Chapter 19
I reland is a magical land, as I discovered the first time I visited with Alex on a hunt for answers. The atmosphere here is unmatched, and at one point, I even debated moving here, if for no other reason than to see my father blow a gasket at me moving to the homeland of the Four Points.
"I can't believe we're here," Abigail exclaims, looking out the passenger window. After meeting up with Owen and Cora, we had picked up our rental car and started making our way to the city centre, with Alex and the Finlay brothers tailing us. Throughout the ride, the girls had been mesmerized by everything, even the mundane things like shops we have at home, which in their words, "look so different."
"Best believe it, babe, we're here. Childfree for a double date weekend."
"Technically this is a work trip," I interject, only to receive glares from both of them before they dismiss me and return to making plans for the weekend. I share a glance with Owen, who just shrugs but looks at Cora fondly as she lists some restaurants she wants to check out. I can’t blame him; these days, I’m just as whipped as he is.
But if that’s the price to pay to have a woman like Abigail by my side, then fuck it. I’ll gladly pay it every day and twice on Sunday.
But first, we have a piece of shit human trafficker to hunt down.
With the girls safely in the hotel and under the Finlay brothers' watchful eyes, we plug the address of Mr. Benedict’s house into the GPS. According to what Brennan was able to find out, the house sits on its own plot of land with no neighbours for miles—in other words, the perfect place for people to vanish.
"You ready for this?" Owen asks from the passenger seat, looking concerned.
"As ready as I can be. I’d just rather we got answers sooner than later. I’m sick of this shit remaining a mystery." Ignoring the sympathetic gaze, I focus on following the GPS.
A few hours later, I flick on my indicator to follow the dirt road that leads to a derelict house that sends a chill down my spine just looking at it. There’s moss and ivy crawling up the walls, the windows clearly haven’t been cleaned in a long time, and everything screams abandoned. But at the same time, it feels like there’s a presence here, like we aren’t alone.
Sharing a look, we get out of the car, check our guns, and make the rest of the way on foot. While having a getaway car nearby is always preferred, having a car announce your presence isn’t always the best idea, and today isn’t one of those days.
"Front or back?"
"Back."
Heading around to the back of the house and ducking under the windows, we soon come across a totally different picture. While the building looks a mess and abandoned from the front, the back is perfectly maintained. The lawn is meticulously mowed, and the furniture pristine, setting off warning sirens in my head. With a jerk of my chin, I direct Owen to take one side of the sliding back door as I take the other, and together we open them.
With our guns drawn, we systematically clear each room on the ground floor, mentally cataloguing the absolute shit show that is this house. There’s rubbish littered everywhere, the couch cushions have been flipped onto the floor, and there’s shattered glass in the kitchen. It looks like there was a struggle here. Recently.
"Up or down?" Owen asks as we get to the stairs, which lead down into a dark basement and up to the second floor. I’ve done this enough to know the basement is usually where darkness lurks.
"Basement."
We make our way down and freeze as the stairs creak. When nothing happens, we continue down. At the bottom, it’s clear this was used as a cell. There’s a cot in the corner with a bucket nearby and what looks like a shower curtain in another corner. Like upstairs, down here is a mess. There are used condoms all over the floor near the bed, blood stains on the threadbare mattress, and shackles attached to the frame of the cot. Imagining my mum down here makes me sick to my stomach. Before I can spiral down that train of thought, Owen calls my name from behind the shower curtain.
Using my gun to push aside the dirty piece of fabric, I join him behind it, only to freeze at the sight before me. In the dirty, stained bath is a body. A man lies there in a pool of his own blood, eyes glazed over. Clearly, someone lost the struggle upstairs. Going by the lack of smell and decomposition, he can’t have been here long. Which makes me wonder who beat us to it.
Sharing a look, we head upstairs to check the rest of this house of horrors over, making quick work of clearing the upstairs and verifying we are here alone. I tuck my gun back into my waistband before looking through the mess for anything of use: papers, phones, computers, anything we can use to get the answers the dead body is hiding.
"Here Logan, look at this," Owen calls me over. In his hand is a framed photo. In it is a younger version of the man in the tub next to none other than my mum. I’d recognise her anywhere, and the terrified look on her face is one I remember all too well. Around her neck is a dog collar with a leash that the man has clenched tightly in his fist. Swallowing down my bile, I look around where Owen found the photo and stumble across a journal. Flipping through it does nothing to calm my anger or help with the bile that’s still fighting its way up my throat.
"Look at this shit," I say as I toss it to Owen. Diary entries from her abductor—how stupid can you be? Who in their right mind keeps a journal detailing their interactions with their captive?
"He mentions her begging for her sister. Did you know she had a sister?" Owen asks, and I snatch the journal out of his hands to read the words for myself. Scanning the scribbled words, I frown. This is news to me. I have an aunt? And Peter never mentioned it?
"This shit makes no sense." I have more questions than when we got here, and with the piece of shit dead in the basement, I’m once again at a dead end. With frustration burning in my veins, we gather up anything that could be useful, including the journal, before heading back to our women.