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COLTER
The speedometer reads one hundred and five just as a residential neighborhood peaks over a hill. The sun kisses the horizon, illuminating the houses.
I’ve been driving all night. Miles and miles of desert in Lorenzo’s SUV that won’t go fast enough. He thought it would be better to take it than to drive my own. Less evidence against me. As if I care.
I press down on the accelerator and the SUV governs out at one twenty. My hand grips the steering wheel until my knuckles hurt.
Abi and Zeke are in one of these houses, but I have no idea how long they’ll be staying. Devin may be getting an early start. He may have already left with them.
“Come on you piece of shit,” I grumble with my foot on the accelerator.
They’re there, I tell myself looking intently at the neighborhood growing bigger in my view. I force myself to ease off the gas in case there’s a highway patrol waiting at the outskirts.
Lorenzo was able to lift their location from Devin’s GPS. They’d been at a place called Pete’s Diner when we first found their location, but they hadn’t stayed long. I sped that way, thinking they’d be driving through the night as well, probably back to Arkansas, but that wasn’t the case. Lorenzo called hours later with details on where they’d stopped for the night. They’re at some associate of Devin’s PI who Lorenzo discovered had been following us.
I don’t know why Lorenzo had felt the need to look into all this before I even asked, but I’m glad he did. I never would have thought I’d ask for Lorenzo’s help. Never. But there isn’t the sour taste in my mouth I would have expected, and he didn’t hold a smugness I would have expected either. He didn’t seem surprised to see me.
I enter a community with modest, brick houses and glance at the GPS before taking a left. My heart pounds in my chest and sweat covers my forehead.
They’re here. They have to be here. Lorenzo would’ve called if they’d left.
I drive a mile into the community on the outskirts of a small city on the edge of Nevada before passing the house Abi and Zeke are supposed to be at. I don’t see the black Nissan. There’s a silver Mercedes parked in the driveway instead that doesn’t belong in this neighborhood. The house I’m passing looks like a four bedroom at most, with a modest yard, and a garden gnome propped up in a flower bed.
My brow furrows and I turn to face forward, my knuckles white as I grip the steering wheel. I spot a playground at the end of the block and park at it.
I stride to the alley behind that row of houses and try to look discreet, but it’s a pathetic attempt. My hands are in my pockets, my face down, my pace too quick for an early morning stroll. I don’t slow down because I don’t really care who sees me. I don’t care if I’m caught breaking into some guy’s house. I don’t even care if I go to prison for it.
I make it to the house’s backyard and scan the perimeter. The back porch light is on, but I don’t see any lights on inside. My eyes lower to a basement window, and I try to determine if I’ll be able to fit through.
Guess I’ll find out.
The gun tucked behind me in my waistband shifts as I hop over a chain link fence. I’m fully visible to anyone with enough care to look out their back window, and I look around as I edge toward the house.
I try the window only to discover it’s locked. There’s a red hue on the other side of the glass, but I can’t see what’s inside.
Looking around again, I crouch lower and bust it with a single jab of my elbow. It’s the thicker glass that doesn’t make as much noise, but I’ve still just taken a big chance. I pull my shirt off and wrap it around my hand before pushing leftover shards of glass onto the floor.
I pull myself through the window and hop to the ground.
Before my mind can register what I’m seeing, I know something is wrong. Hairs on my neck raise, and my hand slides behind my back and grips the handle of my gun. Well, Lorenzo’s gun.
I pull it from my waistband and point it in front of me as my eyes take in the room bathed in a red glow from overhead lights.
There are multiple benches and unrecognizable equipment in the room that I sure as fuck hope is for a couple into BDSM. It’s more likely there are several people who occupy this room at a time, though, judging by the row of chains dangling from the ceiling. Whips and canes hang on the wall. Dildos, vibrators, metal rods, and some shit I must not be kinky enough to understand sit on shelves beneath them. There’s a stand with a large wooden circle attached that has straps for wrists, ankles, and a neck. It looks like it rotates.
I shake my head and creep over to the stairs. I take them as carefully as I can, one at a time and cringe each time one creeks. This house is too fucking small. There’s no way I’m not going to be caught.
When I make it out the door at the top of the stairs, however, no one is there waiting for me. I still don’t see any lights on.
My finger is over the trigger, and I’m ready to fire at the first sign of danger, but I hope it doesn’t come to that.
I didn’t come here to kill Devin. I only came here to get Abi and Zeke.
I skulk through a kitchen and am soon in a hallway with three doors, one of them open. With a peek, I see it’s to a bathroom. There’s a cabinet built into the wall I assume holds sheets and towels. The master bedroom is on the other side of the house, near the basement door I came through. That would be the bedroom of the Mr. and Mrs. of the house. Devin, Abi and Zeke are more than likely in one of these guest rooms.
I press my ear to the first closed door I come to. There’s a person softly crying on the other side. It sounds like Zeke.
I put the gun against the frame to keep it out of sight but readily accessible just in case Devin is in there. The door creaks as I open it, but I don’t waste time watching the other door at the end of the hall to see if it opens.
