct feeling whatever it is, it isn't fucking good.
"Avalon, please," Corina pleads in my ear. "Don't make them angry. We'll get out of here. We have to. It'll be okay. Just let them do what they want, and everything will be fine."
I jerk my gaze back to her, my brows creasing together as I stare at her pale face. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
She sniffs again and then looks to the ground, but she doesn't answer me. Irritation slithers through me. Of all the dumbass shit that could've happened tonight, this had to be it. The guys are never going to let me live this down.
Seconds pass into minutes into what feels like fucking hours. My back starts to ache from my sitting position. I try to sit up straighter and cross my legs, but it's uncomfortable without the use of my hands. I glance back at the zip ties.
"Hey," I call out to the silent assholes sitting at the desk. They glance over as I raise my bound hands and wave them. "You really think this is fucking necessary?"
The one cleaning the gun shakes his head and looks away, but the second one actually answers me. "After what you did to me, shit yeah." He smirks, letting his legs drop back to the ground as he reaches inside a bag set against the desk’s leg and pulls out another gun. "I like my women with a little fight, but you can't be fucking trusted.” He starts to take the thing apart, grabbing the cleaner from the other guy as he starts the process on his own weapon. “The cuffs stay,” he finishes.
I growl and put my hands back down. After several more minutes, my limbs grow restless again. The effects of the drugs begin to fade even more and the little pains from my fight to get away start to make themselves known. I shift around, but there's no making myself comfortable. Corina remains silent, rocking back and forth with her own bound hands wrapped around her knees. I don't like her much, but shit, a small kernel of guilt creeps up. It's my fault she's trapped here.
Then again, what the fuck had she meant that if we just did what they wanted and kept quiet, we'd be fine? Who thinks like that? We needed to get out, not let them have their fucking way. I take a breath and try to calm my desire to break these zip ties off. The hard plastic bites into my skin, and I know if I just reach down and bite on the loose ends—tightening it a bit more and slamming my hands against my thighs while yanking them apart—hard—it will break the bindings, but as I eye our two guards, I know well enough not to show them that.
Faking calmness has never been my strong suit, but it’s obviously not something Corina even considers doing. Every time one of the men comes near—usually, as they cross the room to lean out the door and talk to someone on the other side—her quiet sniffles turn into sobs and grow louder. She shrinks into herself, and I have to wonder if maybe I had come from her background, would I be acting the same? As it is, I can’t even stand the thought of cowering in front of these men. I keep my expression even, but not once do I try and hide. No. If they're going to kill me, then they'll need to look into my eyes as they do it.
My only regret, though, is that if they kill me—they’ll probably have to kill her too. She may be spoiled and a bit of an airhead, but she’s an innocent in this. Whatever they’ve taken me for, it has nothing to do with her.
Finally, after what seems like forever, the men glance at each other and then start to pack up their gear. I don’t see a clock in the room, but they must have a timetable because as the seconds move past, they start to move faster. I watch them carefully, trying to gauge just who they are and who they could be connected to.
As if sensing that something is about to change, Corina scoots closer to me.
Sniffling, she leans into my side. "D-do you think they're going to kill us?" she asks quietly, her red-rimmed eyes darting to the men sitting at the desk.
I shake my head once. "I don't know."
"I'm sorry," she murmurs. "This is all my fault."
I blink, jerking my gaze down to hers again. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Her entire face trembles as she bites down on her lower lip hard enough to b
reak skin, though, she doesn't seem to realize it. "My parents are rich," she replies. "I've always known this could happen, but I didn't think..." Another sniffle. "I didn't think anyone would try anything at my age. Whatever happens, I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry."
I gape at her. Does she honestly think this is about her? Her eyes gaze up at me, still filled with tears as her brow scrunches in fear and concern. She really does, I realize. She has no clue. Fuck. I don't know whether that's a good thing or not.
