by Stone, Kyla
“No,” Jonas said again, still puzzled. “The last time I saw her was four days ago, when we dug that latrine for the Chilsons on Third Street.”
Molly’s expression went hard, but her eyes revealed her growing concern. “Pardon my French, Pastor Bishop, but where in the hell is Quinn?”
Everyone stared at each other in stunned silence.
“Could she have run away?” Travis asked.
Molly gave an adamant shake of her head. “No. No way. Not my Quinn.”
No one said anything for a long moment.
“What if…what if someone took her?” Evelyn asked.
Perez set her glass of water on the coffee table, leapt to her feet, and reached for her sidearm. “Flynn and his men. They did this.”
Hannah paled. “What? No. No, they wouldn’t.”
Dave wrung his hands in his lap. “Flynn threatened retaliation. He threatened violence. What if this is them?”
Molly stared at them, alarmed. “Are you saying someone kidnapped my granddaughter?”
Tension sucked the oxygen out of the room.
“They wouldn’t,” Hannah said, less assured this time. “This is beyond them. They wouldn’t do something like this.”
“I don’t know,” Reynoso said. “We can’t be certain. We should—”
Perez was on her feet, stalking the living room, her face a livid shade of purple. “Of course, it’s them! They’ve lost people; they blame us. They’re escalating, and if we don’t shut this down now, we’ll have another war on our hands. It’s time to end their stupid Community Alliance, once and for all.”
“Now hang on—” Hannah started.
“We shouldn’t act in haste,” Bishop said. “We don’t know for certain—”
Liam was tired of talking. He wasn’t for going in guns blazing, but he didn’t plan to stand around wringing his hands, either. “There’s only one way to find out.”
“Everyone take a breath.” Bishop spread his considerable arms wide, gesturing for people to remain calm. “If you head out there right now, with folks hot under the collar, who knows what might happen.”
“I guess we’ll just have to figure it out as we go, won’t we?” Perez was at the door, shrugging on her coat, Reynoso at her heels.
Molly leaned on her cane, her entire body trembling with anger—and fear. “If they hurt my granddaughter, eternal damnation will not be punishment enough when I get through with them!”
“Even if they took her, it would be as a bargaining chip,” Annette said. “They wouldn’t hurt her.”
“You don’t know that for certain,” Perez said. “These people are angry, bitter, and desperate. We’ve seen what desperate people are capable of. Don’t think they’ll have honor, just because we do.”
Hannah nodded. “We’re not underestimating anyone, but we need to calm down and think for a second.”
Perez scowled. “No thinking necessary. Where else would she be? Who else would’ve taken her? They’re the only threat out there. And they made their intentions extremely clear. ‘Maybe you need to feel the same pain we have.’” She wheeled on Dave. “Isn’t that what Flynn threatened?”
Dave cleared his throat. “He said that. Yes.”
“Then let’s go!” Perez said.
“Liam,” Reynoso said. “What do you say?”
All eyes in the room turned toward him. Jonas stood rigid at the door, looking terrified. Evelyn and Travis watched, their eyes wide. L.J. had fallen asleep on Travis’s chest. Evelyn bounced Charlotte on her lap.
Through it all, Milo slumped at the kitchen table, his shoulders hunched, his hands clasped in his lap, not saying a word. He stared down at the table, his gaze unfocused.
Hannah had noticed, too. She glanced back at him, concern in her eyes.
Liam held up a hand. “Wait.”
Perez sighed in impatience, but Reynoso shot her a warning look. They waited.
Liam wanted to touch Hannah’s arm but refrained. Still, he didn’t take his eyes off her face. “What is it?”
Biting her lower lip, Hannah turned to her son. “Milo?”
Milo shook his head, black curls falling into his face, and didn’t look up.
The room went silent. Hannah knelt before her son and took his small hands in hers. “Something is wrong.”
Milo hesitated.
“It’s okay, son.”
He shook his head again.
