Chapter 5
FIVE
BECCA
This is stupid. Stupid and annoying. Stupid and annoying and frustrating.
“I don’t want to stay here.” I should be helping Alaskan Security figure out what’s going on. Where my sister is. Not locked in a safe house with Owen and Luca, who are both acting like I’m just supposed to sit here doing nothing while they stare at me.
They’re fine enough guys. I don’t hate them. They’re just really making it hard to do what I want to do with the laptop I claimed I needed to be able to do my job.
Did I maybe make them think I’m still technically working? Yes. I mean I am still employed. I’m just on personal leave. So it’s more of an omission than an outright lie.
Not that I wouldn’t lie to find my sister. I would freaking lie to the pope if I had to. Especially now that I’ve seen just how dangerous of a situation she’s in.
Watching Maddox kill Trevor should have been more satisfying than it was. And maybe I would have enjoyed it more if I knew my sister was safe. But now the only connection I had to her disappearance is…
I don’t actually know where he is, but I doubt it’s a morgue. The Alaskan Security guys didn’t seem too worried about racking up dead bodies, so I’ve got to assume they have a means of disposal.
I want to ask Owen and Luca about it, but I don’t have time to dig into all the ways to make a body disappear right now. It’s more important I figure out how to get onto this computer without them breathing over my shoulder.
I feel like everyone is missing something. Something big. Something important. The key to all this is out there, and I know I can find it. I also know Pierce and his people don’t want me to be the one looking for it. They don’t want me ‘putting myself in danger.’
I’ve got news for them. That ship has sailed. The only way to get myself out of danger is to find my sister and stop the men at the top of the food chain.
I understand that’s a big task, but I don’t see anyone else making any headway, and I’m not just going to sit here and wait. I can’t handle it. I have to keep myself busy. Keep myself distracted. If I don’t…
Fear for my sister will eat me alive.
Unfortunately, the people who work for Pierce don’t seem to be as stupid as most of the general population. I have a sneaking suspicion it will only be a matter of time before they figure out my claim about needing to work was bullshit, so I’m facing a very limited window of opportunity.
“I know.” Owen is the one who normally tries to placate me. I think it’s because he’s less scared of me than Luca is. I know when people are confused by me—I can see it in their faces—and I definitely confuse Luca.
Owen might also be confused, but he finds me interesting enough to override that confusion. I get it. I love figuring people out too. Normally, I would enjoy sitting here, picking apart every word these two men say and every move they make.
But if I’m going to be picking someone apart, it’s going to be in an effort to find my sister.
“It’s not going to be forever.” Owens' voice is calm. “This is just a temporary thing until we get more information.”
It takes everything in me to keep my thoughts to myself.
To point out that I should be the one looking for more information since I’m the one who’s found pretty much everything they're working with. I try my best to smile, because that’s probably the expression that will seem the least suspicious and threatening.
Owen stares at me for a second, and I start to worry he sees right through me. That I haven’t learned how to act normal as well as I thought. But then he grins, his face turning almost boyish as a dimple flashes in his cheek. “If you want, I could get some board games. Or maybe a few puzzles.”
Did this man really offer Monopoly as a way to distract me while my sister is suffering?
“No thanks.” At this point I’m pretty sure all I’m doing is showing him my teeth, because my face doesn’t feel even close to smiling. “Maybe I’ll just take a nice bath.”
I can run the tub full of water and sit on the edge while I splash my foot around to make noise. All I have to do is figure out how to smuggle the laptop in with me and it will buy me at least an hour to—
A chime echoes through the house I’m holed up in, sending both Luca and Owen to their feet. They split up, one going to the front as the other goes to the back, hands on their weapons.
While they’re busy, I flip open my computer and furiously type out a search, eyes darting around as I click the little magnifying glass.
Another chime rings out, and my heart rate picks up.
I’m not bothered about who might be here—getting killed is honestly the least of my worries—I’m concerned about how far I can get before—
“What the fuck?” I stare down at the screen. Instead of the list of results I’m expecting, a single word populates the rectangle.
Sorry
“Those motherfuckers.” I slam the computer closed, gripping it tight.
Before I fully process what I’m doing, I’ve got it hefted up over one shoulder, preparing to chuck it across the room.
