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“Yes. No one is going to hurt you anymore,” I promised, my heart fucking breaking for them. “My name is Elliott. My friends and I will be here every step of the way till you get home to your families. Are…” I trailed off and hesitated. I didn’t wanna overwhelm him any further, but we had to know where he lived, what his last name was—so that we could find his parents. “Can you tell me your last name, Nicolas?”
He sniffled and glanced at his brother. “Davis.”
Huh, all right. “I only have a few more questions, okay? You’re doing great. What are your parents’ names?”
He squinted and carefully wiped at his face. “Um, Mom’s name was Alejandra.” Fuck,was? “Dad’s name is Keith.”
Okay. I gently shifted Julian from one hip to the other, then pulled out my phone. “Alejandra and Keith Davis. Where do you live, Nicolas?”
I started typing down stats for Mercier to forward to his team stateside.
Boy 1: Nicolas Davis. Approximately 5’5”, malnourished, dark hair, presumably dark eyes, he can’t open them much due to heavy bruising. Mexican?/American heritage
“Houston,” Nicolas answered hesitantly. “I…”
I stopped typing and glanced at him.
“I don’t remember,” he croaked. “We move a lot. I think we were in Houston last.”
Time to pump the brakes. I pocketed my phone again and switched tactics. They had to rest—and maybe they wanted more water or something to eat.
* * *
Adrien Mercier
One room to go.
I swallowed my anger, my exhaustion, all my frustrations, and closed the door to the exam room Ryan was in. That poor little girl—cigarette burns all over her arms and legs. God, I wanted to kill everyone who’d looked at her wrong.
Crew was waiting for me in the corridor, and he must’ve seen the look on my face. “What’s wrong, papi?”
I shook my head and pocketed my notepad. “I think I need a new hobby. Like alcoholism.”
He winced and snuck in for a hug.
I squeezed him to me.
It felt entirely wrong to carry a celebratory cigar in my pocket right now, though I knew we still had sixteen reasons to celebrate. Just not yet.
“I just survived signing four hundred thousand nondisclosure agreements,” Crew whispered.
That punk—he dragged a laugh out of me, and my eyes burned with emotions. What would I do without him? Even in the darkest moments, he could light up my existence with a crappy joke or one of his smirks.
He eased back and touched my cheek. “How many do you have left?”
“Only Elliott,” I sighed. “He has three children with him.”
Crew nodded with a dip of his chin. “The doc’s been in there the past hour.”
Roughly an hour was what they’d all received. They’d called in six doctors and eleven nurses for our arrival.
Down the hall, Shay stepped out from a room and wiped at his cheeks.
“You okay, man?” Crew asked.
Shay looked up, having not expected anyone, and nodded stiffly. “I just hate people.”
I knew the feeling.