“Is there anything you can tell us about Quinn? Anything that could help her?”
Finally, Milo spoke. “She told me not to tell.”
51
Liam
Day One Hundred and One
Icy dread slid between Liam’s ribs.
“If Quinn might be in danger, you need to tell us,” Hannah said. “You can help her by helping us.”
Milo looked up and met Hannah’s gaze. Liam saw a glimpse of the stubbornness—and determination—that mirrored his mother’s. “I can’t let her down. She’ll get mad at me.”
Molly inhaled a sharp breath.
Hannah squeezed his fingers. Her tone went soft and gentle. “I understand, honey. You’re a good friend. But good friends help each other, even if our friend is in trouble. Especially if they’re in trouble.”
His solemn dark eyes welled with tears. “You think she’s in danger?”
“Yes, I do. And I think you can help us save her.”
“There was a group,” Milo whispered. “At Trade Day. In the woods.”
Molly scowled and started to say something, but Liam shook his head at her. Milo was opening up to Hannah, no one else. If they broke the spell, he might clam up.
“What happened?” Hannah asked.
“When the bad dogs attacked us, Quinn had me climb a tree. She and Ghost held off the dogs, but there were lots of them. They attacked Ghost. They were hurting him. I was so scared for him and Quinn, but I didn’t know what to do, so I stayed in the tree like she told me.”
Hearing his name, Ghost raised his head and let out a curious chuff, his tail thumping the floor.
Hannah stiffened. “That was smart thinking.”
“Then these people showed up. They had these weird old-fashioned knives and clubs and stuff. They scared off the dogs and rescued Ghost. I almost came down from the tree, but I didn’t. If it was safe, Quinn would’ve called me. She didn’t, so I knew she wanted me to keep hiding. I stayed real quiet the whole time.”
Hannah closed her eyes, her head bowed, clasping her son’s hands. “That was brave. I’m so proud of you, honey.”
“You think she might be with them now?” Liam asked.
Milo nodded. “Quinn talked to them for a while. One of them asked her to come with them.” He looked at Hannah with worried eyes. “At first, I didn’t know if they were bad guys or good guys. I’m so sorry.”
Molly made a sound in the back of her throat like an animal caught in a trap. Liam had never seen Molly as anything but calm and collected. Now, she was anything but. Fear contorted every line in her wrinkled face.
Hannah enveloped Milo in her arms. “You did good, honey. You did great.”
Over his mother’s shoulder, Milo met Liam’s gaze. “Is Quinn going to be okay? Are they going to hurt her?”
The question hung for a long moment, unanswered.
“No, of course not,” Evelyn said in a soothing voice.
Milo’s eyes remained on Liam, frightened, beseeching, urgent.
In all honesty, he didn’t know the answer. He didn’t put kidnapping past the Community Alliance, but he doubted they would hurt a teenage girl.
This group, though, was a complete unknown. It was the unknown that scared him.
Molly’s home was suddenly confining, the walls closing in, an immense pressure building in his chest. He’d already lost too much time. Three days gone.
Quinn could be anywhere; he felt her already slipping from his grasp.
Sensing their distress, Ghost clambered to his feet and trotted into the ki
tchen. He made a beeline for Hannah and Milo, thrusting his big head between them and settling his muzzle in Milo’s lap.
Liam longed to comfort the boy, to promise him that everything would be okay. He couldn’t do that, not with Quinn out there somewhere, lost.
“Do you know where they are?” Liam asked.
Milo shook his head.
Hannah pushed the curls off his forehead. “Take your time.”
“Did they give you any clues? Anything at all?” Liam asked.
“They said something about staying at a warehouse. Like, that it was ironic there was so much electronic stuff inside that didn’t work anymore.”
Liam and Bishop exchanged a wary glance. That wasn’t much to go on. There were several manufacturing districts in the neighboring towns. It would take weeks to search them all, and that was with enough manpower.
Quinn might not have that kind of time.
