Chapter 42
insane situations called for insane measures
Orion Dechane. Fifteen-year-old white male, last seen leaving school two weeks ago. Five foot five inches tall, with black hair and brown eyes.
Kit read the news article again. And again. His boyfriends watched in silence, waiting.
Thankfully nobody tried to stop Kit from obsessively rereading. He would hurt somebody—probably himself—in the ensuing fight.
Some details were off. But some details always were. Kit couldn’t take comfort in Orion’s brown eyes. Not when the news article included a smiling school photo of Orion. One look at that photo and certainty twisted Kit’s lungs.
Either this was a message to Kit, or it wasn’t. Kit couldn’t decide which was worse. Either way, he knew what he had to do.
“James,” Kit said, finally handing over his phone. “Can you unblock Dad’s number? I need to text him back.”
Ugh. Nobody moved from their tense array in the basement lounge—where everyone had gathered because Kit hated windows again. Darius sat on the couch next to Kit, and Holden lurked by the door. Bishop stood in the center of the room like he needed to observe everything.
James stood in front of Kit, pointedly not taking Kit’s offered phone.
Thoughtful of everyone to gather downstairs. If only they could thoughtfully enable contact with Kit’s evil dad now. This was hard enough without having to persuade people. But Kit understood why James looked reluctant, and he couldn’t expect them to just obey his deranged demands.
Too bad insane situations called for insane measures.
Kit waved his phone. “Did I stutter?”
James finally took Kit’s phone but didn’t do anything useful. He just sat on the coffee table. “Trust us. We’re close. Now that I have the right timing, I can track him down. You don’t need to talk to him.”
“How long will that take?” Kit asked, cold.
James couldn’t answer.
“Kit’s right,” Bishop said, standing over James’s shoulder. “If Laird has a hostage, we’re on a timer.”
Holden shifted from his place leaning against the wall. “Unless…”
“Unless what?” Darius asked. He placed a hand on the cushion between him and Kit. Casual.
Kit didn’t want to hold hands, but he appreciated the option. Twisting his own hands painfully together was better. “Holden’s probably right. Just say it.”
Besides Kit, Holden understood Laird Renaker best. He’d had the longest to mull over the facts of the case. And he understood not just the urge to kill, but the necessity of control. How to indulge without getting caught.
Holden shrugged. “Orion Dechane went missing two weeks ago. He’s already dead. If Laird was using him to lure Kit out, he would have contacted us.”
“Then why,” James started, then grimaced.
That smiling school photo burned into Kit’s mind. Hair trimmed too neatly, too boyishly, to be trendy. A parent probably made him get a haircut before portrait day.
Did Dad take new photos of Orion? Had his hair grown longer by then?
Did it obscure any of the bruises?
Kit unclenched his hands. With a shaky breath, he took hold of Darius’s wrist and squeezed. “It doesn’t matter. If there’s the slightest chance Orion is alive, that clock is ticking.”
“I don’t like this,” James declared, but fiddled with Kit’s phone and returned it. The case was warm from his touch.
Kit forced himself to open the text thread. The deleted conversation was there. No missed messages during the block. The silence was weirdly, sickly disappointing.
Fucking Christ. When Dad texted about the DNA search, he was already out.
“Get over here,” Kit said, leaning forward so Darius could look over his shoulder. He didn’t want to do this, but he didn’t have to do it alone.
James sat at Kit’s other side. Holden took James’s spot on the coffee table. Bishop lurked behind Holden. Not pushing in, because he didn’t need to. Kit wasn’t hiding anymore.
Kit’s hands shook with every letter, but he managed to send the message.
Kit: Where is Orion Dechane?
Seconds ticked past.
Stomach turning, Kit leaned against Darius’s shoulder. Pressed his knee against James’s thigh. He needed touch. Not a lot. Enough to ground him without getting sexual. As nice a distraction as that usually was, Kit was not in the mood.
Neither were the others.
“He might not reply immediately,” Bishop said gently. “I can keep your phone until he does. Or James could reroute the replies to his phone.”
