Page 69 of Fractured Hearts

“What is this place?” Declan whispers, getting up to follow her. The wonder in his eyes finally gets a laugh out of me. Because I don’t know the answer, but I kind of love it here.

Jeanne wasn’t kidding when she said she had an armory. I’d call it more of a hunting shed, but the small building at the back of the property is full of hunting rifles and handguns. There are a few different bows and quivers of arrows hanging neatly on hooks.

“Dibs on the crossbow!” Declan yells, snagging it from where it was mounted on the wall. Jeanne hands him the bolts that must go with it.

“We might actually be helpful,” Willa says, taking two of the black and mechanical-looking bows off their hooks and handing one to Belle. They’re not just a stick and a string like I picture in my head when I think of a bow and arrow. I watch in confusion as Belle examines it, pulls the string back, and adjusts her grip. “We were on the archery team in our town for like ten years. Belle even won awards.”

“I’m way better with a bow than a gun,” Belle says, accepting the quiver of arrows Jeanne hands her. “Never thought archery would come in handy in real life.”

“Anyone else have any secret talents they want to share with the class?” Harrison asks. He’s wearing a leather chest holster Harlow gave him for Christmas years ago and has two of his own guns already strapped into it, but he’s looking at the hunting rifles with a lot of consideration.

“No?” Declan says.

Willa snorts and pats him on the arm. “Being able to fold a fitted sheet is an amazing talent, baby, but I don’t think that’s what Harrison meant.”

“Why do you have all of this, Jeanne?” I ask.

“My late husband was an avid hunter. He would keep the meat stocked for all the tourists we hosted here year ‘round.” Jeanne looked like she was staring at the wall, but her eyes were unfocused, like she was reliving a distant memory.

“Sorry I’m late!”

I spin to see Martha jogging to the shed wearing all black, her red hair tied up on top of her head the only color on her. The sight of Martha in anything except colorful plaid is so jarring it takes me a minute to process what she said.

“Late for what?”

“Hunting, of course,” Martha says with a wink.

“Martha holds the record for the biggest bear in the county,” Jeanne says proudly. I didn’t grow up in Maine, and I always forget how much a part of their culture hunting is.

“Martha—” I start.

“We’re going to get our boys back, Jo.” She grabs a hunting rifle and cocks it, looking me in the eye and daring me to argue. I want to. I want to tell them all to stay behind because I can’t risk them, but that would be a lie. I don’t want to risk them, but it’s becoming more clear as the minutes tick by that I would risk anything for those two men, but I’m not alone in that. Everyone here would, too. I won’t stop them, but I can at least give them a head start.

sixty-seven

MAVERICK

What did I drink last night? I don’t remember a thing. When did I even start drinking? Must have been early with the way I feel right now. My head is throbbing and my stomach is rioting. I think if I move, I might be sick all over the bed. I take slow, deep breaths until my body settles enough to crack my eyes open.

It’s not the first time I’ve woken up in a foreign bed, but it hasn’t happened in years. I try to wipe the sleep crust away from my eyes, but I’m stopped by something.

Fuck. I’m chained to a bed by my wrists and ankles. Not the first time that has happened either. Slowly moving my head so I don’t get sick, I take in my surroundings. At least I try to, but the room is really dark. It’s night, or this place has some high-quality blackout curtains.

The moment I try to push myself up into a sitting position, I realize my feet are chained, too. What the fuck did I get myself into? I close my eyes again and resume my deep breathing. I don’t know how long it takes, but eventually the memories slowly trickle in.

The cliff house. Ezra and Jo. The phone call I overheard.

Fuck. I yelled at Jo. I blamed her, and nothing was her fucking fault.

My head throbs as I try to work out how I ended up here, but it’s blank. I only remember screaming at Jo and then storming out of the house. It’s blackness after that. There wasn’t enough alcohol in the house for me to be feeling like this. Something else must have happened. The short moment of clarity I had is slipping away. Whatever substance my body is fighting to get rid of is winning, and my eyes close. I fight to open them again, but sleep and darkness pull me under.

sixty-eight

JO

I’m lucky Harrison’s passcode was so easy to guess. It didn’t take a hacker to figure out it was Harlow’s birthday. It would be a lot more concerning if it wasn’t obvious this was just for phone calls. I’m guessing everything else is locked down on his computer. But this phone has the only thing I need. Maverick’s location. Cal texted it to him, and I snagged the device while everyone was in Jeanne’s shed. I know Harrison can track it, but even if he can’t, everyone else can get the location from Cal.

I need to get there first. I don’t know if what Jeanne and I think is true and that Maverick is the real target. All the physical evidence points to the target being me. I hope it’s me, but my gut is rejecting the idea. Patrick took the wrong people. If anything happens to Ezra or Maverick . . . not even Harlow would be able to pick up the broken pieces that would be left behind. Which means I have nothing to lose.