"Don't worry," I tell her. "It's all going to be okay." I hope like hell I'm not lying. If it had just been me taken, I wouldn't be nearly this concerned, but I hate the idea of being the cause of someone else's death. Corina's a selfish and spoiled rich girl, but compared to someone like me—she's innocent. No, these people aren't here to ransom her back. They're here because of me.
I don't know how long they keep us like that, tied up and tossed in the corner like garbage, but when a few of the men come back, I know our time together is up.
The door to the room flies open, and my head lifts. I follow the sound until my gaze lands on a man who commands attention. The two guards jerk to their feet, and though they're not small guys by any means, they don't even come close to his height. Cold blue eyes pierce through the room from beneath the slits in his mask and land on me. Not taking his eyes off mine, he barks something at the men that is most certainly not English. Russian, perhaps? I wouldn't know. The only language offered at any of my previous schools had been Spanish. But this sounds gruff and deep.
The guards nod, and Corina squeaks as they turn on the two of us. Gritting my teeth, I prepare for the inevitable, but they don't even glance at me. Instead, they reach around me and grab Corina.
“Come on, princess,” one of them says. “Someone wants to have a word with you.”
"Noooo, please!" she wails as one of them lifts her up as if she weighs nothing more than a sack of potatoes. He slings her over his shoulder, and together, the two of them leave the room. Her cries and shrieks for freedom echo in their wake.
My heart starts to pound. Shit. Shit. Shit. I don’t like Corina, but she’s just a dumb rich girl. There’s no telling what they’ll do to her.
Before I can speak up or do anything, the man does something that makes my blood run cold. He steps further into the room and reaches up to the underside of his mask, peeling it up and off until I see the face beneath. I don’t recognize him, but he still smiles at me. There's only one reason he could be so comfortable revealing his identity to me—he doesn't expect me to live through this.
43
Dean
I don't have to hurt other people to feel powerful. Fact is, I am powerful. I stand on a throne made of nothing but power. It's been stable my entire life. Rock fucking solid.
Money? Sex? Drugs? I can and have had it all. None of it has shaken me.
But her.
Avalon's disappearance has set off the timer on a bomb in me that I didn't even know existed. Without her there to cut the wires, I start to lose my grip on reality. I'm damn fucking lucky that Braxton and Abel don't question my actions or my requests. Even if they've never had what I have with Avalon, they understand her importance. Hell, they're concerned too. Never in my life have I been more grateful for the shit we've been through.
Good men could not do what we are about to do. Good men wouldn't have the stomach for it. The three of us, though? We've walked through hell together, and if we've learned nothing else, it's that the only way out is fucking through.
The second my phone goes off, it's at my ear. "What do you have?"
Abel looks up at my tone and finishes shoving the clip into his gun. Braxton tosses another baseball bat into the duffle bag at our feet.
"There was a hit on the reward I posted online," Rylie says. "I kept it vague, no one knows who's asking, and no one knows who's being searched for."
"What's the hit?" I demand, jerking my chin at the guys. Abel gets up off his haunches and tucks his gun into the back of his jeans, lifting his shirt up and over to cover it. Braxton bends down and wraps a tattooed hand around the handles of the bag, hefting it in his grip.
"The reward was for information. The guy who responded—his name is Sergio McConner. He claims he saw some guys take two girls in a white van on campus."
"Avalon and Corina."
"Yeah," she says.
"Why the hell didn't he call the police then?" I demand, scowling. Why not stop it or report it? But the answer is already staring me right in the face. It's because there was no reason to. He didn't get anything out of it. Until now. Well, the fucker was about to get a lot more than he bargained for.
"I asked the same thing," Rylie replies, sounding frustrated. "I'm sorry, Dean."
We're on the move, but at those words, I pause at the threshold of the garage, stopping as Braxton and Abel continue forward, loading up the SUV. "Why are you sorry?" I ask, suspicious.
"I think I spooked him," she confesses. "I don't know if it was me asking about the police or what, but he said he's on his way to tell them now. I get the feeling he wasn't intending to go, though, until I said something."
Shit. I'd asked the question myself, but the fact is, getting the police involved is going to be more trouble than we have time for. The informant's trying to cover his ass—I just fucking know it.
