Thirty. Fucking. Seconds #2
Jackson Moore didn't just take Summer tonight.
He took one of my men too. And judging by the amount of blood soaking through Reyes's shirt, if we don't get him medical attention soon, Calder won't be the only man I lose tonight.
The thought settles deep, feeding the darkness already growing inside me.
Another debt. Another reason. Another name added to the list of things Jackson is going to answer for when I finally get my hands on him.
I drag a hand across my face and force myself to look away.
Grieving Calder won't save Summer. Standing over Reyes won't save him.
The only thing that matters now is finding the trail Jackson left behind.
My gaze lands on the house.
The place stands untouched by the devastation surrounding it, warm light spilling from its windows as though nothing happened here at all. As though it isn't responsible for every drop of blood staining the ground around it.
Movement catches my eye.
Groves is already heading toward the front entrance, a length of heavy tow chain dragging behind him. The metal scrapes across the gravel with a sound that cuts through the silence. Nobody questions him. Nobody stops him. We're all thinking the same thing.
By the time he secures the chain around the front doors and climbs back into the truck, the rest of us have gathered at the foot of the driveway. The engine roars to life. Headlights flare against the stone facade.
Then Groves hits the gas.
The chain snaps taut with a violent metallic crack. Wood groans. Stone dust rains from the frame. A second later, the entire entrance tears free, splintering apart as the doors explode inward under the force. The sound echoes across the property before fading back into silence.
I don't wait for the dust to settle. I start walking. The others fall in beside me. And together, we head inside to tear apart everything Jackson Moore left behind.
As soon as we’re past the threshold, Carter’s working—gun raised, voice cutting through the space as he corrals the remaining staff into the corner of the foyer.
Nobody argues. Nobody resists. They stand there pale-faced and silent beneath the glow of the chandeliers, watching us from the corners of their eyes.
One woman is crying quietly into her hands.
I don't spare any of them more than a passing glance.
I don't care. Maybe that makes me an asshole. Maybe it makes me a monster. Right now, I couldn't give less of a fuck. Because Summer isn't standing beside me.
“Watch them,” I mutter, already moving past. “Call the FAA. I want to know where that bird lands.”
His eyes flick briefly to the blood covering my hands before returning to my face. "Nobody's going anywhere."
The conversation ends there because it doesn't need to go any further. We've worked together too long for explanations. Outside, Reyes is bleeding beneath a tree and Calder is dead. Summer is gone.
I move to the stairs with a plan to scour this place from top to bottom.
If they left in a hurry, maybe there’s something here that will tell me where he’s taking her.
My boots hit marble, each step too loud.
The whole place feels like it’s listening.
Like it’s hiding something under the surface and pretending it isn’t.
Every door I pass is the same. Closed and immaculately clean, appearing as though they’ve never been touched. It all feels fake, as though it's part of the illusion of this place. When I reach the last door on the left, I know before I open it.
I fucking know.
I press my hand against the wood. I know she’s not in there—she’s in the sky heading east with the devil. But I couldn’t see her enough to know if she was hurt. If she’d left this place bleeding and broken.
I drag a slow breath into my lungs and hold it there, forcing down the panic clawing its way up my throat. If there's blood on the other side of this door—if I find proof that she suffered here—it'll fucking break me. My hand tightens around the handle. Then I push the door open.
The second the air hits me, everything changes. Relief floods me as there’s no sign of blood or any form of struggle, but my senses heighten to new levels as I take everything else in. Her scent lingers, notes of vanilla and something sweet I’ve never been able to place.
Her.
It hits me hard enough to make the organ in my chest falter. She was here. In this room. In this bed. And now she’s not.
That gap—that distance—it’s everything.
The bed’s disturbed. Sheets pulled back, a faint impression still in the mattress. I step forward slowly, hands already curling into fists.
And then I see them. A few strands of auburn hair against a white pillow.
My knees nearly give.
I move before I think, reaching for them—careful, precise in a way I’m not built for.
Not like this. Not ever. I lift them between my fingers, holding them up slightly, needing to see them properly.
I bring them closer, breathing in even though I know it won’t give me what I need.
I’ve buried my head in her hair more times than I could even fucking count.
And I would do anything— anything—to have her in my arms.
I can pretend she’s still in this room. Pretend she’s smiling up at me, then tucking herself into me and resting her head on my chest.
The floor creaks behind me, pulling me out of my trance.
I turn fast. Gun already up. Finger tight on the trigger.
From the shadow of the hall, a man steps into the doorway.