Milo wrinkled his nose in concentration as he rubbed Ghost’s ears. “The leader made a joke about kitchen appliances. Something about more dishwashers than he could count.”
“Vortex,” Hannah said.
Vortex’s worldwide headquarters were in St. Joseph, Michigan, less than twenty miles from Fall Creek. They built household appliances, and their facilities included a sprawling labyrinth of offices, a manufacturing plant, and warehouses.
The place was likely abandoned. It’d be hellish to defend—and equally hellish to infiltrate.
Molly’s face drained of color. Her eyes were frantic, her liver-spotted hands trembling as she clasped her cane, her shoulders bent like her legs might collapse. In an instant, she’d aged two decades.
An image of Quinn flickered before his eyes—her fading blue hair, piercings glinting, mouth twisting in that sarcastic grin of hers.
How every time he knocked her down, she got up again. Every damned time.
He’d seen grown men cry at the torment inflicted in training. Not her. So young yet fierce, a desperate ferocity in her gaze that tugged at something inside him.
She’d begged him to train her weeks ago. In his own weakness, he’d refused. If he had, she’d be more prepared for whatever threats she faced. That was on him.
Quinn needed him. He would not let her down again.
Molly gazed at Liam with hollow eyes, silently imploring him to save her granddaughter, the one thing she loved more than anything in this world. She didn’t need to say the words aloud—he knew.
Liam was already moving toward the front door. “I’ll find her.”
“You’re in no condition to be fighting, Liam,” Evelyn said. “You could get hurt. You could get yourself killed.”
“You just got shot last week,” Annette said. “You need to rest.”
“I’m fine.” His gunshot wound was healing due to Evelyn’s medical expertise, and it wasn’t even infected. His spine felt better with Hannah’s help. He’d fought wounded before. Hell, he lived with intense pain every day of his life. This was no different. “I’m fine.”
“Liam,” Bishop warned.
Liam hesitated, searched out Hannah, and met her gaze. He felt torn, competing desires shredding his heart.
He cared for Quinn, felt responsible for her. And he loved Hannah, yearned to protect her, to remain by her side no matter what. He’d already left her once. It had nearly killed him.
One word from her, and he would stay.
She saw it in his eyes. The faintest hint of a smile graced her lips. A smile of pain, but also hope. She nodded, granting her permission.
She knew who he was—the sheepdog, the protector.
“Let me go instead,” Bishop offered.
“No!” Liam said. “I’m the best equipped. It needs to be me.”
“Then take me with you.”
He trusted Bishop as much as he trusted any man—granted, that wasn’t much. With Bishop at his side, someone would have his six.
But he hated to leave Hannah yet again. He needed to know that she was safe; he couldn’t focus on the task at hand without that assurance.
Bishop was more valuable to him at home.
“Stay here.” He met Bishop’s gaze. “Protect the people I love.”
Grimly, Bishop nodded.
“You, too,” he said to Perez and Reynoso. “Keep extra watches. Everyone on high alert. Nothing gets in or out until I get back.”
Whatever was out there, it wasn’t a single entity. If they were facing multiple threats, the town’s safety was of utmost importance. He knew it. They knew it.
“Don’t let them hurt her,” Milo said.
“I won’t.” At the door, Liam paused. Something niggled at the edges of his mind. He turned back to Milo. “Why at first?”
“What?”
“You said you couldn’t tell if they were bad guys ‘at first.’ Something changed your mind. What was it?”
All eyes turned to the boy. Hannah hugged him tighter, her face bone-white. Ghost gave a soft whine.
Milo bit his lower lip. “I saw someone I recognized. One of the men in the group. It was Sutter. Mattias Sutter was with them.”
52
Quinn
Day One Hundred and One
Quinn was in over her head.
She knew it, now.
The scent of burning plastic clogged her nostrils, choking her throat. It didn’t seem to faze the others. Dozens of young people crowded around the fire they’d built in the center of the cavernous four-story warehouse.