Oh. Weird. Bishop was right. The absence of an immediate reply was fucking with Kit. He’d braced himself too hard to start this conversation. Now the other half was in Dad’s hands.
A reply would be awful. So would silence. Uncertainty was even worse.
“Yeah,” Kit said, trying to settle. “You can keep my phone. I’ll use Holden’s phone instead.”
“Of course, darling,” Holden said agreeably.
“Simp,” Darius muttered.
James brightened. “I can buy you more phones. How much storage do you need for your games?”
Darius rolled his eyes, and Kit didn’t feel all right, but he wasn’t about to vibrate out of his skin either. So that was nice, until panic buzzed through him again. Like touching an electric wire, recoiling from the pain, before registering the source.
His phone was buzzing. Not a text message, but a call from Unknown Number.
“Fuck,” Kit whispered, and hysterical amusement laced his panic. Fucking typical. Of course Dad would call instead of texting like a normal person. Kit was lucky he hadn’t learned about the DNA search through a cryptic “Call me.” text, punctuation included.
“You don’t have to answer that,” Bishop said.
“I really do.” Kit took a deep breath and held the phone in the center of the group. “Everyone stay quiet. I’m answering on speakerphone.”
He waited for James in particular to nod in tense agreement. Then he answered.
A beat of silence, before a too-familiar voice poured through the phone. “Hey, son. I’ve missed you.”
No. Kit refused to indulge whatever the fuck that was. Pure manipulation or horrible truth.
“Skip the bullshit,” Kit said, holding onto anger. Security. He wasn’t alone. “Answer the question or I’m hanging up.”
James was already doing something intently on his own phone. Maybe tracking the call. Kit didn’t know how that worked.
“Suit yourself.” Laird’s voice was strange as well as familiar. Kit hadn’t heard it in five years. “Little Orion sadly passed away last week.”
The words shot like a bullet through Kit’s gut. He’d known. He’d agreed with Holden’s analysis. Believing it was different.
Hearing Dad confess was different.
“Fortunately,” Laird continued, “Archie picked up a new boy. I’d be happy to send him home to his family, safe and sound, if you meet me.”
Kit couldn’t reply. He couldn’t think what to say, and if he could, the words couldn’t pass his throat.
“I’ll text you the location,” Laird said, sounding cheerful. Like he was explaining his plans for their next camping trip. “Feel free to bring your new friends. I’d love to meet them.”
The call ended.
“Fuck.” The snarl sounded like a stranger’s voice, but it tore Kit’s throat. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
He flung his phone, but Bishop caught it before it hit the ground. That was fine. Kit flung himself to his feet and paced. His heart drummed violently in the silence. Everyone else was waiting for his directions.
Kit hated that.
Kit needed it.
“Someone figure out who the new kid is,” Kit snapped. He didn’t want to take his anger out on anyone here. He just couldn’t control his voice.
“Laird could be lying,” Darius said.
“He’s not,” Holden chimed in, and shrugged at Darius’s questioning look. “About taking the kid, at least. Jury’s out on the ‘sending him home safe and sound’ thing.”
Yeah, Holden was on the right track. Kit would have thought having someone else tuned into Dad’s mindset would be terrifying. Instead, it was comforting. Affirming. Kit wasn’t making shit up.
“We’re getting the kid back, dead or alive.” Kit flinched as his phone buzzed. “What does it say?”
Bishop’s lips pursed. “Monday at noon.” He grabbed his own phone. “I don’t recognize the address. I’ll look it up.”
“That’s two days from now,” James said, frowning. “Why would he give us so much time to prepare?”
Darius stood, casually cracking his knuckles. A reminder that his ever-present calm took effort. “Kit said Laird likes to control the board and players. He couldn’t flush us out with Mr. Tweed, so he waited for Kit to reach out.”
“Which might have been quicker than he expected.” Bishop’s frown deepened. “The address is a public park.”
“What the fuck?” James asked.
Darius cracked another knuckle. “I’d rather have a shady alleyway.”
Kit stopped short. His body swayed with abruptness, then steadied. Whatever Dad was planning couldn’t be good. Going out in a blaze of casualties? Using local toddlers as human shields?