"It's fine," I snap into the receiver. "I'll handle it. Thanks for the information."
"Is there anything else I can do?" She sounds almost desperate, but no one can be as desperate as me right now.
"No," I say, heading around the front of the SUV and getting into the driver's seat. "Wait for our call."
With that, I end the call and toss my cell into the console. "Where?" Braxton asks.
"Police station," I answer, shooting Abel a look, but he's already got his phone pressed to his ear.
We'll have our time with Sergio whether he likes it or not. Abel will ensure it, and I will accept nothing less. If he thinks he's safe in the center of a police station, he has no fucking clue whose girl he let get taken in that parking lot.
* * *
The second we step into the station, the scent of plastic and disinfectant reaches my nose. “You know what to do when we get in there,” I say, earning nods from both Braxton and Abel.
My phone beeps, and I glance down at the screen. A text from Rylie.
Police are suspicious of our informant. Booked him. Interrogation room 4.
Of course, she would have hacked into the station’s current communications and checked, and right now, I’m grateful for her insight. I move through the station, bypassing the normal lobby waiting room, I press a button on my phone and wait for the responding locking door into the section of the building, only for employees to click open. Rylie has her uses, and this is one of them. The second the door unlocks, I jerk it open and head for the offices that I know run down the length of the rest of the building. There’s a small hallway of interrogation rooms where they put people during questioning. How do I know? Because I’ve been here a time or two. What Sergio McConner doesn’t realize is that it doesn’t matter where he is. A police station or the middle of town fucking square. Nowhere in Eastpoint is safe for him. Not from me.
“Hey! You can’t go in there!” I stop before the plain gray door of interrogation room 4 and look back just as Braxton turns and puts up a hand to halt the man attempting to stop us from entering the room. I glance down at his nametag and smile.
“Officer Wayne,” I say, catching his attention. He lifts his head and frowns. “My name is Dean Carter, and I will be entering this interrogation room to have a word with the man inside.”
He starts shaking his head. “You can’t just—”
I continue speaking over him. “If you have an issue, you may speak with your direct supervisor—Chief Meyer.”
He blinks, shocked. “Listen, kid—” he begins.
“No,” I stop him with a look, “if you have any further questions after h
e’s assured you that it would do well for you to keep your nose out of our business, we would be happy to take it up with your family’s extra business.”
“What?” He rears back.
“It is my business to know everything about the people who work for me,” I state.
As expected, that comment makes him bluster. The man’s chest puffs out as he glares past Braxton at me. “I don’t work for any kid,” he says. “I’m an officer of the law, young man—”
“It’s a restaurant chain, right? Franchised, if I’m remembering correctly. All of that extra money your wife brings in living her dream to put your kids through private schools, and hopefully, a future college career shouldn’t go to waste. I can assure you, whatever you may think you are or who you work for—in this fucking town, everyone works for me. Don’t believe me? Like I said, check with your boss. Now, do yourself a favor and step back, or my friend here”—I nod to Braxton—“will make you.”
Wayne’s face pales, and he takes a shaky step back. “H-how do you know about—” he starts.
“Oh, and one more thing,” I say just as my hand closes over the doorknob. I glance back and level him with a scowl. “If you value your fucking job, don’t ever fucking call me a kid again.”
With my point made, I glance back at Abel and Braxton. “Let’s go,” I snap, twisting the knob and pushing the door in. They follow me into the room—there’s no risk now that Wayne’s been dealt with. The chief will see to it, and Rylie will ensure the rest. People say money can’t buy happiness, and they’re right, but it can buy privacy, and that is useful in times like this. The door slams shut at our backs, making the man sitting at the worn, old table in the middle of the small, ten by ten room jump slightly as his head lifts up.
For a long moment, I examine the man in front of me. A receding hairline. Grubby look. Graying beard. There’s dirt beneath his fingernails, and when his eyes meet mine, I know he can see the frayed edges of the careful mask of civility in my expression because he frowns and stands up.