They’d pulled stuff from the factory—the front of a dishwasher, refrigerator shelves, the innards of a stove, laptops, computers, and phones they’d scavenged from the offices—and piled it into a massive bonfire ten feet across. They added desks, bookcases, and an old rotting Christmas tree.
Every time someone chucked a laptop, microwave, or a circuit board onto the flames, more jeers and hoots erupted.
They danced and cheered, thrusting their fists high in the air, swinging their weapons, leaping around the fire like a savage native trope they’d aped from some stupid movie.
They’d stolen booze from somewhere. Most were drunk, maybe high, too.
She had no idea where they’d found it. Probably the same way they’d gotten the sleeping bags last night—taking what they wanted and killing anyone who protested.
Last night, she’d stayed with Dahlia and a couple of girls in one of the RVs they’d pulled into the huge loading bay.
The mattress was lumpy, and the RV stank of sweat, weed, and unwashed bodies. Her own scalp was greasy, her clothes wrinkled, her skin itchy and gross. No one seemed to notice but her.
She’d hadn’t slept, staring up at the darkened ceiling, a block of ice in her stomach, her body cold and shivering, her mind numb. The karambit clutched in both hands against her chest, ears straining for any sound—a sliding footfall, a breath on her cheek.
Revulsion churned in her gut. A sour sickness clawed at the back of her throat. She couldn’t get that man’s screams out of her head.
Whatever pity and camaraderie she might have felt for Xander, it had been snuffed out last night.
He thought of himself as a renegade, a radical freethinking revolutionary, someone extraordinary. He wasn’t.
Xander Thorne was a low-life scumbag criminal, just like the rest of them. An insignificant thug with delusions of grandeur.
Every fiber of her being thrummed with the desire to get the hell out of here, to go home.
Not yet. Not until she’d finished what she’d set out to do.
She’d spent today trying and failing to get close to Sutter. Xander had kept her with him, babbling his cultish nonsense about the evils of electricity-powered capitalism while destroying everything he could get his hands on.
But now, Sutter was alone. Or as alone as he was going to get.
He sat on a cardboard box across from the bonfire, set back from the others. He’d been drinking. Six or seven empty beer bottles sprawled at his feet.
He leaned back on his forear
ms, legs splayed, eyes glassy, a dazed, almost entranced expression on his slack face. Too busy leering at the girls dancing to worry himself with operational security or watching his six.
Maybe he’d forgotten about her. Maybe he didn’t think a teenage girl posed a threat to someone like him.
He was a skilled killer. She was a nobody.
Quinn watched him, his hulking form flickering in and out of focus between the bodies crowding and writhing between them. The flames danced higher and higher. The group shrieked louder and louder.
Everyone was distracted. Even Xander. After she’d refused to dance with him, citing a stomachache, he’d taken up with Dahlia.
Quinn rose unsteadily to her feet and began to dance. This close to the fire, heat blasted her, but she didn’t dare remove her coat, her karambit still snug beneath her sweater.
As she swayed, she inched around the bonfire, spinning closer and closer to Sutter.
Bodies bumped into her. The blazing flames licked at her clothes. Shadows quivered across the far walls. She slipped her hand beneath her shirt, and her fingers closed over the grip and slid into the safety ring.
This was it. Time to end it. Time to kill.
Her head buzzed, the roar in her ears like a terrible howling thing, a fury filling up all the spaces inside her head, drumming in her veins, in her blood.
A great rushing blocked out all sound, all senses, all feeling but her anger. Dark and black and raging. She drew the karambit, held it low against her thigh.
Only feet away now. So close, all she had to do was—
“What the hell?” came a voice behind her.
Someone grabbed her arm. She tried to jerk away but someone else slammed against her and she staggered, losing her balance.
Strong hands closed over her biceps and yanked her to her feet.
On either side of her, Jett and Rocco held her fast. Fear lodged in her throat like a stone. “Let me go!”
Xander stomped toward her, his expression furious. “What’s going on?”
