49. Cole
COLE
“Leave a message.”
“Fuck!” The word explodes out of me, booming through the silence of the truck. “Get to my fuckin’ house, now!” I grit into the phone before tossing it onto the passenger seat.
Fucking Cruz. Three calls. Three fuckin’ calls. Straight to voicemail every time. I slam my palm into the steering wheel hard enough to send a jolt of pain up my arm as the truck screams through the darkness.
We were wrong. We were so fuckin’ wrong.
It wasn’t Cain we buried. And that realization tears through me like barbed wire.
We buried someone, that much I know. Probably some bottom feeder from the club, some expendable nobody doing Cain’s dirty work.
But it wasn’t Cain, and that asshole’s been sitting back, watching, waiting these last few days for his moment to strike.
And fuck, deep down, I knew it. It was too quick. Too simple. Too fuckin’ clean.
As the turnoff for my house comes into view through the darkness, a cold weight settles in my gut. I kill the headlights and the world disappears.
My stomach roils and my head fuckin’ throbs. I can barely see straight. I have no idea how I even made it all the way back here in one piece, but I’m here. And I ain’t fuckin’ leavin’ without my girl and her babies. Our babies.
The truck rolls forward in silence, tires crunching over gravel on the side of the ride. I listen out for any sign of whatever might be happening, but all I can hear is the thunder of my own heart slammin’ hard against my ears. It’s otherwise quiet. Too quiet. Something’s wrong.
I don’t know how I know. Maybe it’s instinct.
Maybe it’s guilt. Maybe it’s the sick uncertainty that’s been clawing at my insides all fuckin’ night.
But I just know. Shutting off the engine, I take a moment.
Listening. Waiting. Surrounded by nothing but the ticking of cooling metal, the rush of blood in my ears, the distant chirp of insects, and beneath it all, my terror swells until it’s almost too much.
Please. Please let me be wrong. Please let them be okay.
I reach under the seat, pulling out my gun and checking the chamber. As carefully and as quietly as I can, I hop out of the truck and tread lightly, careful to avoid anything on the ground that might crunch too loud beneath my boots.
Holding my gun down by my side, finger ready to pull the fuckin’ trigger if I have to, I turn down the drive, scanning the area around me. The lights are on in the house, but there’s no obvious sound, no voices, nothing.
Clara’s SUV is parked up out front, and behind it, so close so that there’d be no way for her to get out if she tried, is a dark blue sedan that looks like a rental.
I crouch down, staying low, trying to hide in the shadows, my gaze flitting about, adjusting to the darkness.
“Billie?” I hiss, searching the bushes.
Nothing.
“Billie?” I try again, the lump in my throat swelling to the point of pain.
Please, no. Fuck.
“Cole?”
I turn, all the air ripped from my lungs with my relieved exhale when I find both Billie and Tommy huddled together at the base of the redbuds, concealed by the overgrown brush.
Sliding my gun into the waist of my jeans, I drop down, crawling in to get to them, tears threatening to spill over.
“How you doin’ Miss Billie?” I ask, trying so damn hard to keep my voice firm, my grin casual. Looking her over, she doesn’t appear to be hurt, just a little dirt on her face and her dress.
“You okay, darlin’?” I ask, cupping her cheek to get a good look in her eyes.
She nods, pushing her wild curls back from her tear-streaked cheeks.
I turn, looking over Tommy, my gut clenching to see he’s bleeding from a nasty looking spilt above his left eye. His gaze is hazy, face sheet white. And I know all too well that he’s concussed.
“I got you, my guy.” I wrap an arm around Tommy, heaving his lax body up, careful not to further harm his already casted arm. “Billie, hold on to me, darlin’. Don’t let go.”
Billie clutches onto the back of my shirt, following closely as I carry Tommy back out to the road, to my truck. I pull open the back door and ease Tommy inside before turning and hoisting Billie up, securing her in there too.
