Page 23

So I stare at the sliver of visible oak flooring inside. From what we’ve seen, it covers the whole downstairs office area. Rosy would have walked on this, but it doesn’t matter how hard I stare at it, it doesn’t give me the answers, nor does it speed up the process.

“Going in,” Nate says quietly to keep the others updated. He peeks inside, then nods at me to follow.

We won’t have a lot of time, so we dart along the corridor and veer left when we see a set of stairs. Charging up them as quietly as we can, we stop at the top as we reach a locked door.

Fuck.

But Nate just shoves his hand into his bottomless pit of a bag and pulls out a…crowbar.

“Seriously?” I ask him incredulously. “You saying earlier you’d ‘sort it’ if we came across any locked access meant a crowbar?”

He doesn’t bother answering me and just shoves the metal bar between the frame and the door, then pushes. The timber creaks, protesting Nate’s slow force against it. Bits of wood splinter, and it pops open.

Nate updates the other guys on our movements again, but I bat him away, not paying attention. I strain to hear any noise. Signalling, he heads to the left and opens a door, glancing in. I open the door on my right.

Fancy ass bathroom, all set with a large porcelain bathtub that reveals nothing when I search through the mirrored units.

Next door is a large master bedroom, and I move through it quickly, pulling open every door and drawer I can, rifling through to find…something. Assuming this is Peter’s place, the guy’s got some weird shit. I open a box, then immediately shut it, refusing to touch anything inside. If cat ears and butt plug tails are his thing, go for it. Though I do not want to come into contact with another man’s sex toys.

Judging by Nate’s growl, he’s also coming up empty. Moving down to the last door on my side, I push it open quickly, knowing we’re running out of time. My entire body freezes. The breath punches harshly from my lungs, leaving them painfully vacant.

“Rosy…”

A heavy fucking weight rips through my gut, tugging and pulling until a feeling so raw and ravaged overtakes me.

I’m shoved into the doorframe as Nate rushes past me and over to the bed in front of me.

A bed that contains Rosy, her body naked and bloody.

Dropping loudly to his knees on the floor beside her, he fumbles with the ties on her wrists. His hands are shaking; whether it’s from fear or anger or both, I can’t tell.

I open my mouth, then close it when nothing comes out.

“Fucking get over here, Max. We need to get her out of here now.” The last word comes out with a snarl, the beast in him struggling to stay contained.

“What? What’s happening?” Bry panics through the earbud.

Noah inhales sharply, coughing loudly. “Sorry, Peter. I’m fine, thank you. As you were saying?”

I stagger past an oak dresser, over to the other side of the bed, working on the tie at her ankle. She’s unconscious, and up close, I can see her body’s littered with bruises in various shades. Bloody cuts mar her skin. Some are crusted, whilst others are fresh and glistening red. Each one I count fractures something inside me.

The collar around her neck and the cat markings on her face break my heart. The cruelty when they’re her soul animal…

This is so fucked up.

I really fucked up.

“We found her. He’s had her here,” I choke through the words, my hands struggling to work through the strap when they’re trembling.

Bile coats my throat thickly, the acidity burning through me. Or perhaps it’s the guilt. That part of me that hoped we’d find something here? I hate him. I would never wish this for her. I could’ve saved her from this if I had trusted in us. Why the fuck did I not see through his lies?

“Is she okay? What’s going on?” Bry pesters, and I get that he wants to know. But how do we even explain this?

That we found her in the creepiest room I’ve ever seen, with human-sized cat toys and furniture, while Rosy lies unconscious in a bed, hurt and naked?

With her leg freed, I shuffle over to her wrist, my hands seizing as I see her fingers lying limp and lifeless. The skin around the binding is red, chaffed from her trying to break free.

“We need to leave. You carry her, and I’ll cover us,” Nate orders, stroking his hand through her messy strands.