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“Getting close,” Remy said, holding up the phone with the blinking tracker on screen. “There it is.”
He pointed in front of us to a flash of brake lights just before the car half a mile ahead of us took a sharp turn. Cain let out a growl low in the back of his throat, a feral sound I didn’t think he even realized he’d made.
Aurora was so close. As soon as I eased around the sharp corner, my foot dug deep into the accelerator, punching it to get closer to her. Now. Then I realized what I was doing.
We followed the car in front of us down a long, winding country road until it turned into a farmhouse. I drove past the house. Cain watched the car with furious eyes, but he didn’t complain.
As I brought the truck to a halt down the road, Cain was already throwing his door open and jumping out.
“Calm down,” I told him, not that he was listening, as I threw the car into park. “Remy, don’t let him take a gun in there.”
“Don’t let Cain act like a psycho?”
“He’ll regret it if he kills Stellan.”
“I won’t,” Cain whipped back over his shoulder.
“Won’t regret it or won’t kill Stellan?” Remington asked.
But I didn’t question which way he’d meant that. I knew Cain too well.
I cursed and ran after him. Remington trudged through the mud ahead of me, his shoulders hunched against the dismal weather.
The farmhouse came into view. The car was empty now.
“How do you want to do this?” I demanded, and finally, Cain stopped. Thank fuck. He was relentless when he wanted something, and heneededAurora. I hadn’t thought he would.
“I’ll go in the front.” He seemed to be back to his usual icy composure. “Make sure Stellan doesn’t go anywhere.”
“I’ll take the back,” Remington said, and mouthed at me, “Watch him.”
Remington knew I was the only one who could take Cain down. I was pretty sure Cain knew it too.
Cain kicked the front door in and went in like an extra-deranged version of the Kool-Aid man.
An overweight man on the couch jumped up, already screaming, “What the fuck?”
He wasn’t Aurora, and Cain just straight-armed him back into the couch where the man collapsed as Cain bulled his way through the rest of the rooms. A strange scent like burnt plastic and cleaning products hung in the air, coating every surface in the house.
Meth. I knew that smell from when I was a kid.
“Where the hell are they?” Cain roared.
I moved through the house, quickly checking each room. In one bedroom, a woman was lying across the sheets, her head lolling, and my heart leapt at the sight of her before I registered dark hair and empty, glazed eyes.
“They’re not here,” I called, already knowing the truth as I checked the last room.
The next room stank of dirty diapers left for a long time and piss-soaked carpet. Two toddlers, barely more than babies, were lying together on a stained mattress without sheets. They were so thin I could see every rib, and then I realized the scabs on their skin were from bugs. The TV in the corner of the room droned on.
I’d seen this shit when I was a kid. But I hadn’t been able to do anything about it.
I went back downstairs, where Remington perched on the very edge of a kitchen chair as if he didn’t want to sully himself by making full contact with any part of this house, back to work on his phone.
I checked the fridge for food. Nothing but condiments and a half-used package of glossy, rancid lunch meat. There was almost nothing to eat in the house.
“They’re not here,” Cain said impatiently as he walked into the room. “We need to move on.”
“Cain, can you do me a favor?”
