Page 127 of Painted Truths

She's within a hair's breadth of the doorway, when a large man exits the vehicle and sprints after her with a speed that belies his sheer size.

He doesn't look to be much older than me, if at all, though the resolution of the footage is less than clear. He has short, cropped blonde hair, but other than that and his size, there's nothing to distinguish him from any other Joe Soap.

Reaching Liv, he jerks her back before clocking her over the back of the head in a practised move. Then, in contrast with his actions, he picks her up gently, pushing her hair away from her face slowly.

He stands there looking at her for several beats, then places a soft kiss on her forehead before returning to the Rover, depositing her tenderly in the back seat and driving on his way.

My breathing has quickened, my pulse pounding at a ferocious pace, and I feel the urge to hit someone, to hit that fucker who's taken my girl.

“Garry, can you see if you can find a licence plate on any of the footage from this camera or the ones further up the building, perhaps?”

Nodding his understanding, Garry moves swiftly to do my bidding—or at least as swiftly as his old frame will allow him to.

Stepping away, I level Nate with a look. "I'm sure you know someone who can help us discreetly, right?"

His face is as pale as a ghost, but he nods succinctly, already fishing his phone from his pocket as he walks out into the lobby.

Turning to Alex, my face falls. He's still fixated on the screen, not having moved a damn muscle.

"What?"

No response.

"Alex? What the hell?"

He turns his head as though in slow motion, meeting my rising ire, which rapidly turns into full-blown horror at his next statement.

"I know him."

"What?" The single word is a growl reverberating from deep within my chest.

"Henry." He looks as though he might throw up as he chokes the following words from his throat. "He's a driver for us—I mean, for DeMarco Holdings. His name is Samuel Hastings. He's always been quiet and steady. He’s driven both of us on occasion—”

“Christ almighty. Get to the point!”

Alex swallows hard, like he’s unable to get the words past his lips. “He mostly works for…"

He trails off, his head dropping into his hands as he shakes it back and forth, repeatedly as though to dislodge whatever thoughts or memories are playing inside. I grip his shoulders, shaking him back to reality. Now is not the time to fall apart. If I'm not allowed, he certainly doesn't get the fucking luxury either.

"For who, Alex? Who the hell does he work for?"

His nostrils flare while his jaw clenches and unclenches several times before he swallows. Hard.

"My mother. He mostly works for my mother. She hired him, and I… well, I've asked him to drive Liv. On many occasions."

I blink rapidly as my mind processes this information while swallowing back the threatening vomit. If the mention of one of the vilest human beings ever to walk this earth wasn't bad enough, the fact this Samuel prick is clearly ob-fucking-sessed with my Peaches makes my stomach bottom out while my mind spirals.

"Nate!"

His name is a loud bark, and in no way respectful, but I'm so far gone that I don't give a shit. My oldest friend knows it.

Striding back into the room, the very picture of calm under pressure, Nate takes in the image my brother and I present before he raises a sardonic brow.

"What did he do now?"

Ignoring him, I let go of Alex's shoulders and exhale deeply, preparing myself for what's sure to come.

"Alex recognised the fellow who took her. Says he works for his mother."