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Lukus leaned down to talk calmly to Dylan. “Hey, man. Your backup is here. We’re gonna help you now. This is gonna hurt like hell, but I need to check you out.”
A low moan from the bloodied body on the bed assured Lukus he’d been heard. He began to methodically take stock of Dylan’s condition, noting he was still dressed in street clothes, although his T-shirt was ripped almost completely from his body. He was lying crossways in the bed, one arm and leg trapped awkwardly under his crumpled body.
Lukus examined the room again, looking for signs of a struggle. Finding none, he decided that whoever beat the shit out of Dylan did it somewhere else before dumping him back here. There was no way the kid was able to get back on his own steam, meaning they had to carry him into the hotel.
Markus was back, handing him the wet hand towels.
Lukus talked to Dylan again. “Do you think they broke any bones? I want to roll you over so I can get a better look at what we’re dealing with here.” He could barely make out Dylan’s response.
“Gonna kill that fucker.”
“You and me both. But first we need to get you pieced back together. Can I roll you?”
“Yeah. It’s gonna hurt like a sonofabitch.” Dylan’s face was puffed and swollen, making his speech slurred.
Markus and Lukus worked together, rolling him as gently as possible. When they had him on his back, Lukus knew it was time to call an ambulance. The shirt was ripped from his body, displaying severe bruising across much of his muscular chest.
Markus said what Lukus was thinking. “They used him for a damn punching bag.”
“Call an ambulance. Then call that local chief of police contact. I want him here pronto. I don’t want some rookie in a black and white showing up first.”
“No hospital.”
Lukus almost missed Dylan’s protest. “Yes, hospital. I fucked up, having you out here alone. I’m not gonna fuck up getting you medical attention too.”
Lukus whipped out his phone, using it to take photos of Dylan for evidence later. Before Markus could get 911 on the phone, Dylan stopped him.
“Wait. Check my phone. He left you guys a message there.”
Lukus rummaged through the mussed sheets until he found an iPhone he assumed was Dylan’s. There was no password set and the phone opened to the video app. A masked face was frozen on the screen. Markus moved close enough to watch as Lukus pushedplay.
The video started with a lot of shuffling sounds, until the person behind the camera pulled back enough to open up to the scene of an already beaten Dylan hanging limp between two burly, masked men. Dylan was six foot and athletic. The two men propping him up look to be a few inches taller, each with at least seventy-five to one-hundred pounds on him.
Lukus was furious. “He didn’t have a chance against those giants.”
Dylan piped in from below, sputtering through coughing, “They were pros. They do dirty work for the criminal underbelly.”
“What makes you say that?” Lukus was mildly surprised that even in his precarious state, Dylan was trying to provide helpful details for the investigation. He hitpauseon the video to get more info.
“They were careful—wore gloves and masks—called each other by numbers instead of names.” He had to stop to cough. Lukus could see the pain it caused. He felt like a shit for getting Derek’s brother in trouble like this on his first assignment. He pushed the guilt down. He didn’t have time for that crap now.
“Was Davenport there?”
“No. That’s another reason why I know they’re pros.” Dylan’s answers came in short spurts as he tried to work through the pain. “The goons were careful—referred to him as ‘the boss.’ Shit like, ‘the boss wants you to stop poking around and go home.’”
Lukus restarted the video. The thug on the left did the talking. “This message is for Markus Lambert and Lukus Mitchell.” Lukus glanced at his best friend in time to catch the look of pure hatred as he realized Jake had figured out who was behind the tail. “It seems you’ve sent this kid here to do a man’s job. As you can see, he’s failed. Our boss asked us to send you this very clear message to let you know you lost again. He suggests you be a good loser and go home to lick your wounds before someone really gets hurt.”
The message ended abruptly. It was cryptic, but there was no doubt the message came directly from Jake Davenport. Lukus was livid, but one look at his best friend told him Markus was about to lose his shit.
Lukus tried to calm him. “Don’t worry. We’re gonna get the prick, and when we do, he’ll regret ever meeting Brianna. Now, hold it together and get that chief of police over here. We need to document this. We have hundreds of photos from Dylan’s tail, along with this video. I’m gonna email it to Cameron now, so he can see what he can dig up.”
Dylan coughed again before sputtering, “They took my camera.” He grimaced in pain as he tried a lopsided smile. “The assholes were so stupid, they didn’t even notice I’d taken the memory card out. It’s in my right pocket.”
Lukus located the memory stick holding evidence and secured it. “Great work, kid. Call that ambulance, Markus.”
Dylan protested. “No. I just need a hot shower and a few hours and I’ll be ready to go again.”
“I admire your spirit, but you need to be checked out. You could have internal bleeding.”
