Chapter 40
FORTY
ARLO
Soren calls to inform me that Rylas said he’s busy, and he’ll call him back when he can. That was the only response he got from him.
I head to Rylas’s house because I don’t believe he’s so busy that he can’t reply to our Lord. His wife, who has clearly been crying, answers the door. Her eyes are red and puffy, and her mascara is smeared.
“Arlo,” she says, surprised, before she wipes her eyes. “He isn’t here. He hasn’t been here for days.”
“Where would he be?” I question.
“I don’t know. I found out about him cheating, and I told him to leave.” She starts sobbing.
“Good. You shouldn’t let him back in,” I tell her, then say goodbye before turning and stepping off the porch.
I’m getting back into the car when Boston calls. “You aren’t going to like this,” he says.
“What?”
“I did some digging, and her phone’s last location pinged near the hunting grounds, and so was his.”
“Fuck,” I grit, hitting the steering wheel.
“Yeah. I’m going out there to have a look.”
“I’m on my way.” I start the car and head in that direction. I’ll beat Boston there as Rylas’s house is closer to the woods than where the station is located.
It takes me twenty minutes to get out there. The dirt road is rough and familiar, winding deeper into nowhere. It doesn’t take long before I reach the clearing where the Forsaken usually park on hunting nights.
And there it is—Rylas’s car, tucked beneath the trees like it belongs.
I shake my head, dread curling low in my gut.
He is not supposed to be here.
And he sure as shit isn’t supposed to bring anyone out here, which I have a feeling he has.
I call Soren. “Rylas is at the hunting grounds,” I tell him when he answers.
“Alone?” he questions.
I can’t see him anywhere yet.
“Could be, but I doubt it since Delaney is missing.”
“Keep me informed,” he barks and then hangs up.
After parking the car, I get out. Looking around, I don’t see any trace of Rylas. Then I turn to scan the edge of the woods. It’s dark under the canopy, the trees swaying in the wind, and there’s still no sign of him.
I’m going to have to go in.
Returning to my car, I open the glove box and find the knife I store in there.
The blade isn’t large, but it does the job when needed.
Sliding it into my pocket alongside my phone, I pass his car on the way to the spot where we usually enter the woods.
The ground is wet from the rain the night before, so each step I take makes a soft, squelching sound.
“Rylas!” I yell.
Where is he?
“Rylas.” I continue to call his name as I go deeper and deeper into the trees. When I hear a noise, I turn to it, thinking it’s him, but it’s just a squirrel rooting in the leaf litter. But then his voice carries to me on the wind.
“Arlo. How did I know you would come?” Rylas sneers.
“You didn’t.”
“There is only one thing you seem to care about lately, so I took it.” I pause at his words. “Just as you let her take everything I cared for away from me.”
It clicks.
Jesus, he has Cora.
But surely I’m wrong.
How could he have her?
She was safe and sound when I left her.
“Be a man and stop hiding, Rylas,” I call out.
“A man? I am a fucking man. More of a man than you’ll ever be,” he screams, and even though it echoes through the trees, I turn to my right because I know that’s the direction it’s coming from.
Heading that way, I loudly taunt, “Is that why you’re out here? Because you’re such a man that you can’t deal with your own problems, and instead, you have to bring others down with you?”
“Don’t you dare try to use your therapist shit on me, Arlo. I’m smarter than that.”
The sound of his voice makes me realize I’m getting closer. I wrap my beads tightly around my hand, my boots splashing in puddles of mud as I stalk closer to where I know he will be.
“I think you need to see one. A therapist, that is,” I say, knowing he’ll take the bait.
Rylas hates having his judgment questioned. He thinks he’s smart and doesn’t need help in any way. He has his life together, at least according to him.
Yeah, that’s not true in the slightest.
“Fuck you, Arlo! How about you listen to this?”
And that’s when a woman screams. While her screams of pleasure sound different, I know it’s Cora. Quickly reaching into my pocket, I dial her number.
“Answer,” I grumble. But it just continues to ring.
“You see, Arlo, sometimes people like us need nontraditional types of therapy. I’m already starting to feel better.”
Goddammit! I can hear the smile in his voice.
He will fucking die.
And I won’t make it quick.