Chapter 29 #2
I hate that I’m not surprised to find that Denver and Nico are both missing the moment we pass the town limits.
Percy and Milo scoured the town but couldn’t find a trace of them apart from an overturned chair and an unlocked door in Denver’s office.
They have all of our contacts on it—all the dirty cops on my father’s payroll—and Matias is attempting to track Byron’s phone, but as of right now, we have no new information.
Just two missing people and a murderous rage in my chest.
I curl my fingers into fists and start to bounce on my toes again.
Fuck. Fuck!
“We will find them,” my dad says, his voice assured and stiff. “Milo’s working on Lewis now, and you and I both know he won’t last long under his interrogation.”
I’ve done everything I can to stay out of it so far. Milo does his best work when he’s alone, but my patience is wearing thin. It’s been hours, and Lewis still hasn’t broken, and I think it might be time for me and my knives to give it a shot.
I take a breath, then turn to my father. “I’m going in there.”
“Archie,” he starts, then stops. I think he knows that he’d do the same thing if any one of us were taken, and I know it’s killing him thinking about what Nico might be going through.
He’s already been to hell and back. He doesn’t need this.
After a long beat, he inclines his head in a single nod, then gestures to the door.
It’s all I need to march outside and make my way to the shed.
The door slams open, and I step inside, the darkness making my eyes ache. But they adjust, and Milo is standing behind a gagged and bleeding man, a sharpened screwdriver flicking back and forth in his hands.
It’s bloody, and I can see why.
“I see you’ve made some progress,” my dad says, and I jolt. I hadn’t realized he’d followed me. My dad walks up and studies the man’s hands and the stumps where his fingers had once been.
“Has he given you anything yet?” I ask, and Milo shakes his head.
I don’t hesitate. I grab the screwdriver from Milo’s hands and slam it into the man’s thigh. He cries out as I twist it, feeling bone and muscle break and tear under the force.
“Where are they!” I growl.
Milo sighs as the man groans, his eyelids fluttering.
“If you go too fast, he’s gonna pass out,” Milo says, but I ignore him. Milo’s already been at this way too long, and if he passes out, we can wake him up with a shot of adrenaline.
I yank the screwdriver to the side, and the man gasps, throw-up spilling from his mouth.
“Where is he!” I ask again. My voice sounds calmer than I feel, and I know that’s the moment before I break.
Something inside me bursts like a dam, unleashing rage like water, and when he says nothing, I pull the screwdriver out with a loud squelch and do the same to the other leg, wanting to make him hurt as much as I am right now.
No one stops me. They stand by and watch as I use him as a pincushion, making blood pool from his mouth and urine soak his pants until he finally gasps.
“Adams,” he gurgles, voice full of blood.
Adams. What does that mean? But it triggers something in me—something I’ve seen. Something I know. Images flash behind my closed lids—grave markers, a path, and then a massive mausoleum with the name carved into white stone.
Adams.
“The cemetery,” I say. The big Catholic one. It has to be. That’s the only thing that makes sense.
He grunts something that sounds like yes.
“I know where they are,” I gasp. I straighten up, not even bothering to wipe my hands off as I turn toward the door and kick it open.
It’s a twenty-minute drive from here, and the mausoleum is all the way in the back, down the farthest stretch of road.
It’s also the only one with a gate and a door and a lock that can be picked.
My dad hands me a rag before I rush off, then leans toward Lewis, and with a flick of his knife against the stalker’s neck, he nicks his carotid artery, and blood begins to stream down his front.
I don’t even bother rejoicing in the fact that my dad just ended him. That doesn’t matter right now. All I can do is race to the truck, knowing my brothers and father will be behind me, the steady presence I need in this moment.
I make it to the cemetery first, nearly crashing into the gates and tearing down the small road toward the back. It’s currently pouring rain with the afternoon summer storm, but I have the wipers flying, and in the distance, I can see the mausoleum—white marble against the dark sky.
I don’t know how far back my father and brothers are, but I pull to a stop and get out, shielding my eyes from the rain as I look around. There’s no sign of a disturbance, no random cars parked, so I have no idea if Lewis was lying to me or not.
Fuck, maybe we killed him too early.
I’m not giving up hope though. When I glance behind me, I see the second truck pull up, and Percy jumps out with Milo behind him, and my dad following quickly after.
Turning away, I jog up to the gate and see that the lock has been busted.
It’s set into place, trying to make it look like it’s fine, but it gives after a single sharp tug, and the gate creaks open.
Beyond me is a dark set of stairs, and only when I squint do I catch a faint light at the bottom. There’s every chance Byron has heard us coming, and that terrifies me because he must know who he’s up against. He must know that he will be ripped limb from limb the moment I get my hands on him.
And this is not his life. Whatever his sick fascination with Denver is, it’s not what he does, which means he’ll be scared. And he’ll be sloppy. And that leaves too much room for fatal mistakes.
Taking a breath, I press my hand against the rough wall, then turn to face Percy. ‘We need to be silent. If he doesn’t know we’re here, I don’t want to give us away.’
Percy nods, and then my dad leans past him. ‘There’s a second entrance by the church. It looks like a storm door. Milo and I will go through there. We can get him from both sides.’
It’s a solid plan. I give a sharp nod, then beckon Percy forward as they run off to meet us on the other side. Halfway down the stairs, I hear voices and freeze, Percy at my back, and then I hop down the last four steps, prepared to lunge at anyone and anything that moves.
And that’s when everything erupts.
Something slams into me from the shadows, a rush of black and weight, knocking me into the wall. A scream tears through the air, and a gunshot goes off, as everything explodes into chaos.
And then I see him.
Rising up from the shadows, a light glowing behind him, beautiful even though his face is twisted in fury. He has something clutched above his head, and he’s ready to strike.
Denver.
Mine.