Pierce’s team obviously already knows what I’m doing with it, so there’s no point having it if they aren’t gonna let me do what I need to do.
Might as well get a little frustration out, with the added bonus of making my position on their restrictions clear.
But I don’t have time to launch the electronic before a familiar—and unexpected—face steps into the room.
“Butch.” His name rushes out on an exhale that tightens my chest. It might be from relief. It might be from excitement. Hell, it’s probably both. I’ve never been super great at identifying the way Butch makes me feel. It’s all so very foreign to me.
“Are you okay?” He looks me over. Like he’s worried Owen and Luca have let something happen to me in his absence.
“No.” I don’t hide my aggravation. “Not at all.”
“Figured as much.” Butch shifts the bag hooked over his shoulder, eyes moving to the hall. “Where’s your room?”
Holy moly. I swallow hard, and this time I’m the one jumping to my feet. “Upstairs.”
The house Owen and Luca brought me to shortly after everything went down with Trevor and the gross guys he hired, is actually kinda cute.
It’s a tidy two-story with yellow siding and white shutters.
Perfectly unassuming and unremarkable. I don’t know what I thought a safe house looked like, but it definitely wasn’t bright or cheery.
And it for sure didn’t have a goose dressed in a bonnet on the front porch.
Butch stays close behind me as I go upstairs, the computer—that’s pretty much useless—tucked under one arm. The guys ruining my life were at least nice enough to give me the primary suite, so the bedroom I’m staying in is big and has an attached bathroom.
It also has an emergency ladder hidden under the bed in case I have to make a hasty exit. I guess Luca didn’t love catching me when I jumped out the window last time I needed an escape.
Flipping on the light, I try not to be weird as a man enters my bedroom for the first time in my whole life.
Butch closes the door, brows lifting as he stares down at the lockless doorknob.
“Yeah. There aren’t locks on the bathrooms either.” It was actually my first plan regarding the computer. Lock myself in a room and they could just suck it.
“Guess it’s a good thing I brought this.” Butch drops his bag, and it hits the floor with a heavy thud. After unzipping it, he pulls out a familiar apparatus.
“I have one of those.” I tip my head to the side before conceding, “I guess I had one of those since I’m not allowed to go back to my house right now. And who knows what’ll be left of it when I can.”
Butch extends the door bar, hooking the scooped end under the knob before kicking it against the floor until it’s securely wedged.
“I made sure it was locked up. There’s some damage inside.
It looks like someone was trying to find something, but for the most part, everything is intact structurally. ”
“Okay.” I don’t really care. I like my house—it’s not that—I just like my sister more. Her abduction has really put shit into perspective for me.
Butch chuckles as he picks his bag back up and carries it to my bed. “I like that you don’t kiss ass, Becca.”
Kiss ass? What is he talking ab—
Crap. “I was supposed to thank you for going to my house, wasn’t I?”
Sometimes I start to think I’ve figured it out. Trained myself to act the way I’m supposed to. Then I don’t thank someone for making sure my house hasn’t burned down because its condition is irrelevant to me, and realize I probably haven’t come nearly as far as I think.
“You don’t have to thank me for shit.” Again Butch digs into his bag, this time pulling out something much smaller. He gives it a shake, the contents of the small bottle rattling around. “But I’m gonna bet you’ll want to thank me for these.”
Holy crap. “Is that Midol?”
“Yup.” He tosses me the bottle. “I’ve got some anti-inflammatories in here too if you’d rather have those.” Another bottle comes out of the bag, but this one drops to the bed. “I also got the rest of the shit you need for your period.”
I stare in shock as Butch pulls out at least five boxes worth of products. Overnight pads. Heavy flow tampons. Regular pads. Regular tampons. And panty liners.
A pit forms in my stomach. “Are you married?”
I can’t think of any other explanation for why he would be so well-versed in the needs of a menstruating woman, and the possibility causes me physical pain. Pain no amount of Midol or anti-inflammatories will touch.
Butch is the only person who has ever made me feel things. The kind of things most people get to experience on a daily basis. Imagining those feelings would be off-limits to me now makes my chest tight.
But then Butch snorts. “Do you really think there’s a woman who would put up with my shit?”
“Yes.” I don’t hesitate to say exactly what I’m thinking.