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The Edgewood sign comes into view, and as we slow, I push the car door open before it can completely stop. My legs are moving on their own accord. I don’t register the movement until I’m standing over the still body of my brother, stripped bare and covered in bruises and cuts. Blood still runs down open wounds in his back. I don’t breathe until I see the slight rise and fall of his back, indicating he’s alive. “Somebody bring me a fucking blanket and get the fucking medical team out here now,” I snap.
“Fuck,” Wes shouts. The sound of feet hitting the pavement announces everyone’s arrival, and seconds later, a medical team jumps into action.
“We’re going to need you all to back up. We need space to assess the damage and begin to treat him,” a female paramedic says.
We stand and watch as the medical team loads Owen onto a stretcher, and into the back of the armored car. I’m unsure if it’s because I’m in shock, but it takes my brain time to process that they’re driving away.
“Let’s fucking go,” Lev shoves my shoulder, stirring me into action. Then we hop into the car and head to the Edgewood estate.
* * *
I want to throttle someone or something. Shit, doing both at this moment still might not calm me. Owen’s battered body lies prone on the hospital bed in the medical wing of Wes’s house. Tubes and wires everywhere. A machine helping him breathe. He’s in horrific shape.
“Why isn’t he waking up?” Lev stutters. He’s almost as pale as the white sheets Owen’s lying on.
I have to turn away, but each beep of the monitor both soothes and fuels my rage. He’s home, but what they did to him—incomprehensible. The right side of his face is so swollen you can barely see his eye, and someone’s tried to cut through the “A” carved into his chest. They didn’t succeed, which in my mind means he gave them hell.
“They’ve drugged him, and he needs time to work out whatever is in his system. He’ll open his eyes when he’s ready. All his vitals are outside of any dangerous ranges. For now, we wait,” Owen’s father informs us.
The sound of the door opening has me lift my eyes in the direction of the noise. A part of me hopes to see midnight blue hair and haunting gray eyes.
“Move the fuck out of the way. My fiancés are in there, assholes,” a voice, worse than nails on a chalkboard, whines.
She couldn’t be that stupid to come here.
“Miss Davenport, only close family, and friends are permitted at this time,” one of the guards stationed at the door states.
“Fi-an-cés. Did you not hear me the first time, you idiot?” Sam shrieks, and Owen’s heart monitor spikes.
“Get her the fuck out of here,” Wes snarls, pushing off the spot on the wall he was leaning against. “She’s not welcome here.”
“Wesley! Wesley, you get them to let me in now,” Samantha demands.
I charge past Wes, sidestepping him to reach the door first and yanking it open. Sam shrinks back, her eyes bulging before her masks set into place. She still takes a step backward the moment I take one forward. “If you have any survival instincts at all, you’ll get the fuck out of here, and don’t show your overpriced face again,” I seethe.
Her shoulders rear back, her posture straightening. “I’m exactly where any fiancé would be at a time like this,” she replies. Her lips tip up, attempting to look coy, but with her over-Botoxed face, she looks like a blobfish. “Now, let me in—.”
I move without thought. Samantha’s scream of surprise pierces the air, ending in an oof as her back thuds against the wall, and I grip her by her neck. Her pupils dilate at my words. “Your days are fleeting. I’d spend them more wisely if I were you.”
Samantha’s eyes droop, lust pooling in their depths. “If you wanted to play, all you had to do was ask. Wes will tell you how much I love this game.” She strains to turn her neck. “Won’t you, lover?” She coos, making my stomach roil at her breathy moans. I forgot how much she gets off on this shit.
I peer over my shoulder to see Wes and the others are now standing in the hallway. “I’m not your any-fucking-thing, you delusional bitch,” Wes spits, stepping up beside me just as I refocus my attention on the conniving skank before me. “I know Owen being taken is your fault. You selfish cunt!”
A small smile quirks her lip. “Well, if that’s the case, Wyatt choking me isn’t the brightest idea, even if it’s making my pussy wet.”
Loosening my grip, I quickly grab her by her face, ensuring she sees me when I speak. “O’s back. Whatever bullshit power you thought you had ended with his return,” I state, bringing the knife I pulled from my pocket to her throat. Samantha lets out another wanton cry, her eyes dilating even more. The noise quickly changes the minute she feels the metal pierce her throat. “What’s stopping me from ending your fucking life right now?” I press the blade tip even harder, excited when I feel a trickle of liquid over my knuckle. “I could end you here and not lose an ounce of sleep,” I snap, causing spittle to hit her in the face.
I feel Samantha take in a careful breath before she responds. “Because I hold your best friend’s life in the palm of my hand. Now let me the fuck go. I’m over all of your bullshit,” she demands. Her words are garbled due to my increasing grip on her cheeks.
Doubting her statement, I press the tip of the knife deeper, causing the trickle of blood to turn into a more steady flow. My hand begins to push even deeper when the sound of phones going off stays my hand.
“Stop,” Mr. Jefferson commands. “Someone’s watching.” My hand freezes at his words. “You need to let her go,” he continues. I snarl out my protest but drop my hands to my side.
“How the fuck is this possible?” Sebastian growls. “This place is supposed to be impervious to hackers.”
“It is,” Lev chimes in. “She has to be wearing something.”
The distorted cackle from Samantha garners our attention. “You were always a smart little shit, weren’t you, Levi?” She goads. I watch as she lifts her finger to the spot the blood is dripping down her neck, swipes the tip of her clawed nail through it, and brings it to her mouth. She moans at the taste before she continues. “I warned you all, didn’t I?”