“Now, I’m gonna need y’all to stay put, okay? Don’t say a word and keep your heads down.” I look between the two of them, the heartbreaking fear in their eyes causing my throat to close up. “I’m gonna lock the doors and you do not, under any circumstance, get outta this truck, y’hear?”
They don’t respond.
“Do you understand?” I press, my words emphasized with the tremor in my own breath.
“Yeah,” Tommy gruffs softly, Billie nodding almost frantic as she nestles into her brother. And the last thing I want is to scare them any more than they already are, but I need to know they hear me.
I gently close the back door with a click before opening the driver’s door and reaching in, switching on the stereo and turning up the music loud enough so that, hopefully, it helps to drown out the sound of whatever the hell it is I’m about to walk into.
Glancing at the two of them huddled low in the back seat, both their bodies trembling, I meet their eyes, offering up a smile I know they don’t trust for one second.
“I’ma be right back, okay?”
“Bring back my mommy.” Billie’s face cracks as she all but sobs out the words, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“I promise.” I nod, looking to Tommy to find something knowing in his eyes, something resigned in the way he presses his lips together.
“Lock this when I leave,” I tell him, handing him the fob. “And remember…” I don’t repeat myself, but I need him to know how imperative it is that they both stay in the truck.
Looking down at the fob in his shaking hand, Tommy meets my eyes again, and nods just once.
And I close the door, taking a step back.
I can’t see them too well through the tint, but I know they can see me, and it isn’t until I hear the lock engage that I release the breath I’ve been holding.
Yanking my gun from the waist of my jeans, I hold it steady and run with everything I have back toward the house.
I make it around the back of the house and flatten myself against the siding, right by the door to the mudroom. Nothing. No voices, no footsteps, no movement.
The silence presses in from every direction, thick and unnatural. My grip tightens around the gun, finger poised on the trigger, ready to shoot because fuck askin’ questions first.
Cain’s here. I know he is. But where the hell is he?
I force myself forward, staying low beneath the windows. Every step feels just a touch too loud. Every crunch of gravel beneath my boots echoes through the air, bouncing around the silence of the night.
The bedroom where Tommy and Billie were sleeping is empty.
My pulse spikes. A faint amber glow leaks out through the crack in the curtains of my bedroom window and I stop still beneath the sill.
For a second, I can’t even force myself to look, terrified, frozen by what it is I might find.
My chest burns from my lungs refusing to draw a full breath.
But then, slowly, I rise just enough to peer through the narrow gap where the drapes don’t quite meet.
Everything inside of me goes still.
Clara.
Her legs are stretched out across the mattress, motionless. My heart slams once then seems to forget how to beat. There’s blood. Not a lot. Just a spray, staining the sheets beside her. But it’s enough. Enough to send a wave of nausea crashing through me. Enough to make my knees threaten to buckle.
“Chrissake…” I breathe.
I can’t see the rest of her. Can’t see her face.
Can’t see her chest. Can’t tell if she’s breathing.
The gap is too small. The curtains pulled too tight.
Then suddenly, that tiny sliver of missing information feels like the difference between life and death.
Denim-clad legs. He’s there. And he’s on fuckin’ top of her.
For one horrible second, my mind offers an image I can’t stand, and my head falls back against the siding, the rough wood biting into my skull. Clara cold. Clara gone. Tommy and Billie left behind without their mama, just like me.
I squeeze my eyes shut and force the thoughts away before they can take hold. She’s alive. She has to be.
I take a moment to consider myself, to think, smacking the heel of my palm against my forehead as I do. Think, goddammit.
I can get into the house, no problem, but if I go in there, I don’t know what I’m going to face.
Sure, I have a loaded weapon, and I’m a good fuckin’ shot, but it’s Clara I’m worried about.
He’s closer. What if he… what if she’s already…
I shake my head, forcing those thoughts away.
And then, as my mind flashes back to Tommy and Billie waiting in my truck, probably scared to fuckin’ death at the thought of never seeing their mama again, and I take a deep breath, knowing exactly what I have to do.