An orderly hostage return didn’t seem likely. But even in the best-case scenario, some other kid had to stay with Dad for two more days.
Plans crept up from the chaos in Kit’s head. Some good plans. Some very bad plans.
“We shouldn’t wait,” Kit said. Everyone looked over, and Kit struggled to order his thoughts. “Like Bishop said, Dad’s network is old. Ours isn’t. We don’t know where he is, but I have a few good guesses.”
“He still owns the house in Vilton,” Bishop said.
Kit swallowed. That was bitter. “Yeah. My childhood home. Then there’s his cabin on the lake, out in East County.
Plus that warehouse Darius found, though I think that’s less likely.
Between James’s people and Darius’s Rat King network, we could hit all three places at once.
” Kit hesitated, suddenly self-conscious.
This was a lot of work to ask other people to do. “If you guys think that’s a good idea.”
“It’s a perfect idea,” Holden said loyally.
“It’s not bad,” Bishop said, which was higher praise comparatively.
James asked the crucial question, his gaze burning into Kit. “What if they’re not in those three places?”
Kit met Bishop’s eyes. Then Darius’s. They understood.
“We move to plan B,” Kit said. “Using me as bait.”
James’s fists clenched so tightly, Kit worried he would snap a tendon. “Absolutely not.”
Kit lifted his chin. The tiny, scared part of his brain agreed with James. Absolutely not. Let Kit hide safe behind his men, never venturing forth, never risking Dad’s gaze, much less anything else. But his conviction burned stronger. Kit refused to let other people suffer in his place.
Not again.
“Then find them before it comes to that,” Kit said, facing James’s certainty with his own.
James broke first. With a growl, he closed the distance. A harsh kiss and gentle hands around Kit’s face, holding him in place. Kit closed his eyes as James poured all his frustration and love into the kiss. All this beautiful pain, just for Kit. No replacements possible.
“I will,” James murmured against Kit’s lips. Then he stormed upstairs.
Touching his lips, Kit faced the others.
“It’s 3 p.m. now,” Darius said. “We could handle this tonight, depending on how far out the cabin is. Are you okay?”
Kit hugged himself. “I don’t know the address, but I’ll send what I remember. I’ll be okay when this is over. Don’t waste time.”
“Yes, sir,” Darius said, with a reassuring grin. No more questions, stupid or reasonable, before he followed James upstairs.
Tonight. Plans were in motion. Maybe after tonight, Kit would be free.
Kit stumbled back to the couch and slumped down.
Bishop followed, voice soft. “Do you want your phone back?”
“No,” Kit said reflexively. “But yes. This is my business.”
“It’s both of ours,” Bishop said, setting the phone on the couch.
“Right. Archie. I shouldn’t be selfish.”
Bishop ruffled Kit’s hair. The touch was painfully tender. “You’re anything but that.”
Holden sank onto the couch next to Kit. No clinging or overeffusive praise this time. Just a solid presence heating up Kit’s space, so Kit wasn’t alone when Bishop went upstairs too.
Holden had been quiet for a while.
Kit texted the cabin details to the group chat before turning to Holden. “What is it?”
“I think I found the new kid,” Holden said, handing over his own phone.
“Fuck all of this,” Kit whispered, and accepted the offering with numb hands.
Shiloh Laudrie didn’t have a news article or press release yet. Holden had dug up a social media post from Shiloh’s aunt, asking for friends and family to share. Anyone who had seen Shiloh in the past three days should contact her.
The police weren’t worried and weren’t helping. Shiloh had gone missing before. He was probably at a friend’s house, but his aunt was worried. Please contact her.
Shiloh was seventeen. The oldest replacement yet. He didn’t look as much like Kit as some of the others. He had freckles and brown hair. But in his aunt’s post, his photo showed ripped jeans like Kit often wore. And that lonely melancholy felt too familiar.
“Yeah,” Kit said, heart sinking. “You found him.”
“You aren’t responsible,” Holden said, wrapping an arm around Kit’s shoulders.
Kit leaned in. “I know I’m not.”
But that wasn’t how it felt.