Pulling the car to a stop, I kill the engine. Neither of us move right away. Because this is the moment before things become permanent. I crack my neck once, then reach for the door.
The warehouse is damp and musty, with a faint smell of smoke that still lingers, even after so many years. The overheadlights hum as Maverick and I step inside, the heavy door shutting behind us with a dull thud. Passing the old boxing ring, we make our way down the hallway. Cole’s voice carries before I see him.
“He’s still breathing,” he calls lazily, stepping out of one of the rooms. “Figured you’d want that part intact.”
He leads us a little further down the hall into another open space. And then I see him.
Owen sits in a chair, his wrists tightly bound to the arms, and ankles secured to the legs. His head is tipped forward just enough that his chin rests against his chest. He’s still, but not broken. Not yet.
His head lifts as we get closer and our eyes meet. His left one is swollen shut and there’s a good sized gash on his forehead. Blood coats the side of his face, starting to dry along his hairline. There’s no panic in his gaze. No scrambling or desperation. The corner of his mouth tips in a disgusting smirk, and something cold spreads through my chest.
Cole leans against the back wall, arms crossed over his chest. “I gotta say,” he muses, pushing off and strolling closer, “being on this side of the chair is a nice change of pace.”
Maverick snorts beside me quietly. Cole gestures toward Owen.
“Way more comfortable than when you hadmetied to one.”
“My my how things have changed,” Maverick chuckles.
For a split second, the memory flickers. Cole beaten, tied to a chair similar to this one, Maverick’s helmet kissing the side of his face.
Then it’s gone. And all that’s left is Owen.
I step forward. Cole’s humor dies the second I move past him. No more jokes. No more pleasantries. I want fucking answers. And then I want his life.
“You tried to take something from me,” I say quietly. Owen’s grin deepens. Not wide or dramatic, but just enough. Like he’s been waiting for this moment.
“Yeah,” he says softly. Like he’s proud of it. He leans forward in his seat as best as he can, his gaze sliding to Mav. “You took something from me.”
Maverick stills next to me. Cole goes quiet. My jaw tightens.
What the fuck is he talking about?
I don’t let him see the confusion as I step closer. Owen watches me like he’s studying something he’s already solved.
“You don’t remember,” he says, almost amused. “Figures. You guys don’t remember anyone unless they’re of use to you.”
Cole steps to the back of the chair. His hand fists tightly in Owen’s hair then he wrenches his head back.
“Get on with it,” he growls lowly, before he shoves Owen’s head forward again. Owen lets out a laugh, then licks some blood from the corner of his lips.
“Last year. A little shit hole bar in the middle of nowhere. You killed our cousin,” he spits on the floor at Maverick’s feet, saliva mixed with a little tinge of blood.
“Alex?” Maverick asks without hesitation. “He aided in the kidnapping of my wife. He had it coming.” He shrugs.
“Hold on,” I snap. Cole’s expression mirrors the confusion I feel. Something he said so quickly, I almost didn’t catch it. I glare at Owen.
“Our?”
Owen rolls his eyes. “Yes. Our. Mine and yours. He was our fucking family and this prick blew his fucking head off like it was nothing,” he seethes.
I rush forward, slamming my fist into the side of Owen’s head.
“What the fuck do you meanour?!” I shout.
Owen laughs. “You mean to tell me I don’t look even a little bit familiar to you,brother?”
My fist slams into his jaw before he can say anything else. The crack echoes off the walls. The chair teeters with the force, but doesn’t fall. Owen’s head snaps to the side and blood hits the concrete floor.
