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Her hair’s tangled, straggling out of its ponytail, dirty and littered with grass and leaves.
And her face.
Holy fuck, her poor face.
Her mouth looks swollen like she’s been hit with a brick, all split with dried blood, a black ring around her eye, her jaw a purple lump.
I don’t care what she’s done to Libby.
If Declan did this to her, I will fucking slaughter him.
You don’t treat a girl like this.
Not fucking anybody.
Especially not the sister of the girl I love.
“Sierra,” I blurt out, stepping in—and she flinches, looking up with haunted eyes. “One second, let me get the first aid kit—”
“There’s no time!” she gasps. “I barely made it, Holt. I barely got away, and if he notices I’m gone and figures out I came to you…”
Her lips are trembling frantically, her eyes wet.
I go still, staring at her.
“Declan?”
She nods miserably, staring at me, guilt burned all over her face.
“I…I tried to save her,” she whispers. “I tried to save Libby, but I couldn’t. You have to go to her. You have to, before he hurts her any m-m-more—”
Any thought I have that this might be a trick breaks off when Sierra bursts into deep, rasping sobs, tears pouring down her face as she buries her head in her hands.
She’s not that good an actor.
Fuck.
I curl my hand against Sierra’s shoulder, gripping tight, the only reassurance I can offer right now when my mind’s on Libby, my thoughts racing. I grab my phone and try texting her again—and then stop, staring at the text she sent me.
“She said she was staying with Felicity last night,” I say. “Was she?”
Sierra shakes her head miserably before grasping my wrist like I’m her only lifeline.
“I’m the one who…who s-sent that. He made me. I tried to give you a hint—champ.”
I close my eyes, swearing, but then tap out another text just to try anyway.
I have to, instead of relying on someone else’s word.
Libby. If you’re safe, tell me the name of the horse I used to ride when I’d come by your place as a kid.
Even a wrong answer would tell me something.
Nothing comes back.
Nothing again when I try to call, either, all while Sierra watches me with woebegone eyes.
While I swear for the hundredth time, she shakes her head slowly.
“He took her phone,” she says, rubbing at her nose. “And her truck. It’s all banged up. I saw them bring it in last night. He’s…he’s trying to make her show him where the treasure is.”
I stare at her, bewildered.
“What goddamn treasure? There’s nothing in Ursa but some old antiques that might not even be worth all that much.”
“I don’t know!” she bursts out, almost wailing. “He’s been obsessed, ever since he realized Libby’s been hiding something down there. The dead guy just makes him think it’s something priceless enough to kill over. I…I couldn’t tell him, I didn’t know.”
She touches her face then, right below her black eye, and that’s when it clicks.
Declan thinks there’s a secret fucking treasure in Ursa.
Not realizing the treasure is Ursa, and possibly that stupid rock.
He thought Libby and Sierra were hiding it, and he beat Sierra, trying to get it out of her.
Then, when she didn’t cough up details, he went after Libby.
My jaw clenches alligator tight.
Death is too good for that fucker.
I take a slow breath, trying to clear the red mist of rage from my mind before it’s too late. I have to calm down before I get Libby killed, charging out there unprepared.
“Are they in Ursa now?” I ask. “Is that where he took her?”
Sierra nods slowly. “Last night, him and a bunch of guys. Those trucker thugs he owes money to, they set up camp. Said they weren’t moving until they found something big out there.”
I could almost smile, if I didn’t want to snarl.
History’s repeating itself as tragedy and farce this time.
Looks like Danny the Rattlesnake found himself a successor.
“Give me your phone,” I demand.
Sierra gives me a blank look, her hand hovering near the pocket of her jeans, but she hesitates. “Wh-why?”
“I’m calling Declan,” I tell her. “He’ll pick up for you.”
Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head frantically. “You can’t! If…if you use my phone, h-he’ll know I went to you, Holt. I won’t be able to go back and—”
“Sierra, listen.” I pull the other chair over next to her and sit down, propping my elbows on my thighs and leaning forward, watching her intently. “Why do you want to go back?”
She bites her lip, looking at me with those glistening eyes that are so much like Libby’s, and yet so different.
I feel like under their dullness, there’s a spark.
If she can just remember how to ignite it.
“I…I still love him,” she whispers.
I hold in a breath, remembering she’s been abused.
I’m no shrink, but it’s classic Stockholm Syndrome, falling in love with her asshole captor. Knowing deep down she’s dependent on a monster, but not knowing how to leave him.
